Let me make yet another announcement for Trip: he turned in the final revisions of his master's thesis just last week, and it is completely out of his hair for the rest of his (and my) life. Way to go, Trip and see you later Billy Panther and the associated terrible Financial Aid office at EIU!
Now for story time:
A few weeks ago, we thought we'd like to attend a highly-acclaimed beer tasting and chili cook-off at the local pumpkin patch, Sinkland Farms. It cost 5$ at the door and a further 10$ to get into the beer garden. We left the house hungry, assuming that we would get some chili. After paying our admission, we perused the yumblicious-smelling chili pit to find that they were completely out of chili, which we just paid for. Uh, thanks for the notice? We had to buy food, leaving us no money to taste beer. The bluegrass band was also good, for the two songs they played. Bummer. The main reason for this seeming complaint is not to rant at all, but rather to lighten your mood, I promise. Keep reading, but in the mean time, this picture of the bluegrass band and their weird chandelier will keep you story-satiated.
While we were cruising around the place, a little miffed, I noticed a gathering of miniature horses tied to a trailer. They were being used for giving little kids rides around in a cart. I began petting one as if it were Woodford or some other retarded puppy, roughing it up a bit. The pony disapproved. I felt a little ashamed of myself, a horsewoman treating an equine this way. I knelt down to it's level to make amends and give it a pat on the shoulder and a scratch on it's whithers. No sooner had I landed on my knee did the wretched little thing bite, yes, BITE, my face. Right on the forehead! Trip and I were completely taken aback, speechless with dropped jaws. When they reconnected with our skulls, only laughter came out of them. It didn't do any damage, left a small pink mark for a couple hours, but a bloody, gaping hole in my pride. Only because I think the owner lady saw it and giggled.
On a much more pumped note, Trip and I both had a shot last week. No, not the kind of shots you're thinking of, H1N1 shots! Surely someone has beef with this, but I don't care. I don't have health insurance so I'd rather NOT die of swine flu now, when I am awesome, and stand in line at the cancer clinic with you shot-nazis 40 years later and say "Well at least I didn't get the swine flu." Even Woodford shows support for the anti-swine, although he thinks it sounds delicious.
The second week Trip and I graced Blacksburg with our presence, we stopped at a very small, run-down-ish cake and donut shop. Every SINGLE weekend since, we have indulged ourselves at Carol Lee Donuts. We get two donuts and two small coffees for 3$. The donuts are the best donuts I can remember on this earth, and the coffee is fresh-brewed; delicious combo!
Usually we immediately head for the day's hiking destination, all fired up on coffee and ready to burn off the 73830 calories in one donut. I swear they're so delciously fried they almost crunch a little upon biting them. The good crunch! I always get a chocolate one with Hokie sprinkles. Trip gets filled ones, but I usually offer to drive when he's eating. I do remember a story of a man by the name of Krenz involving a donut and a T-bone, and not the steak...
But anyway, we hiked around in Mountain Lake Park one day after eating donuts. Here is the view. You must be getting a little bored of these mountain-top views. Maybe I'll have to start spelunking to show some cooler pictures...
Oh, and Trip got the garden tilled up! My good horseback riding friend, Greg, let us borrow his big tiller a couple weekends ago. This past weekend, we revisited him to get a truck load of aged horse manure; black gold! Now our garden is really underway. Here are some pictures of what it looked like before and after the tilling. There are no pictures of the garden after the manure. Imagine the road apples you have seen left behind after prom night on the riverfront in Peoria, and multiply that by 400. In my backyard. Woodford's Thanksgiving feast came early.
Trip must have liked shoveling horse crap so much that he accepted Greg's inquiry to join us on an up-and-coming Christmas parade as the poop-scooper behind the horses Greg, me, and company will be astride. Its my first parade on a horse, but not Trip's first time shoveling a Natalie-related line of crap.
The aforementioned Greg also shot, gutted, and cut up a deer for Trip and I. This is how it arrived to me, and to the butcher down the road. Looks gross but I can't wait for summer sausage and venison stew!
The Suzy Homemaker in me is making more and more headway all the time. Listen to this; I sewed for an entire evening the other day. Yikes! A while ago Woodford "accentuated" my quilt. He must think less is more, as he ate it in strips. I cut up an old pair of underwear and patched it up. This is the final product. Oh and don't worry about the underwear, they were too small for my butt.
Just yesterday I made the executive decision that we will listen to Christmas music on alternating evenings of NPR hearings. Delilah's radio station is playing it constantly now, and Trip is overjoyed beyond words. He can only shake his head in sheer happiness! This must be how he feels inside:
Also good news of recent; I am trying out a series of bread recipes I found in Mother Earth News. They say I can make good bread in five minutes a day, and I am going to give it a try. I included a photo documentary. If you know me at all, you know that any product containing yeast is what makes my explode, and I had to eat a little bit of the rising dough. Basically we're mixin' up breadstuffs and rockin' around a radio-wave Christmas tree.
After the bread was completed, it wasn't that great. It was really pretty, but not very flavorful (read on for a possible reason why this could have happened...). I'm still going to try making pecan cinnamon rolls out of the master dough recipe, and see if Mom and Dad will let me make them on Christmas morning. Yum!
Also worth a mention: This evening Trip and I were going to make deep-fried venison fillets for din-din, and Trip put on the canola/vegetable oil blend (unbeknownst to me) at "High" on the electric stove. I was happily prepping my bread dough for the oven, when I looked over to see a LOT of stinky white stuff rising from the pan. Bringing this to his attention, I ran upstairs to nab the screaming carbon monoxide detector off the wall while the house filled with a lung-burning white smoke. I let the dog and cat out behind me while he yelled about the pan attached to his arm that was en fuego. I'll spare the exact phrases. He ran to the driveway and dropped the burning utensil as it exploded with flames, kind of like a Charlie's Angels scene.
After taking a stroll through the hayfield to ensure we could still breathe correctly, we decided we needed to open some windows in the poor little house if we were ever going to step foot in there again. It smelled terrible! I called dibs on the upstairs, which was the worst. Inhaling HUGE breaths behind our coats, we ran into the house. My eyes burned when I hit the stairs, and by the time I reached the windows they were pouring tears as if John Lennon/Michael Jackson died this morning.
Needless to say, we went out for dinner. Upon our return (with Icehouse, as we needed it) the house was safe to enter, but pretty saturated with burnt oil stench. I baked my bread (two hours after it was supposed to be in the oven...) and Trip pan-fried the previously breaded venison fillets that he so valliantly made a separate entrance to refrigerate prior to our departure. So here you are, Dad. They were pretty good.
Happy Thanksgiving to Illinois from Southern Appalachia. We miss you. We love you.
