Covid Journal, Day 87: Bread, Cabbage & Cherries

72 this morning, cloudy but cleared up later. A breezy day, which helped with the heat as the temperature reached 90 once again. This time I left the windows up and the AC off, preferring to enjoy the nice breezes and hold on til evening. Now it's cooling down, with storms expected this evening.

Today was bread day, and this time I got it right. I've had trouble getting my bread to rise since I bought the wrong flour. I bought 50 pounds of the wrong flour! This is cake flour--somehow I clicked the wrong thing and instead of unbleached I got this lovely soft flour that is great for cakes and cookies and terrible for bread.

To try to correct the problem, I bought gluten and wheat germ to add to the soft flour. I tried adding these to the ingredients last time I made bread and the result was a dense heavy bread that wasn't much fun to eat. This time I cut the wheat germ back to half of what I used in the last batch, and added a tablespoon of gluten per 3 cups of flour. The bread is lovely, great texture and light brown color. Basically, I'm adding back what processing took out, I guess.

These are my favorite bread pans, Philbe pattern Sapphire glass by Fire-King. I believe they're from the 1940's.

Larry planted the Late Flat Dutch cabbage plants this morning because we thought rain would come today. I'm afraid they had a hard day, but he watered heavily at planting and again this evening so I hope they come through okay. These are the best for making kraut, in my opinion.

I've had a quiet day again. Yesterday I took a tumble while cleaning out that building--stepped on a rotten board and over I went. Nothing broken or even bruised too much, but I was a sore mess this morning, and could barely get up and down. As the day went on the stiffness got better. At least I got to finish another book--a collection of short stories. I do enjoy short stories, and found this book, A Time to Dance by Bernard MacLaverty, to be a thought-provoking read. I would not call these happy stories; indeed, there is no real resolution or neat tidy-up at the end of any of them. But the character development is really excellent. Between this and the other book by him that I recently finished (Midwinter Break) I have learned a lot about Northern Ireland and the Troubles. I followed that news at the time of all the bombings and unrest but MacLaverty gives a personal approach to the times that gives an inside look at how the ordinary people living through it must have felt.

The cherries are coming ripe. We will pick the ripest ones tomorrow if it's not raining. I have nets over the tree, and old sheer curtains, and a rubber snake--which has scared the life out of Larry three times even though he knows it's fake. He's so funny.

I'll finish up with this funny story from England, told in rhyming form. Not actually about cherries, but includes a cow named Cherry. This is actually a song--here's a link to a recording made here in Appalachia that is really lovely. Another title for this is Father Grumble. As with so many old songs, this one made its way to our hills with the early settlers.

The Old Man Who Lived in a Wood

There was an old man who lived in a wood,
As you may plainly see,
He said he could work more in a day,
Than his wife could do in three.

"If that be the case," the old woman said,
"If that be the case," said she,
"The you shall stay at home today,
And I'll go and drive the plow.

But mind you, milk the cherry cow,
For fear that she'd go dry,
And mind you, tend the suckling pigs
That lie in yonder sty.

And mind you, watch the speckled hen,
For fear that she would stray,
And mind you, wind the worsted yarn,
That I spun yesterday."

The old woman took the whip in hand,
And went to drive the plow;
The old man took the milking pail,
And went to milk the cow.

But Cherry, she kicked, and Cherry, she flung,
And Cherry, she wouldn't be quiet,
She gave the old man a kick in the leg,
Which made him kick up a riot.

He went to watch the speckled hen,
For fear that she should stray,
But he forgot to wind the yarn
His wife spun yesterday.

Then he swore by the sun, the moon, and the stars,
And all that was in heaven,
That his wife could do more work in a day,
Than he could do in seven.


Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.