Blog Life Meets Real Life

One of the neatest things about publishing a weblog is getting to know people whose blogs you read and who read yours. Generally that acquaintance is sustained in cyberspace and that can be good in its way. But sometimes you get the chance to meet face to face, and that's best of all.

That happened for me this evening, when I was visited by Elaine and Dylan of Bless This DIY Mess and The Old House Web. They're fellow Pittsburgh area housebloggers (actually, they're Pittsburgh housebloggers; I'm the one who lives into the "area"), but we'd never met till now. This was one of those occasions when good things come out of not-so-good events like major surgery, for when Elaine found out I was going to be activity-restricted post-op, she promised to bring me her killer Mediterranean tuna noodle casserole. And tonight was the night!

I admit that she and Dylan might have gotten back to Pittsburgh earlier were my recovery not going so well . . . I had the energy, and a totally opportunistic lack of shame, to give them the ten-dollar tour of my own DIY mess. But it was irresistible to talk to a couple who know just what you're dealing with in renovating your house. Woodwork stripping techniques, the struggle to get the right color of stain when refinishing, second thoughts and redos of paint colors, dealing with uneven walls and floors, and all the other joys of working on an older house.

And really, guys, now that you've seen the Sow's Ear, I want to return the favour. Whenever it suits us all I'll make the drive down and feast my eyes on that gorgeous stripped and soon-to-be-reshellacked staircase of yours, the exciting glowing tin ceiling above it, and all the rest of your hard work.

Tonight, though, it was fun to have my transplanted black and white soapstone Victorian mantelpiece admired (as if I were the one who'd put it in, oh yeah!) and delightful to have my little town of Beaver appreciated. True, the neighborhood showed to special advantage this evening, with the neighborhood kids making a playground of half the lawns on the block as they ran around in the brilliant warm weather.

Elaine's cooking showed to advantage, too, when I dug into the reheated casserole after she and Dylan took off home. Tuna and noodles and red sweet peppers and antichokes, yum! My dog enjoyed it, too . . . the outer corner of it, as we were outside saying goodbye-- oops! And it was hard to keep the cats out of my plate: they know good as well.

So thanks, yinz guys. I had two big helpings with a bottle of Hornsby's hard cider. And in appreciation of your appreciation of my town and neighborhood, I took the rest of the bottle over and joined the next-door neighbors at the neighbors' on the corner. Sitting on their porch talking, we hung out and watched the kids play, till the full moon had risen high over the bluffs of the Ohio, the light of day was gone, and it was time to go in.

And to happily contemplate future meals of tuna casserole and how I hope my place will look next time fellow housebloggers come by.

Food Out of the Dirt

My poor garden's definitely been neglected this past summer. I think I applied Miracle-Gro maybe once.

Still, the veggies are coming on in spite of me, and this year as in all gardening years I am continually amazed that I can go get food right out of the backyard.

What astonishes me most of all is potatoes. There they are, food in the dirt! Reach in, scrabble around a bit, and there it is-- dinner! Some say they're not worth planting. That you can get them cheaper at the store. But these came from some Aldi's potatoes that sprouted, and I've already got more than I planted, despite my neglect. And these buried gems are firm and fresh and hard and smooth, not slightly soft and contorted and covered with eyes.

Tonight's potato morphed into french fries. Or should I say, nice, fluffy-on-the-inside, crisp on the outside, English-style, Delia-Smith-recipe chips. With a shrimp stir-fry featuring mushrooms, eggplant, and yellow peppers, the last two also from my backyard larder.

I'd better enjoy it while I may. The dreaded f-word (no, not that one!) was mentioned on the weather report yesterday and while the Brussels sprouts might enjoy a spot of nippiness, the peppers, cucumbers, eggplant, tomatoes, and potatoes will not.

(Good grief, it's only the end of September; lighten up with the cold weather, all right already!)

Sweetness and Light

This weekend was the annual Beaver County Maple Syrup Festival at Brady's Run Park. This afternoon I went up and joined in the happy throng.

This is my fourth or fifth Maple Syrup Festival since I moved to southeastern Pennsylvania, and the first I can remember that wasn't cold, wet, and sloppy with mud. Miracle of miracles, the sun came out yesterday and stayed out!

And so from miles around the people came, and came, and came, buzzing in like eager wasps round a jam jar for crafts, concerts, demonstrations, an all-you-could-eat pancake feast, and gallons of maple syrup produced right there in the park. The weather was fine, the atmosphere was festive, and I believe the County must have raised a handsome amount towards park upkeep and programs.

I did my bit, going home with a jug of syrup for me and one for my sister and brother-in-law in Kansas City. And of course, a bellyful of pancakes!

Here are some views of the day:

The line for the pancakes. It was even longer than it looks!

A craft booth

A blacksmith's display. Alas, the dual-hook hanger was way out of my budget.

Patience! The goal is in sight!

Yes, Virginia, it really is all the pancakes and real maple syrup you can eat!

Into the pancake lodge at last! It only took an hour and a half. The line was still coming in when I left-- nearly a half hour after they'd planned to stop serving.

I had-- well, never mind how many pancakes I ate. Hey, it was my first, last, and only meal for the day!

Volunteer pancake chefs

Grinding locally-grown buckwheat in the park gristmill. I bought some to take home.

In the sugar shack, enlightenment on the nature of maple sap, its collection, and its transformation into maple syrup

Collection tanks and the flow line to the sugar shack

Civil War reenactors break camp

I walked around the park awhile after the Festival was officially over. Letting things settle a bit, you see . . .