I'm Loving It

Rather than spend this post regaling you with how busy I've been (I decided to take a second job that has me working 6-7 days a week through the end of September . . . hullo Ireland next spring!) I thought I'd take a cue from Katherine over at Irish Italian Blessings and do a fun little post about all the stuff I've been digging lately.

Know what makes your life worth living? Fuzzy, felted slippers that make you slightly resemble a Muppet. I made these back in April and they are seriously the best thing to bum around the house in at the end of the day. Even after a day filled with the nuttiest tourist questions, as soon as I slip on these cushy slippers, my whole body and mind goes "Ahhh!"

And once I've got my fuzzy slippers on, what better to do then settle in on the couch with the Harry Potter flick du jour. That's right, over the last couple weeks, Andy (who was a Harry Potter virgin when we started this film fest) and I watched all eight of the Harry Potter films in order. Because I was so darn old by the time all the books got published (I'd graduated from college when the last book came out) I'd only read the last three books once and I've never even seen the last three movies. It was really fun to watch the whole story unfold in order and without two year gaps between watching each movie. I may actually be motivated to reread all the books next winter. The only issue? We ate so much popcorn while watching the movies that I'm not sure I will ever be able to enjoy this story again without a big bag of greasy popcorn next to me.

Also deserving of a spot on the "I'm Loving It" list? Yep . . . popcorn. Oh nom nom nom.

As someone who works with tourists everyday (they call me "Miss Information") I'm really loving this pin of one of fellow Minnesotan Andrew Zimmern's quotes. I think if you read between the lines of this post, I think you'll find the message "stop freakin' asking me where to see moose, already." 

Source: pinerly.com via Ada on Pinterest

I'm loving that even though Andy and I are basically ships passing in the night, we still managed to get out for a little brook trout fishing last Tuesday. We caught some beautiful young trout and then returned them right back to the stream. 

I'm loving that when I need to a green pepper when I'm making dinner that I just head out to the porch and pick one. And they say you can't grow peppers in northern Minnesota . . . .

I'm loving designing fun new headbands for my Etsy shop. They're just the right sized project for my pea-sized attention span these days and they're so cute.

Charcoal grey braid headband


I'm loving the never-ending batch of fridge pickles in our fridge. Our cucumber trellis is absolutely loaded with cucumbers this year. I may try my hand at some dill relish soon. Because who doesn't love a canning project?

What are you loving these days?

 

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Lazy, Hazy, Crazy

You GUYS!

I've been averaging one post a WEEK around these parts lately. What is up with that?! I'd blame the usual summer craziness for that little trend, but honestly, in years past I've managed way more posts during this time of year so I'm really not sure why gives. I think in this particular instance, laziness, not craziness, is the true culprit. Like most things in life, it all boils down to priorities.

It's not that I've meant to neglect this little blog. Every day I think of things to post about, but somehow, right about the time that I think I'll sit down and actually write that post, something else calls my name and suddenly it's bedtime and another day has come and gone sans post. C'est la vie.

Our weather has finally cooled off a bit (not that it was anywhere as hot as elsewhere in the country, but 90+ degrees is HOT for almost Canada northern Minnesota) and we're enjoying temperatures in the 70s and low 80s. It's nice to feel human again  and also have the energy to actually do something in the evening. Andy and I have been trying to get out and fish before sunset: the fishing's great . . . the catching, not so much.

Also, remember earlier in the summer when I was all "meh, blueberries?" Yeah, scratch that.

Have now picked five gallons of berries and am planning to head out to pick my sixth (and final . . . I swear) gallon this afternoon yet. That is, if I can get my arse off this chair.

So what does one do with six gallons of blueberries? Two gallons stay in the freezer to be used in muffins, pancakes, fruit salads, et al. throughout the year. Another gallon is given away. Then I've made two different batches of blueberry infused vinegar (including Paula's recipe and another one which uses basil and lemon zest from the Ball Canning cookbook) and a big batch of blueberry butter.

Butter is a term for fruit that's been cooked down slowly to a spreadable consistency over low heat. The spread uses half as much sugar as blueberry jam, resulting in a soft spread that purplier and more berryful (yes, neither of those are "real" world . . . just doing my part to keep the English language alive) than jam. I used Marisa McClellan's slow cooker recipe from Food in Jars, which is seasoned with cinnamon, nutmeg, and lemon zest. Basically, it's like eating blueberry pie on toast.

The garden's starting to churn out produce lately and it's happy coincidence that berry season is drawing to a close just as the garden kicks it into high gear. (Because really, I can only do so much.) Just look at the haul we made last night: 

I foresee many a stir-fry

Have you ever seen such beautiful kohlrabi, broccoli, and kale? Oh, and there are green beans in the bottom of the purple container too. I went grocery shopping yesterday and I just love when we hit that time in the season when I can walk down the produce aisle going:  "Oh, we've already got some. Tell 'em we've already got some!" (Name that movie.)

I wasn't sure how I felt about kale, but luckily - considering the quantity it's producing - both Andy and I have found it pretty darn delicious and it's the first ingredient I've found that really pairs well with the venison chorizo we made last November.

So that's life around these parts: living locally and deliciously.

How are you spending the lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer?

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Searching for 'Whelmed'

Chastity: I know you can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed, but can you ever just be whelmed?
Bianca: I think you can in Europe.
- 10 Things I Hate About You 

I've been on the lookout for "whelmed" lately. I'm trying to prove that you don't have to go to Europe to find it. On the other hand, a little European adventure right about now might be the perfect escape . . . .

The thing is, I've been feeling a little overwhelmed lately. While I know this is always the busiest time of the year in our household, I seemed blessed with seasonal amnesia and over the course of winter, I forget just how manic things can get at high summer. These days, just when I feel like I've gotten my arms wrapped around everything again, another shoe drops.

Bars need to be made for the neighborhood potluck (which I didn't attend because by this time in the summer I hate all people . . .joking . . . erm) . . .

Or the garden suddenly looks awfully thirsty . . .

Or I have a board meeting on my day off, followed by an interview for a freelance article, which means I don't get to town on my day off to do laundry and pick up groceries until after 4 in the afternoon.

Too many of the brief hours I spend in bed each night have been spent tossing and turning - worrying about how I'm going to get everything done the next day. On Monday morning, I realized enough was enough. I emailed one of my freelance editors and asked him to reassign one of my articles for the month. I've been a  reliable, hard working freelancer for this company on a monthly basis for nearly three full years, but I needed a (temporary) break.  I needed to go find whelmed.

Where does one find whelmed?

The berry patch is a good place to started. I picked my first two quarts of the season yesterday morning. Then yesterday afternoon, as though I hadn't proven my hunter-gather skills enough, Andy and I went out in the boat and I ended up landing a 21-inch whitefish. (Not what we were fishing for, but a welcome surprise.)

(My mom said she just loves dead fish pictures [sarcasm], so the photo above is for her. Forgive the crazy eyes and dopey, tourist-y hat. I'm trying to avoid sunburn this summer, which explains the hat, if not the eyes.) 

I think we can all agree that the last thing I need is another proverbial fish to fry, but an actual, physical fish to fry was pretty darn tasty and helpful in my quest for "life balance."

After a tasty dinner of fish, Andy headed off for training, I spent some quality time with the garden, fertilizing and watering at my own pace, enjoying the twilight and letting tomorrow worry about itself.

Where do you do to find "whelmed"

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Ice Fishing: It begins

Ice fishing season is in full swing in the Northwoods. It's been lake trout season since December 31st on lakes completely inside the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness and this past Saturday, the winter lake trout season started for all Minnesota trout lakes. Our lake was transformed into a veritable ice fishing village (above) this past weekend. Then Monday came and *poof* everyone disappeared.

This past week, before we could just head out the door and down the lake to fish, we set off down the road a piece and hiked about a mile into a BWCAW lake for the first ice fishing trip of the year.

Despite the fact that it was just above 0 (Yes, Fahrenheit), we set out in high spirits.Cold temperatures usually means sunshine and by the middle of January, you take sunshine over just about anything.

Headed up the Topper Portage, auger in hand

I'm not really sure why people ice fish. You know, when you boil it down it's basically: drill a hole in the ice, wiggle a string around in the water through the ice, get cold, go home.

But I suspect views like this have something to do with this chilly sport's appeal.

Beautiful South Lake with the Rose Lake Cliffs in the background

We didn't catch a single fish, nor even get a single nibble. Then again, we didn't stay out that long - only a couple hours because my hands got cold, probably because one of my chopper liners (aka, wool mittens which go inside large leather mittens, now in northern Minnesota as "choppers" for those who don't know Minnesotan) has a massive hole in it that need to get repaired before my next subzero excursion. On the portage out, we passed a guy who'd camped out on the lake the night before. In his sled, he had two large trout. "I'm not done with you yet, South Lake," Andy vowed.

To be continued . . . 

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In Which Ada Catches A Fish

The first few weeks of July, before berry season is in full swing, seems to be the time of year when the call of the lake and the boat are most answered. For the last week or so, we've been heading down the lake nearly every night to spend an hour or so at sunset dropping ciscos on weighted lines into the lake's depths and drifting across a reef, waiting for the big one to bite.

Although there are also walleye and bass (et al) in the lake, I've always gone lake trout fishing with Andy. Every time we're out, we get plenty of nibbles, even a fair amount of "robbed" hooks, but during the summer months, I've never seen a fish at the end of my line. (During the winter, I've caught a couple "waterbottle" sized baby lake trout that have gotten thrown back.)

Honestly, I'd started to wonder if this fishing stuff was some really long-winded practical joke Andy was pulling on me. "We never catch any fish," I grumbled to a neighbor who asked after our fishing success on Saturday morning.

But on Saturday evening as we bobbed about, I felt three sharp tugs on my line. I opened my bail, let the fish run with the bait, then yanked up to set the hook and started reeling. When Andy glanced over, his eyes grew wide. "You've got a big fish on there." I'd never landed a fish before and had no idea that when the line makes a terrible cranking noise you should stop reeling and let the fish do its own thing for a bit before reeling some more. With some instruction from Andy, I got the fish to the surface. Andy netted the 4-6 lb beauty and brought it in the boat to inspect. 

"Can we keep it?" I asked.

We did.

I had no idea there was so much meat on a fish. We grilled it up on Sunday evening and I made a simple rice pilaf out of the leftovers yesterday that we'll be eating on for a good long time. I'd always thought trout tasted too "fishy", but this particular "landlocked salmon" was pretty darn tasty.

This is probably the only trout we'll keep all year. They're such slow growing, long-lived beasts that it seems only fair that the vast majority of them spend their days down in the dark, cool lake water. 

Moral of the story? Don't stop complaining.You never know how a well-timed grumble might be answered.

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Wordless Wednesday: Late Winter Scenes

Tinkling snow banks melting in the sun. Forgotten fishing holes. Snow drifts like overbaked sugar cookies. Welcome to late winter at Of Woods and Words!

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Getting Your Feet Wet

Over these days off our friend Andrew is up for some canoeing, bbqing, and general Northwoods hanging out. This morning, Andy and Andrew decided to go down to fish lake trout in a nearby lake. Although I had plenty of work to get done at home, I decided to tag along.

Once we got to the canoe launch, I decided I didn’t want to get my feet wet. Although I had perfectly fine water proof sandals on, the thought of plunging my feet into mucky, cool water just didn’t sound pleasant. So I perched precariously on a small rock and tiptoed into the canoe while Andy and Andrew rolled their eyes.

The whole process reminded me of what I do every time I get a new freelance assignment. I’m always hot to trot with a new assignment, but when it comes to that initial phone call I hem and haw. I think of perfectly legitimate reasons to procrastinate the start of the project. I do whatever I can to put it off. I’m happy to do the assignment once I have all the material, it’s that first hurtle which poses the biggest risk to my success.

Back on the lake this morning, we paddled down to the east end of the lake and portaged into a designated trout lake. We set our lines and trolled down the lake. I succeeded only in hooking Andy’s line.

With no fish biting, we decided to head back home for the afternoon. At the portage landing, a swim seemed in order. So I stripped down to my swimsuit and jumped right in. Now how hard was that?

On the way back, it took all three of us paddling against the strong west wind to get us back to the car. As we cursed the wind and struggled to keep the canoe on course, I never once thought about my wet feet. If you’re willing to jump in, it seems the stuff that’s really hard isn’t so bad at all.

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The Grasshopper and the Ants

We all know the fable about the grasshopper and the ants. Lately at the cabin, it’s been feeling like we’re both the grasshopper and the ants. We’re trying to bring home the bacon and still have lazy long mornings to eat the bacon (with toast and hash browns and eggs, of course).

All week, the bay has been filled with the sounds of summer vacationers and visitors. Motor boats buzz in and out of the bay, vehicles are always passing by on the windy gravel road behind the cabin, and there are plenty of shrieks and splashes come from the neighbors’ docks as people of all ages jump into the warm lake water. It looked like so much fun. Even with full time jobs and various other commitments, we figured if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. With a week straight of warm sunny days, why not pretend we were on summer vacation, just like everyone else.

So we went fishing in the evenings. (That’s unadulterated excitement in Andy’s eyes.)

I took touristy shots of moose on my way home.

We had picnics and toasted ginormous marshmallows.

Now the weather is clouding over and I’m starting to feel like a guilty little grasshopper. I wonder if I could have spent my time in a slightly wiser manner. After all, yesterday evening was devoted to the pursuit of making a blueberry pie. After supper Andy and I went out in the woods to gather the six cups of blueberries we needed for pie filling and returned home to throw together a pie: I made the crust, Andy did the filling. (Easy as pie?) There are no pictures of aforementioned pie because it was inhaled (with the help of 10 people) about fifteen minutes after it came out of the oven. Maybe I should have spent my time doing something more lasting . . . .

But then, if there isn’t time for fishing, or wildlife gazing, or ginormous marshmallows or eating warm, fresh blueberry pie, what is there time for? Happiness springs in many things, most of them little and few of them stem solely from the grand culmination of hard work and dreams come true. Hard work buys us contentment and security, which in turn probably makes us more susceptible to happiness, but we have to be on the lookout for happiness all the while we’re heading down the road to “dreams come true.” If we never acknowledge happiness, how will we know it when we see it?

Remember in Wicked when Glinda sings: 'Cause getting your dreams, it's strange, but it seems a little - well – complicated. There's a kind of a sort of : cost. There's a couple of things get: lost. Despite the virtue of being a little worker ant, sometimes we overlook what the grasshopper had to teach us too. The grasshopper might not have been great at keeping food on the table, but he sure knew how to keep his heart full.

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Like Fishing, Like Life

I’ve heard it said that there are two great metaphors for life: a river and a garden. Last night I decided there might be a third great metaphor for life: fishing.

You know, you make sure you have everything ready, you hope everything works, and then you head off, knowing that anytime, your motor may fail, forcing you to paddle back to shore. Once you’re out on the water, you throw in your line, bob around a bit, and wait for something to come to you. Maybe not a metaphor for the most proactive of lives, but a slice of life, nonetheless.

We weren’t the most patient fishermen last night. We caught a lot more snags than we caught fish (okay, so there wasn’t even a nibble), which was fine by me. After a busy and sticky hot day at work, I was happy just to be floating about in a boat, enjoying the light breeze and the cooler evening temperatures.

After the relaxing time in the middle of the lake, we came back home, where I made popcorn over the stove and managed to get a potholder on fire. Nothing like starting off days off with a bang. The popcorn was really good though, and the flaming potholder was immediately flung into a basin of dishwater.

Today’s my first day off in eight days (I realize that since I work increasingly as a freelancer, days off are a highly arbitrary concept) and while that fact doesn’t exactly signal “the end of the world,” I’m looking forward to not spending the next two days at work, per se. There are blueberries to pick, a commentary or two to write, some fishing, and a baby loon in the bay to watch grow up.

It’s heating up to be another scorcher outside. Better add swimming to the agenda.

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