The transformative nature of snow, or, bossy dog

The winter's been tolerable up to this point. Operative words: Up to this point.

An inch of snow here, an inch there. Enough to flock the trees and make them look pretty while filling in the ruts and pock marks left by cross country skiers and dog walkers after our circuits around Comstock Park.

But Monday took care of that. A seven-inch dump. So much for the 2 to 4 inches, Mr. Weatherman.

And there was the small matter of another three inches Thursday night.

You didn't hear it here, but it IS kind of pretty. . . . for about 45 seconds.

One of Miz Cricket's more reasonable sticks.

The arrival of serious snow electrifies the dogs at Comstock. They slip the mantle of puppy school good manners and run, crazy happy, scooping up bites of snow and playing tug-of-war with the branches of trees -- often two and three times their size -- broken off in earlier winter storms. They roll and tumble, wrestle and root, chasing sticks and snow balls through a blanket of white 6 and 7 inches deep in places.

Even Ben. The King of Comstock Gravitas who turns 12 next month.

The snow makes him wild and bossy.

Tuesday, he tore up the park with Miz Cricket. Wednesday, he gamely tried to keep up with a canine crew 10+ years his junior as they churned around the trees down by the tennis court like a troupe of furry Maytag washers. He glares and "Hfffs" and shakes his head if someone come too close to the treasured pine cone or stick he's gnawing on.

Of course, these frenzied hijinks usually last for about 3 or 4 minutes before Ben stops, snorts a couple times and trots back over to me with a "See-I've-still-got-it" look on his face. He is almost 12 after all.

But the most fascinating transformation -- Ben has become highly vocal and opinionated around the matter of throwing sticks. Yes, I am now the one followed by a gray dog issuing short, spoiled, peremptory barks every 60 seconds or so until a stick is found and thrown. You can't miss us.

And if said stick can't be found in a timely manner, ie, Pacific Ben Time, I also get goosed.

Not there.

I'm talking a cold, hard dog snout persistently banging against my hand and wrist. That's hard to do AND bark every 60 seconds, but Ben, with his usual elan, manages it with embarrassing ease.

Ben and I are quite the pair these days -- bark! bang bang! find stick! throw stick! chase stick!

Return and repeat again.

So, next time you're up at Comstock, stop by and say "Hi." I'm the one with Sparky, the mechanical barking dog. Comes with a goosing option.

And, by the way, Snow? Next time, maybe a little less transformative?

The news from When Pigs Fly Farm

The news is -- the weather's been crap. Cold, damp and dank. I've been amassing packets of seeds -- not to mention two heirloom tomato plants -- with nowhere to go. Until Sunday.

And, why, yes. Those ARE 2 tomato plants on my dining room table.
For the next two months.

Sunday dawned bright, dry and sunny. We won't mention the gale-force winds and a wind chill of about 20 below. What better time to throw down some lettuce and carrot seeds, right? Hey. The seed packets said they're cool-weather vegetables. Well, it is definitely cool.

Live long and prosper, my little vegi-friends.

I assembled said seeds: Romaine, arugula and carrots.


I assembled the When Pigs Fly Farm portable tool shed.

Available soon at home improvement centers near you.

And trucked down to WPFF.

Farmer Jim's garlic are looking good.

And check out this cool trellis.

Stringing up that netting would've brought me to my knees.

Despite losing about a third of my seeds to the hurricane swirling around me, I got romaine, arugula and carrots in the ground. It felt good.

And Monday, it snowed. Welcome to When Pigs Fly Farm.

One picture is worth a thousand words

Hello?

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

Hello?

Spring?

I know you're out there somewhere.

Comfort food deux: Joe's Special

I got home from work this evening, courtesy of my co-worker, The A Team, as it was snowing 2 inches an hour. No need for Mr. Puffy Pants for my walk with Ben. Despite the volume of snow, it was strangely warm. We busted out into a thick, marshmallow mush about 3 inches deep since most neighbors hadn't revved up their snow blowers yet. Despite my unshakeable devotion to winterphobia, it WAS beautiful, especially the Christmas lights (I know, I know) slowly becoming encased in a soft, white snow duvet.

But back at the ranch: Cold. Must eat.

Why, of course. Joe's Special.

It's not beautiful. It's not glam. It's just straight-up uber comfort food.

Pretty much if you've eaten at a good diner, you know what Joe's Special is: A magical mix of meat, eggs, spinach and parmesan cheese. Here goes my take:

1/2 onion rough chopped *

1 lb Italian sausage, hamburger, or a mix of the 2

1 t garlic in a jar (See? perfect for a work night)

1 t pesto in a jar (I rest my case)

1/3 lb fresh baby spinach

3 eggs, whisked

1/2 c (or more) parmesan cheese

Italian seasoning, if needed

Salt and pepper to taste

Start the onion first, salting a little so they sweat and get soft. Next add the sausage and cook till browned. Add garlic, pesto and other seasonings at this point.

* Note: Here's the beauty of Joe's Special. Tonight, I added 3 leftover Marzano tomatoes I had lurking around the fridge. Think about leftover potatoes, fresh mushrooms. . . you get the drift. Just cooked them thoroughly so they absorb the meat/onion mojo.

Now add spinach and cook thoroughly so it also absorbs the meat/onion/seasoning wonderfulness.

Once spinach is cooked, add eggs and scramble dry. Don't go all soft-scrambled crazy on this recipe. Trust me, it's better dry scrambled.

And finally. Finally. Add the parmesan, toss well till everything is blended. Taste and season with salt and/or pepper (it will probably need more pepper, than salt)

Dodging snowflakes

We're on the road, Bermtopian ex-pats if you will, enjoying the sights and sounds of Seattle with family and friends this Thanksgiving week.

As noted in previous posts, it's a relatively easy trip. Straight shot down Interstate 90. Except this time of year with there's the small matter of the Cascade Range and snow.

With the intensity of a NASA metereologist plotting out a space shuttle launch, the Wonderfully Patient Spouse has been analyzing weather patterns for the last two weeks. Basically inconclusive weather patterns I should add. It could snow -- or maybe not. So when Saturday rolled around under pale, cold sun-lit skies, we did what any self-respecting Thanksgiving pilgrims would do: We said Screw It, hopped in the car and headed west.

Ben didn't know what to do when he found out he was not part of trip. (Personally, I think he was a little relieved. Especially when we gave him carte blanche to the living room sofa.)

It was clear and dry till we reached the Columbia River. (I'm sorry. I couldn't resist the rattlesnake sign. It just kind of cracks me up. It's an Eastern Washington thing.)

An indecisive mix of snow and rain then followed us to Ellensburg and along the "road less traveled" -- the beautiful-pretty-much-any-time-of-year Yakima River canyon -- to Cle Elum where we re-connected with I-90. (The WPS gets a serious assist on these photos.)

That's when the white stuff finally left us, and we began our ascent up into the dreaded Snoqualamie Pass. Where we found blue sky and this:

It was all down hill (so to speak) from there.

So here I sit in the parlor of the Shafer Baillie Mansion B & B, cuppa Italian roast at my side, fire going in the fireplace -- already happily satiated with Indian food, Picasso, New York-style pizza and pulpos (that would be octopus) tapas.

And it's snowing. So much for dodging snowflakes.

Waiting for snow

The National Weather Service assures us we'll be getting 1-3 inches of snow later today and maybe another inch or 2 tomorrow. But, suprisingly, I'm approaching this snowfall vigil with uncharacteristic equanimity, especially given my basic aversion to anything white, wet and cold with an annoying tendency to accumulate.

I think it's because, overall, the weather has actually been quite nice. It's amazing what a little blue sky and sun will do for a gal.

Christmas week was drop-dead gorgeous (if not a little chilly) -- and, looking back, the 3 or so inches of snow that fell around the middle of the month was quickly disposed of, thanks to several days of rain. Then, there was that week with sun and temperatures in the high 40s, low 50s. I can live with this.

My mom, who was here visiting over Christmas, also had a good point: Any snow that falls now might "only" be on the ground for a couple of months as opposed to 3 or 4 months when it falls in November-December. Thanks, mom. I feel better now.

Ulimately, I find the greatest consolation in the extended forecast -- temperatures in the mid- to high 30s and rain by the weekend. Works for me.

I've got plenty of indoor recreation planned in the meantime: A stack of new Christmas books. . . a house-cleaning blow-out after 10 days of guests. . . replenishing our homemade bread inventory. . . and, TAH DAH, making fresh pasta. Yes, Santa brought us a pasta machine. Nice. More on that later.

So, let it snow. And let it rain. Works for me.