42nd National Old-Time Music Festival and Pioneer Expo
August 28 – September 3, 2017
Plymouth County Fairgrounds—LeMars, IA 51520
Funny, how a small Bavarian village (where I spent most of the summer) can harbor all kinds of memories. But country music? When the Ascholding riding club let out a few country western tunes, it sent me down memory lane. Those tunes sounded much like the skiffle group that I taped two years ago at Bob Everhart’s Festival at Le Mars, Iowa (above), or back then at guesthouse Lacherdinger.
Country music was nothing new in Ascholding. More than 30 years ago, old-time country music ambassador Bob Everhart came to perform in my quaint German hometown. Maybe those stones got rolling there?
During his European trips, Bob and I and another few put several country music acts on stage in Germany. I will never forget when the Black Bottom Skiffle group heated up the fully stuffed “Saal” and eventually made off with all the door money, or when Jeff Doty ran up the phone bill mile high at my friend’s house. Kathl, by now almost 90 years old, still remembers the story. Jeff had the love-sick blues. Duh, that explains the phone bill. Luckily, there were more stints to come in Wolfratshausen and Munich.
Bob Everhart has been promoting traditional country music all his life. He has recorded classics for a select album for the Smithsonian Institute (Folkways Records), runs the Old Time Country Music Hall of Fame, “live-streams” the traditional tunes (Wabash Cannon Ball etc.) at countless appearances and hosts every Labor Day the Old Time Country Music Festival in Le Mars, Iowa.
Bob Everhart is a country boy to the bone, as he reveals in his autobiography, “What I Saw”. Bob came from a day laborer family, which was terrorized by an alcoholic, violent dad and held together by a saintly mom. The singer had his first “radio appearances” in the Navy as a radioman. Maybe he also caught the travel bug there because the Navy took them as far as Japan.
Soon after his college studies, music fever led Bob Everhart into the hard-knock music business. Big record labels called the shots, and good bands got their songs stolen. In his early beginnings in the hard-hitting music industry, newspaper reporter Bob met the Rolling Stones when they toured America early in their career before the Battle of the Bands in Omaha, Nebraska.
I visited Bob’s Traditional Country Music Festival in 2015 and was amazed that his flagship event was still going. My friend Maria (also from Ascholding) faithfully played the zither there at several workshops as 30 years before. Bob apparently had not changed much; but he was close to 80 years old now (did I miscount?). How did he keep up this energy? Music keeps him young.
Eventually, I stopped at the festival information booth. Boy, some of these photos seemed familiar. When I was a student at the University of Texas, I attended Bob’s Old-Time Country Music Festival several times. And took pictures. Yep, some of my snapshots stuck out of the photo display. Bob had kept them all these years! Even Bob’s Folkways album cover seemed awesomely familiar. I remembered that performance in the 80ies. I came to Iowa from the University of Texas. Could I have taken the picture for the album cover and didn’t know it?
Bob Everhart has a fabulously strong voice, Nashville-good. But he didn’t want to go that route, selling out to the music industry. He decided instead to serve the Midwestern people’s old-time music and friendships. It’s no easy feat to pull off such a large festival each year. Seems the audience has gotten a little older. But many young musicians join the lineup just as well as the old faithful make the pilgrimage to present faithful crowd pleasers.
If you like traditional people’s music and want to spend a couple of casual days with friendly people, the Traditional Old-Time Country Music Festival is just the right place for you.
Arnold Annen ist ein Keramik-Poet. Hier (oben) eines seiner Designs, das er der Natur (Mikroben) abgeschaut hat. Wir haben ihn und seine Partnerin Violette Fassbaender–unsere Freunde–kürzlich besucht. Beide Künstler sind einzigartige Keramik-Pioniere, Arnold mit seinen zerbrechlichen Schalen, Violette mit ihren marmorierten “Steinen”.
Our friend Arnold Annen from Basel, Switzerland, creates poetry in porcelain. His large bowls and luminescent sculptures are paper thin. His partner Violette Fassbaender, herself an accomplished ceramicist, helps Arnold push the edge of a fragile art.
We recently stayed at Arnold and Violette’s house amidst scores of highly exclusive, one-of-a-kind artifacts. All pieces of their collections were mindfully arranged to evoke a symphony of inspiration.
In 2014 Arnold, who has gained much recognition in Europe and Japan, won a prestigious award at an international ceramics show in Chicago, Best of Show at SOFA.
Who would have guessed this world fame when Arnold was born in the small town of Gsteig (Gstaad, Switzerland) in a small farm village. Arnolds relentless passion for the ceramics process drove him to perfection. Among of our most priced household possessions is a pair of paper thin porcelain cups that Arnold gifted us.
Violette’s concept in ceramics is drastically different. She creates organic patterns from different colors of clay at different stages of moisture to build them into objects resembling rocks from nature. Organic patterns as in nature.
The detail in Violette’s hollow “rocks” tells stories of ancient magma–or an observant walk through the Swiss Alps. Eye-catching blocks of “Urgestein” shape-shift in the sheen of daylight versus dusk. She also has perfected her technique since she began her organic quest in Japan. Her deceptively casual patterns require a high level of skill, simplicity, and abstraction. The soul search. Or the simple admission that there are no accidents in life.
We spent some wonderful hours with these two remarkable artists who we are glad to call friends. Their hospitality is heart-warming as well. We enjoyed some very tasty, home-cooked meals at their house. Memories.
There is much more to know about Arnold and Violette’s art. Further reading:
My friend Earley is a Jack of many trades. Yes, Jack Earley is his name. Much to say about him (Jack on right; middle, Kate Earley; left, me)
Jack has been creative all his life, one way or another. He is a painter, book dealer, philosopher, and writer. His wife Kate keeps Jack’s back free for artistic exploration. We have been friends with the Earleys since our Loveland (Cincinnati, Ohio) days. Jack’s paintings hang on our walls in Arizona. They make us feel like we are still neighbors.
Jack’s “earliest” passion was writing. “I have been writing since I was 18,” Jack said. He got interested in literature around the time when he started college. “Everybody was talking about the weird guy next door, so I went over to meet him.” That guy got Jack to read all the great novels, about 20 of them—Moby Dick, War and Peace, Brothers Karamazov, The Red and the Black, and so forth. He has been writing every since.
Only in the last 2 years Jack has produced finished products.
Like many circumspective writers, he catches a good story when it comes around. “One morning, I was doing tai chi, and I heard a news article”, Jack recalled. “There the novel just came to me and I started writing it. It was like I was a secretary transcribing what automatically appeared in my brain.”
Jack’s novel is called “Through the Ice”. A man drives his car through the ice on a lake. In shock and far away from any help, he has to walk back to town with a coyote. Imagine that!
After this revelation, many short stories started popping into Jack’s mind. He collected 103 twitter-like vignettes together in a volume called “Saturday Nights”. They are all related to Saturday family events, poker nights, and memorable pranks. Recently, Jack has started another series called “Every Day of the Week.” He has more than a dozen together but wants to come up with over 100 to match the “Saturday Nights” stories. He records the readings of his stories for YouTube, where people can subscribe for free.
Each of Jack’s short stories contains a little snap, a little epiphany. “We all go about doing things that we think are right. Suddenly, out pops a piece of knowledge, an unexpected awareness. According to James Joyce, such an epiphany normally means that God revealed himself in the streets.”
Jack camouflages these real life events by fictionalizing the characters, but all experiences are his own. In “Steak Every Night” he cast himself as the young dude getting annoyed with a loud-mouthed Polish coworker. There is a true learning moment there. If you pay attention, in each of Jack’s stories a little light bulb goes off.
All right, easy enough. But, then, ask Jack about science. Scientific discoveries may not come on accident. “In science, people are working their tails off in one direction,” Jack said, “until a little epiphany takes them into a completely different direction—because more stuff is coming at them than they are aware of.” His conclusion: Science is the art or attempt of predicting the future.
Now we are getting philosophical. Let’s take it one more step further.
According to Jack, neither painting nor story are linear, they only appear so. All of the time is right now, regardless in which order the paint was laid down or the characters enter the scene. The future is only the place where the energy is heading.
Get it? Along the way of our unsuspecting lives we are collecting more knowledge than expected. So that is called a learning experience.
Based on his definition of the common man’s epiphany, Jack is bothered by a movie called “Arrival.” In it some aliens gift humanity with a “una-language” for perfect communication and a glimpse at the future.
“However, if you can see the future, it means it is already here,” Jack said. “And if it’s already here, it means everything already happened. And if everything already happened, what’s the point? What’s there to learn? Why aren’t we just catatonic? Why do anything?”
Good question.
Quick, Jack, just write another story, paint another picture.
It’s Lent. Now what? The choices for Lenten penance are as many as there are sins. Except for beer. I can’t give up Märzen and Doppelbock as a good Catholic, especially since St. Patrick is such an important saint also for us Bavarians. (At least it seems the Irish are related to the BaI-risch.)
So I gave up Facebook. Nothing is easier than dropping something of little use? I don’t do Facebook much. So I barely felt a sting by giving it up for Lent. Done deal.
If I can do it, so can you, Catholic or not. Abstinence from Facebook is a good exercise for self-control and curbing your needless curiosity. You might learn to master your budding (or raging) addiction. Who needs to know everything about everybody all the time?
No Facebook? Just grab your phone and call your friends. Drop them a postcard. Stop by on your way home from work. Watch a movie, get creative. But don’t get sucked in.
Soon you will realize that a Facebook fast makes you free. Free from the burden of needless worry. Free from anxiety about so many scary health problems distant relatives of your friends are struggling with. Free from being hacked into, or being mobbed by obtrusive advertising, or from being overwhelmed by the constant flow of forgettable news and movie clips.
A Facebook fast will make you healthier. You will get more exercise, protect your gall bladder from envy about lavish vacation trips to Waikiki or the French Alps, and make your bond stronger with your pets (or children; what about the old board/bored games?).
Wouldn’t it be nice, if we could have a day, just a day, of “All quiet on the cyber front”?
Even if we all do the Facebook fast together today, yesterday’s news will still be there tomorrow. (Don’t fall back on Twitter or Instagram or Linked In.)
Yeah, watch out! Facebook is the largest marketing machine on the planet. It’s an ultra, super, mega, giga, tera data warehouse. Think again . . . you did? . . . thank you!
Yeah, one aspect you should give up forever: don’t vent your medical complaints to the Facebook phishing engines. People, wake up, medical information is confidential! Only the doctor may know! Why would you trust the Internet with your ailments?
At best you might be bombarded with drug ads, at worst receive a tombstone in the mail. Or you might be declared dysfunctional, insane, or delusional. Or unemployable. Beware. Your host or hacker or back-upper is always listening, not only your friends.
Like many, I have a love-hate relationship with Facebook, but I can easily do without it for a while.
Fazit: Live better, give up Facebook! Like you would scorn junk food. A Facebook fast can be educational and cleansing.
Dear Mark Zuckerberg, you should try it too. Can you do without Facebook for a day?
Bohemian Strawberry Torte (recipe by Edda Buchner) is a delicious and not too sweet treat. The egg white topping would normally have been higher, but I had only three eggs left (12 inch form).
Strawberries are available all the time. The season stretches from Chile to Vancouver and covers the whole year. They have become a staple at the store. This season, traditionally May through July, has no end.
To tell you the truth, the self-picked ones are the best. I used to scavenge for strawberries at the farm fields near my mother’s house in Germany. This summer, we indulged in farm fresh berries from the fields around Ottawa. A heavenly taste!
Strangely enough, our Indian family didn’t share the same passion for strawberries. Why? When they were living in New Delhi, the strawberries were imported from Kashmir. There they were picked “green,” so to say. How sour and expensive they were!
But imagine what these Indians have been missing! (like I have missed all the mango and lychee stuff, duh) I skipped through the forest as a child, picking the fragrant pearls of wild candy berries. Sometimes enough to make a torte with them
Nothing beats ripe strawberries and fresh whipped dream. Strawberry shortcake is simply delicious. What else can you do with strawberries? Mush them up in a smoothie, put them on cereal, stir them into yogurt, cut some into your salad—if you have too many, cook marmalade or syrup.
Here is a recipe, Bohemian Strawberry Torte. My friend Edda Buchner brought my attention to. I baked this many years ago and rediscovered it. It is really quick and easy. You can whip this cake out in 30 minutes before company is coming.
Shortbread Base:
2 egg yolks
6 oz. flour (whole wheat or white)
2 oz. cornstarch
1 stick (4 oz.) unsalted butter
2 Tbs. sugar
1 Tbs. vanilla essence (or rum flavor)
Topping/Filling:
4 egg whites, beat
1 Tbs. sugar
1 Tbs. vanilla sugar
16 oz. strawberries
Separate the egg white from the yolk; don’t let the least bit of yolk get into the whites, else the snow won’t stiffen up. (yeah, two egg yolks will be left over)
Put all the dry ingredients for the crust in a large bowl, make an indentation in the middle, drop the egg yolks in there and stir them lightly in there. Add small butter pieces and knead this into a smooth shortbread ball. (Refrigerate for 30 minutes, if too sticky.)
Roll or press the dough into a 9- (or 12-) inch spring form or pie shell. Build a little “retainer wall” (ring) around the pie. Pierce the shell with a fork (to avoid bulging). Bake shell at 180 F approximately for 20 minutes or until golden brown.
Whisk the egg whites, with sugar and vanilla sugar, insanely stiff. So stiff that you could easily cut it in cubes.
Fill the egg white into the toasty shell, drop the cleaned strawberries into the white “linens,” and bake this at 450 F for a couple of minutes until the peaks of egg white turn a golden color.
“If nothing else, there is always a Jim Horton’s in Canada,” a friend of mine joked. True, we saw one on every corner. But there was so much else. And my expectations of bakeries and sceneries were not disappointed. Our Canada trip was a worthwhile journey of nature immersion and city scouting. The landscape was gorgeous.
Canada is the country of lakes and forests. Hills and dales glowed with undulating wheat fields and pick-it-yourself strawberry farms. The farm scenery reminded me much of Germany. Trees, trees everywhere. Compared to our subdued desert vegetation, they were huge. Between Toronto, Ottawa, and Montreal, we cruised along countless waterways and swampy gulches, and very scenic lakes. Everybody seemed to be fishing in Canada. Our family reunion on Rice Lake at Serenity Estate (a gorgeous cottage on the lake with canoes, paddle boats, and a pier) turned out marvelous. We had ourselves an Indian-German-Canadian party; almost all the cousins and half the uncles had gathered.
The “cottage” (6 bedrooms) had a game room with billiards table, a full-size bar, and a poker table. By the boat landing was a fireplace all prepared. At sunset—what an amazing glow—squadrons of black flies would attack. Close the screen door, quick! On the road again, the four of us stopped over at the Hastings House Bed & Breakfast. What a gem of a cottage! We felt like living in a cute jewelry box that left no detail to accident. Housekeeper Elise cooked a luxurious breakfast with ham, egg, and homemade jellies for us. We should have stayed another night.
Next day we reached Ottawa from the Nepean side on the eve of the NAFTA summit. Our sightseeing was busted for the next two days because President Obama was to meet the other two “amigos” (pres Trudeau and pres Peña from Mexico).
So we did a walking tour along the Rideau Canal, the locks, the Parliament area, and ended up at the Byward market. We luckily got in a visit with the “We are persons” (women’s rights) sculpture set. The museums in the heart of town were barricaded against tourists because of the impending state visit. But the Moulin de Provence Bakery made up twice for the disappointment. Their cream tarts and chocolate mousse domes were exquisite. The patisserie had a showcase with Obama cookies—maple leaf gingerbread—but his picture wasn’t on them. So we didn’t buy any. Oh, well.
We whiled away the next day with the cows and ground hogs at the Experimental Farm in Ottawa, and finally, after departure of the foreign dignitaries, we saw the amazing National Gallery of Art. Of course we didn’t get done with it. The Canadian naturalist paintings of the Group of Seven reminded me of Georgia O’Keeffe; the Inuit exhibit was awe-inspiring. So much creativity from almost nothing! But it was time to head over to Montreal.
Our dear friend Evelyn gave us a blitz tour of Mount Royal, old town, the harbor, and the museum district. The food at the Andelfinger home was outstanding; crepes with blueberries for breakfast, naturally grown beef for dinner. And the croissants! We had the greatest time at the Montreal Jazz Festival, fireworks included. Next day, we browsed through the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts on the Golden Square Mile. We passed up the Ritz Carlton because we already had the best lodging in town.
Back in Toronto we tried the Fringe Festival of independent theater productions, some experimental. Blind to Happiness was according to the reviews an audience favorite; we liked the one-man, three-character act with an imaginary cat and other pendants. Number two was a set of two burlesque, one weird mime act set in WWI and a Commedia dell’ Arte–style piece, produced by a whacko clown troupe; it was a raunchy, bawdy performance, to say the least, but still quite comical. We left the theater and didn’t know what had hit us. Oh, well. Never stop learning.
We finished off our Canadian tour with a trip to the Central Island in Lake Ontario via Tiki Water Taxi from Toronto.
Why are there never any big headlines about Canada? We observed an amazingly colorful mix of people. Canada is huge, but 20 percent of its population huddles along the great lakes, with Toronto the largest city. We came to the conclusion it’s a good thing that Canada is staying out of the headlines and therefore out of controversy and mass shootings. They have a really dashing prime minister, Trudeau, whose father also held that top office. He makes for such a handsome picture. That’s why they put him on the cookies too.
Andreas Kauer giving a tour of his woodworking shop to my friend Maria.
Sound soothes, sound heals—sounds good to me. Music always chases away my bad thoughts. It gets me into the swing of writing. Mellow music, especially guitars, brings out the best of my ideas.
We all know about Tibetan singing bowls, right? My daughter bought one in Sedona. But sound chairs and sound beds were new to me. I had never done any music therapy. What is it all about, I asked Andreas the Eibenklangzauberer from my home town Ascholding. He calls himself the “Yew Sound Wizard” for deep reasons. “Just try it,” he said.
Relaxing Sounds
I sat for 20 minutes on the sound chair made from curly maple. I let the continuous harmonics that Andreas played on the strings of the backrest wash all over me. It was so relaxing, sitting down, letting go—beautiful, easy, flying like a baby to be born.
I am not a candidate for yoga or meditation, too high strung. Yet these harmonics induced their magic on me. I eloped from my daily confines and my inner dictator. Yeah, now I am in love with these musical chairs for healing.
“On its back the sound chair has 32 steel strings but only two different notes”, Andreas explained. He built one of his two sound chairs himself. His favorite therapy instrument is made of yew wood.
Rare Woods: Yew
“The yew wood is the most important wood for me”, Andreas said. “It is among the oldest trees and has the calmest radiance.” As this rare wood is strictly prohibited from commercial use in Germany, he had the rawlings brought over from Ireland.
“I have furnished my therapy room entirely with sculptures and therapeutic instruments made from yew wood”, Andreas said. The yew artifacts create an inspirational atmosphere. Mind you, every part of the tree except for the berries is highly poisonous. But the energy is very positive.
And the poison is good in just the right dosage. Extracts from the yew’s needles—the tree resembles a scraggly stunted spruce—contain the chemical taxol. Known for its healing properties since ancient times, the yew is now being formally investigated as a cancer cure. Yew trees are rare and grow very slowly. They had become almost extinct in Europe in the Middle Ages because they were the best material for longbows.
Bottomed Out
“When I had reached the bottoms, living out of my car like a migrant, the yew trees talked to me,” the healer said. Several years ago, the formerly successful businessman had crashed from overwork and burnout. During his recovery he studied up on the energies of different woods. The yew tree spoke to him, like it did to the ancient druids. He sensed the energy transpiring from an eternal source.
Andreas’ clients have had amazing experiences on the sound chair. One man with a pinched nerve tossed away his cane after the session. Not every transformation is this drastic, but everybody feels better after the sound massage.
“It is my dream to build a sound bed from yew wood for cancer patients,” Andreas said with his calm and soothing voice. “I strongly believe the spirit of the yew can attune the cellular level. There is another hope for cancer patients.”
When Andreas makes his wood sculptures, he removes the decayed matter and sets the innate beauty free. He sands the wood ultra-fine and polishes the orbs and other pieces scrupulously with natural oils. He wants the therapy tools to be comforting to the touch. And here are some of Andreas’ fabulous sculptures:
Congratulations, Edda, now it’s out! Texas Kaktuswein, a collection of Texas ranch stories was released on Amazon this April. Kaktuswein provides an enjoyable glimpse into the Buchners’ first-hand-living experience. Much of their Bat Cave Ranch experience follows the German pioneer tracks.
Texas Kaktuswein—written in the German language—was five years in the making and covers 30 years of ranch life. When the Buchner “greenhorns” (Edda, Helmut, daughter Virginia) arrived in Texas, they started supplemental farming. Through learning by doing, Edda soon collected story material: circus acts with chickens, adventures in the vegetable garden, meeting the snakes, raccoons, and vultures.
The Buchners sought the simple life away from consumer society. They built up the “rock pile” (a half-built stone house with no electricity, no running water, but a windmill & water tank) with their own hands’ labor. Along the way, they taught themselves with library books, advice from the hardware store, or the proven experience from their farming neighbors.
Bat Cave Ranch was always a little paradise for me. There I could recover from college deadline pressures. The Buchners have left the pasture under the majestic live oak trees grow naturally. “The animals were here before us, so we can get along”, Edda likes to say. Get along for the most part. Snakes, or ringtails, or pesky squirrels are evacuated to the wild when the chicken when they are causing too much damage.
One fine day, about five years ago, as I was lying in a hammock and Edda was feeding me mustang grapes, we made a plan. These stories must be published! We eagerly sorted, remixed, and laid out the course. I was still sorting after I got home. My whole living room was plastered with chicken, snake, vulture, and even grasshopper stories.
Five years, why so long? I learned the Word formatting and Create Space magic soon enough. But then came the changes, rearrangements, and turnarounds. All right. Too many tough choices. What pictures are the best? There was no end to it. Now I know much easier ways right from the start.
But the result was all worth it. And come to think of it, I never got tired of the stories. Nothing was made up. In my mind, I often strolled across the deer pastures under the mighty oaks.
And I laughed out loud: Who else grabs a big snake by the tame end and hurls it around until they are both dizzy? Or who sticks a half-drowned baby opossum under her sweater to warm it back to life, skin-on-skin? Or who catches fruit flies for an injured humming bird or road kill for a vulture? Answer to all three: my friend Edda. She is very compassionate.
All in the Buchner family are nature-oriented and grandsons Tristan and Markus fully enjoy their childhood in the country. They don’t know how lucky they are.
Finally, the Buchners really do make cactus wine from prickly pear fruits, as the title Texas Kaktuswein says. If you want to find out how, buy the book and brew your own.
Robert Earl Keen, Merry Christmas from the families
Everybody is doing it: the season for baking. I don’t like to cut corners, but I also want to be fast. And I am saying it like it is: cookies are bad for you. Don’t give me no Crisco either. So let’s make the best of a “bad” thing. The results will be delicious.
Let’s make two batches of cookies in one go: Santa’s Thumbprints and Macaroons. They originated from traditional German recipes, but I had to Americanize them by necessity. Split your eggs: the yolks into the butter cookies, the egg whites into the macaroons.
INGREDIENTS (best guesses; use your own judgment):
THUMBRPINTS
MACAROONS
3 egg yolks, 1 egg white
2 egg whites
250 g (1 3/4 cups) white flour
1 tsp baking powder
ca. 1 1/2 cups hazelnut flour (or pecan, walnut, almond)
100 g (3/4 cups) sugar
100 g (3/4 cups sugar)
1 packet (1 Tbsp) vanilla sugar & 1 pinch salt
zest of 1/2 lemon (lime)
150 g (1 1/3 stick) butter
ca. 30 whole nuts for decorating
red jelly (marmalade) for filling & sprinkle sugar
Dr. Oetger baking wafers (optional)
PREPARATION:
For the Thumbprints (350F):
Put the dry ingredients (flour, baking powder, sugar, vanilla sugar, salt) in a large mixing bowl; make an indentation (dale) for the eggs in the middle.
Separate the eggs: all 3 yolks go into your dale; 1 egg white in a small dessert bowl (fridge); 2 egg whites into a mixing bowl (fridge).
Cut up the butter (room temperature) in small slices/flakes and drop them around the margin of your egg yolk pond. Mix up the egg yolks with a fork; once semi-blended, knead the (short bread) dough together consistently and smoothly. Wrap that “butterball” in aluminum foil and set in fridge for ca. 1 hour.
For the Macaroons (200F):
Whip up the egg whites with sugar into a stiff mass, add lemon zest, and gently fold in the nuts meal. Use judgment about the stiffness; the mass should not flow but hold together as little “piles.”
With two teaspoons, set little piles of dough on a baking sheet (nonstick alu foil!), decorate each with a nut.
Bake the cookies at low heat (200F) for ca. 20 minutes. Tip slightly on their peaks to see if they are firm to touch. If needed give them another 5 or so minutes.
Back to the Thumbprints:
On a baking surface (board), cut the butterball into four equal sections; roll these out with both hands into 1-inch thick “sausages”; cut these sausages into 1-inch pieces.
Roll the pieces of dough into balls and set them aside on your work surface.
Dip each little ball in egg white, then in sprinkles, set them on the baking sheet.
With a cooking spoon, make small indentations on every ball, fill (with a dessert or baby spoon) the jelly into the holes. Done!
Bake the cookies at 350F for ca. 25 minutes. Watch them. They might be done when their fringes turn golden brown.
Santa will bring you two bags of gifts for these, no matter how naughty you have been!
Here is another one from my “Don’t Sweat the Cooking” series. Let’s call this chicken-rice skillet my “small paella.” Far from cooking up mollusks, snails and rabbit thighs in clam juice with expensive saffron, I found my own home-cooked recipe. It is made with ingredients that I mostly keep in the freezer or pantry. My mini-paella is quick to prepare and tastes great. Try it out sometime. Cooking time: ca. 45 minutes.
Main Ingredients:
4–6 chicken thighs (legs), skin on
1 Tbs olive oil
1 cup rice
2 cups water
Spices for rub: as you like it.
Use salt, pepper, oregano, garlic, basil, rosemary for a Mediterranean flavor.
OR: chile, a dash of coriander, with garlic, salt and pepper, and cilantro.
OR: barbecue or other spice mix of your choice
Other Ingredients:
1 medium sized onion
(1 jalapeño, finely diced)
1 cup small frozen vegetables
1/2 cup raisins (optional)
1/2 cup cashews or almonds (optional)
For oriental flavor:
1 inch ginger, finely cut 1 clove of garlic
1 Tbs sesame oil
3 Tbs soy sauce
8 stalks cilantro
PROCEDURE:
Heat the oil in a 12-inch skillet/pan on low-medium heat. Rub the chicken pieces with your favorite spices. Brown the chicken on both sides (ca. 5-7 minutes each side) to a nice color.
In the meantime, dice the onion (jalapeño, bell pepper) into small cubes.
Remove the chicken from the pan and set it aside on a plate.
Add the onions and peppers to the pan and cook until glazed, ca. 5 minutes. (Add the nuts at this stage. OR add the diced ginger for the Oriental twist)
(Deglaze the onion/peppers with a shot of tequila, brandy, or wine, if you like.)
Add the washed rice to the pan; roast and stir for 5 minutes.
Add 2 cups of water, frozen vegetables, (raisins/craisins, cilantro) and let this “soup” come to a boil.
Put the chicken pieces back into the pan, cover the pan with a lid, and let this simmer on low heat for 20 minutes.
DONE!
Serve the chicken-rice skillet with a nice side salad and garlic toast. Bon apetit!
Meet an authentic singing farmer: Ervin Pickhinke from Sioux City, Iowa. I stumbled upon one of his performances at Bob Everhart’s festival, but, too slow, buffalo, I had missed my shot. That’s why Ervin repeated his John Deere ‘wheelings’ especially for me, because by then he had also run out of CDs. This song was truly funny, it had taken me by surprise. I was delighted.
Ervin Pickhinke and his daughter Sara Sennert have country music in the blood. “Living Country” is the title of their heart-warming joint album. Ervin retired from farming after working his property for 41 years. His young neighbor bought the farm and proudly continues the tradition. Ervin’s business card says, “A Farmer’s Trade Is One of Worth.” Ervin is of German roots, and there are still Pickhinkes living in Germany, as Sara found out. Apparently, Ervin’s grandfather set sail for America and didn’t tell his parents, where he was going. They later found out the truth from a cousin.
Below you can see a John Deere at work, plus a classic Hanomag.
Meet Maria Petersen, from Omaha, Nebraska. She was raised in the same Bavarian village as I and got me into country music. Here Maria is performing Amazing Grace with friend Jeff Osthus minding the saw. The zither has a keyboard of strings for melody and accompanying chords. Maria has performed often at the German American Club in Omaha, for many social groups, and at Bob Everhart’s annual country music festival. She plays Bavarian folk songs, country music, classical pieces and children’s songs. Maria founded a zither society and arranged a national convention of zither players in Omaha in 1999. She has released four CDs with her own recordings.
“My father was a carpenter, wheelwright, and passionate musician. So he decided to have a little house music with us children, my brother and I. Anderl, would soon give up on the zither. So father taught him the guitar. The zither also cut hard into my small fingers. But I practiced for hours at a time, because I wanted play it like my dad did. Well, my mother was very happy with me practicing too. She let me get off the chores when I was making music. She praised me consistently, even though all that practice might not have sounded so good. Here I am, still playing after all these years.” Amazing Grace on the zither!
Will the circle be unbroken? Yeah, I don’t think it ever was broken. Rather I came all the way around at Bob Everhart’s 40th country music festival. I went to LeMars. Where, Mars? No, Le Mars! That is a small town in Iowa. After a long time I went Country again (once a cowgirl, always a cowgirl), listening to famous tunes four days straight.
Bob calls his brand of event a “mouthful.” To be precise, we are talking about the “National Old Time, Country, Bluegrass, and Folk Music Festival and Pioneer Exposition of Arts, Crafts, Flea Market, And Agricultural Lifestyle & Rural Living Convention.” I am calling it Bob and Sheila’s (his wife) country music festival.
Now I don’t know if time was standing still, I skipped a few decades, or I was fast-forwarding to the Plymouth County Fairgrounds from my yesteryear Texas college days—I still recognized some faces of the old-time music hardliners. I’ll be darn, the music festival, as I had known it from Avoca (Iowa), although smaller, was still going strong.
Granted, a number of musicians had passed on. Yet, just like I vividly remembered, there was this array of RV campers and a village of show barns filled with musical entertainment. For seven days during Labor Day week, on ten stages, all day long, traditional country music would play itself out. You could get an endless earful of acoustic folk music, “exotic” instruments such as dulcimer, autoharp, or singing saw included. Some performers came from as far as New Zealand. READ ON BELOW JACOB AUSTIN BAND VIDEO
Bob Everhart, the organizer of this medley, is a great performer, recording artist, promoter, and encyclopedia of country music. He and his wife Sheila have earned a spot at the Smithsonian’s Traveling Museum. Bob chose his country music mission early on in life. He didn’t try too hard to become a star. Why? He put a value instead of a price tag on his favorite music. Bob didn’t sell out to the music industry, because those traditional tunes feel best when everyone sings and plays them together. So the Great Plains troubadour started many a friendly competition. Bob has always kept good-natured about the (tough) music business. His favorite key is “h” for humor. He likes to joke when things go wrong. And the show always goes on somehow.
Not only has Bob put on his festival (and many other gigs) for 40 years, he also founded the National Traditional Country Music Association and established a prairie “roots music” Pioneer Music Museum in Anita, Iowa, with America’s Old Time Country Music Hall of Fame and many music memorabilia in it. Call it “Planet Country Music.” Sheila plays music (bass) with Bob and helps him with the organizing and hosting the awards at the big, annual NTCMA festival. For the rest of the year, all three (add daughter Bobbie Leah to the mix) have planned a number of events at their Oak Tree Opry in their hometown Anita, Iowa.
How do I know Bob Everhart? Let’s go back to prehistoric 1979. My friend Leni (alias Maria Petersen) from Omaha took me along to his country music festival. She and I come from the same small village in Germany (Ascholding). Now as then, Leni was scheduled for a number of appearances with her zither (so far the one and only at this festival over the last 30 years). This time, I followed her around, taking pictures for her portfolio.
Oh, what a memory lane I got on! I had organized, as a teenager, some country music appearances for Bob and his travel companions around my German hometown. That was such a thrill and highly unusual at the time. Here’s another thing: On stage I had to translate the introductions of songs for Bob. He kept telling the listeners about the famous Carter family in country music. You know what I thought? Jimmy Carter, President. I was confused. Now, how did the presidents suddenly get into country music? So many Carters out there?
Finally, where is today’s “Home on the range?” At Bob Everhart’s country music festival, I’d say, “where never is heard a discouraging word.” People, this was a lot of fun for me. Be sure to tune in for more country music soon at this station. I’ll play you some.
Things can change, right? After about ten years of trying all the wrong things, I might have won a decisive battle against Bermuda grass. This is what my backyard corner looks like now:
Finally, this desperate corner has been freed of the Bermuda curse
DO YOU SEE THE GRASS IN THE WOOD CHIPS? NO? GOOD! It’s gone for now. I asked my exterminator guy. He had the answer: Glyphosate. It worked.
THIS IS WHAT BERMUDA GRASS CAN DO:
Three years ago, I started removing the very original Bermuda jungle
IN AN EARLIER BLOG, I WROTE: This is my story of a vengeance against grass. No, I don’t mean “weed”. I am talking about the very original Bermuda grass.
That’s what left of the Bermuda in the last corner
When we bought our house ten years ago in northeast Mesa, the whole terrain was overgrown with Bermuda, including the 50 rose bushes. We had no irrigation then, because our predecessor watered the lawn by hand. Needless to say, we had better things to do than standing around in the sun all day.
Bucket full of roots
In Arizona it is not cool to have grass, at least not a lot of it, because it uses up too much water. Arizonans have Xeriscape, desert plants, rock gardens, and at most a little drip irrigation. The city even pays homeowners to abolish grass.
Anyhow, having been raised on a farm, I wanted to keep a little green. So we had irrigation put in, but I also decided to convert half of our yard into rock-scape. That’s how my nine-year nemesis with Bermuda grass began. It takes an old-fashioned Catholic to deal with Bermuda grass from hell. The battle is not over yet.
How had Bermuda come by its name? Its roots reach as deep as the Bermuda triangle, at least that was my theory. Bermuda hairline roots are about 12 inches long. The mean thing are its fat tubers that go haywire in the dirt. It also sprouts long offshoots on the surface that intermittently take root again.
Fat runaway Bermuda roots
All these bad attitudes make for a hellish combat. OK, so I took to the spade, shaking the good dirt from a bad ball of Bermuda. This labor was much easier after the ground had softened from the rain. Where the Bermuda was ingrown with tree roots, the fight became especially tedious. While irrigating the volatile spot, I stirred, grabbed, pulled, twisted, whisked, probed, felt the devious grass roots. Sometimes I had unearthed half of the tree’s rootball before giving up.
I bent shovels and broke forks. And, darn it, after an area was dug up, the remaining Bermuda roots thrived even better. It took several tilling repeats for an area to be cleared well enough so that it could be finished with gravel.
Herbizides did nothing to Bermuda. Although the grass visibly turned brown, the roots happily continued to thrive. For a while I used a Bermuda root killer, but it soon was removed from the market by environmental control. By then, fortunately, I had converted the whole south side into landscaping rock, used some three tons to cover it.
I kept digging and developed myself a Bermuda hunting sense. I can distinguish its roots and feel the best way in the dirt to completely extract it. Bermuda gets bunched up at landscaping borders. So I dig especially deep there. I make absolutely sure that the borders of our lawn are trimmed down to the dirt so that no shoot crosses the line.
Regardless, some of the Bermuda always gets away. Twice a year I have to dig up certain spots in the rose beds. That’s OK.
More roots
There is one corner in our yard, however, that I haven’t been able to tame in nine years. We had a Chinese elm tree there, which went rampant too. Although we removed that tree long ago, we are still fighting its roots. Now imagine crazy tree roots mixing with the Bermuda—an unconquerable situation.
I have dug up the last Bermuda triangle perhaps three times this year. Left it alone too long over the summer, it all went haywire. Even my yard helpers toiled to no avail. At the moment this corner looks like clean dirt. Woe to the Bermuda if it sticks its ugly head out again!
A Most Wonderful and Healthy “Orange” Celebration!
Orange is a really good color. At first I didn’t like it because it seemed too shiny and “unreal,” almost artificial. Of course, then the Longhorns’ burnt orange of my UT Austin, Texas, Alma mater made me biased. Recently, I have come to see the influence of orange on many TV ads as well as in print. Orange is a strong color, it stands out. By now you can tell that I also like oranges (our little clementines just ready for harvest), pumpkins, carrots, butternut squash, mangoes etc. Orange is healthy.
OK, you hear, do the squash and pumpkins for Thanksgiving! When else would you cook them? Take your time. Do the work. Wait until it is baked. Set the table nice. Enjoy!
Thanksgiving is not a “fast food” feast. I like Thanksgiving because it is an intercultural celebration, not a political holiday, you don’t have to go to church, and its all about the food. Who does not love to eat! Thanksgiving is perhaps the only day in the year when all of America truly cooks. If you went shopping today, you saw the crazy carnival at the grocery store. As if the world ended tomorrow!
We complain about the labors of cooking the meal, but we should cook like this more often. Why? America does not appreciate food enough. That’s why a large segment of the population suffers from obesity. Am I making sense? We often stuff our mouths without gratitude or MINDFULNESS (I don’t want to go into the psychology). Thanksgiving makes all of us more “down-to-earth” about nutrition and family collaborations. If you have tried to process butternut squash, you know what I mean. Or have you made Chinese dumplings or ravioli together? We should cook like the Amish more often. It seems they do have Thanksgiving every day.
OK, maybe it will be enough if we reduce our fast food impulses.
I cracked the butternut! As I have told you earlier, I am a slow learner. But hope is not totally lost, it seems. Remember, when I complained over the preparation of the tough-to-peel butternut squash? I thought it would be easiest to buy those cubes at the grocery store before ending up in the hospital for cutting off a finger.
Bing! A bulb recently went off at the kitchen tools section. I found the most wonderful, handy tool for the job. Butternut, no problem!
The Best Turkey Left-Over Recipe
This spicy and savory recipe is perhaps the only one that I could remember from a television show. I would call it “Mexican Turkey Shuffle”
You will need:
turkey leftovers, cut into small strips
1 Tbs. olive oil
1-2 jalapeños, diced
1 onion, diced
1-2 shots tequila
1 cup of heavy sweet cream
10 sprigs cilantro, diced
salt & pepper to taste
optional: cranberries, mushrooms, peas & corn
Heat the olive oil in a large pan, sizzle onions and jalapeños for about 5 minutes, then add the turkey pieces. Keep stirring until turkey gets a little crusty and onions light brown. Glaze that off with the tequila and cook for another 5 minutes. Add the sweet cream, cilantro, salt & pepper, and heat all the way through. Serve this stir fry over basmati rice. Bon appetite!
I am a really slow learner at times. It’s like, “yeah, the ketchup is standing on its head. Why didn’t they think of this sooner?” Now here comes another great revelation: I am making my own salad box. Duh! Stores had figured this out much sooner. But do you know what’s in store? No. When you make your own salad box, you are living much safer.
One salad a day keeps the doctor away. And if you want to lose a little weight, take my advice: Substitute water for all drinks, eat one batch of salad a day—and keep your other meals reasonable. You will see. The weight will drop, not fast but permanently.
There is only one salad on my mind, the original one. “Thou shalt not have other salads besides me.” I am talking about the green stuff, not the chicken salad, not the tuna salad, not even the potato salad. My salad spells green, such as in “L E T T U C E all have salad.” Like I said, have one every day. The green stuff is so easy and tasty. Make it an essential part of your dinner. Or the main course?
Salad, It’s all About What’s In It
Salad, why bother? Not a salad fan? Too messy to mess with? I thought so, too, for a long time in my adult life. Then I developed a taste for the green crunch, and now I don’t want to miss it any more. My salad never gets left over at dinner or at a party. My kids will sometimes fight about it. And salads are so easy. Especially when you have your box ready.
Prep your lettuce and other ingredients right after shopping and store them in a tightly closing plastic treasure box in the fridge. I found that, with a tight-fitting lid, the moisture will keep my greens fresh and crunchy for about a week. So I am always prepared. I just grab a few leaves, tear them up bite size, and put the dressing on. Salad must be torn, not cut, because cuts cause brown edges. Now it is just as easy to have a colorful burger or sandwich. Youu know what, my salad box has become such a strong habit, I don’t even need to think about it any more.
The Main Ingredients: Greens
There are so many kinds of greens. With plain green leaf lettuce I get the most for my money and taste. Red leaf lettuce, Boston lettuce, romaine, homegrown greens, take your pick. Iceberg is the crunchiest and lasts the longest time, but it has the least taste. You find it a lot in salad bars. Spinach (with nuts, almonds, goat cheese) is very tasty in a salad. Bok choy and Belgian endive deliver a crunchy, cabbagy note. Some greens come in other colors, such as the radicchio in red. Radicchio has a slightly bitter taste, which can be an enchanting tributary to the main flow of flavors. It seems to harmonize very well with mandarin oranges and walnuts. And then there are greens that have a highly decorative value, but which I don’t favor in my fine salad, such as kale perhaps.
Your Handy-Dandy Salad Box
A rectangular plastic container with a tight-fitting lid has become a permanent installation in my refrigerator. Pick a size that fits the layout of your fridge and keep it in a handy location. When you wash the greens in your sink—I like to wash them under running water over a colander in two go-rounds—tear off the wilted or damaged leaves and sections. Remove, twist off, the core of the lettuce head. This way the leaves come apart. Place the washed leaves in a semi-orderly fashion in the box so that you have room for a few other ingredients.
I love little red radishes. They provide a tasty crunch and seem to help digestion quite well. Tear off the radish greens and wash radishes well under running water. If you still have room in the box, wash a couple of tomatoes, a cucumber, and a bundle of green onions. Do not peel the cucumber yet and do not cut the tomato. Add a bunch of cilantro (if you like).
So when it’s dinner time, cut and tear a few things from the salad box, spruce it up with crunchies, and add the dressing.
NOTE: Vinegar and oil can make or break your salad experience. Use a good, cold-pressed olive oil and, by all means, balsamic vinegar.
The Basic Salad (4 persons)
1 head/bowl of lettuce, torn
4-6 radishes, sliced
1-2 tomatoes, diced
1/2 cucumber, peeled and chopped
3-4 green onions, chopped
5 stalks of cilantro
1 tsp. salt (or less)
3(4) tablespoons of olive oil
3(4) tablespoons of balsamic vinegar (Ortalli)
nuts (pecan, walnut, almond)
craisins
a half apple cut in thin slices
Wash and cut ingredients, put them all in a bowl, and toss them lightly with your dressing. Ready to eat!
Jazz up your salad. Here is my favorite combo:
1 ripe avocado
1 small can of mandarin oranges
1 handful craisins
1 handful pecans
1 can of artichoke hearts
small green Spanish olives
There are so many other salad boosters. The main idea about the salad experience is the exploration. It is amazing what surprising taste experiences you will have. So good that your kids will beg for more.
Here is your homework: Write an essay about “What All Can You Put in a Salad?”
ANSWER: Pretty much everything. So what’s in your salad?
Pasta rule the world. As the story goes, Marco Polo “discovered” the frilly, shapely, or stringy noodles in China and brought them to Europe in the 15th century. This is still a good story, yet the idea of making dough-to-boil from durum semolina seemed to have existed in Italy since the 13th century. Regardless, Chinese or Italian, pasta rule my cooking world too.
Fettucine by Edda
Everybody cooks pasta once in a while. But very few people make their own. Count me into that group. I just don’t have the time to hang fettucine up to dry like my friend Edda (picture on right). A store-bought packet of Barilla (insert your favorite brand here) would do it for me. Good for you, if you grow your own tomatoes to cook a fresh sauce. I don’t have the luxury to be so purist yummy. But if you, like me, get real happy with quick-and-easy recipes, here are three of my main staples from the pasta season.
Pasta Bolognese (1 lb meat, 1 lb pasta) for 6 Persons
Fry in a saucepot on medium heat in 2 Tbs. olive oil:
½ large (or 1 medium) onion, diced, for 7 minutes to glaze; then add
1 jalapeño pepper, diced, cook together a bit more; add and brown
1 pound of lean chuck (turkey, chicken, pork, beef, or 2 cans of tuna), while stirring regularly; add
Bolognese
2 cloves of minced garlic
2 tsp. salt (or to liking)
½ tsp. oregano (go easy, rather less)
1 tsp. basil
After meat-spice mix is browned (ca. 15 min) add
1 jar of marinara pasta sauce (24 oz./680 g)
1 can tomato sauce (15 oz./426 g)
cup of frozen veggies (optional)
and let this slowly bubble for 15 min, stir frequently. In the meantime set a large pot of water to boil for the pasta. Follow package directions for cooking pasta.
Finishing up the sauce in 5 minutes:
2 Tbs. sugar
1 tsp. fresh grated pepper
2 Tbs. capers (or chopped olives)
1 swig of fresh sweet cream (optional)
½ cup of red wine (optional)
Here come the flavor makers:
Chop up EITHER fresh parsley OR cilantro OR rosemary to add to your sauce and simmer for 5 minutes. Parsley will give you a rather northern European flavor, cilantro a Mexican/Oriental reminiscence, and rosemary the totally Italian/Mediterranean experience.
Serve the steaming sauce over the hot pasta (spaghetti, fettucine, fusilli, penne etc.) and sprinkle Romano or Parmesan cheese on it. Bon appetite!
WAIT: We are not done. You made enough sauce for 2 meals. Fill half of the sauce into an airtight plastic container and freeze that portion for later use. Because next week we will be making . . .
Hit-the-Spot Lasagna for a Party of Eight
Lasagna must not be complicated at all. The great advantage: it is baking independently while you are free to entertain your guests with appetizers and stories. I adapted a recipe from the Betty Crocker cookbook for non-boil pasta. At first I had trouble with the pasta getting cooked all the way through. But I have learned a little trick. Preparation time 20 min; baking time 1 hour.
Here is what you do:
Grease a 9 x 12 inch glass/ceramic casserole with olive oil; pour ½ of a 15 oz. can tomato sauce in the form and distribute evenly across the bottom. Heat up the oven to 350F.
Ingredients:
1 pound of your homemade Bolognese sauce
1 can of tomato sauce (15 oz.)
1 packet of no-boil pasta for lasagna
1 container ricotta cheese (15 oz./425 g) mixed with
1 egg (& chopped fresh parsley or cilantro, optional)
3 cups of shredded cheese (mozzarella, Colby, cheddar etc.)
LAYERING: Put a layer of non-boil pasta over the tomato sauce at the bottom of casserole. Spread a layer of the ricotta/egg mixture (ca. half of amount) over the pasta. Then cover the ricotta with half of the Bolognese sauce, top it off with a layer of cheese.
REPEAT: lasagna sheets, ricotta mix, Bolognese sauce, shredded cheese
TOP OFF: Finish with a layer of pasta sheets, “paint” that with the remaining ½ can of tomato sauce, sprinkle cheese over it. Finally, carefully pour a cup of water around the edges of casserole to raise liquid to about half height. Casserole should be evenly filled close to the brim.
BAKING: Bake the lasagna covered with aluminum foil for 30 min, remove foil and bake for another 30 min. Take it out and let it rest for 15 min. Serve with a fresh mixed salad.
Bon appetite!
Carbonara Noodles for Any Day
Spaghetti Carbonara, a toss up of pasta with egg/cream mixture, apparently happens when you mix scalding hot pasta with the raw egg, which in itself “cooks” the eggs done. But I have never been so fancy. I will start with any kind of boiled noodles and roast them straight out in a skillet. (I have pasta left over from the Bolognese 2 days ago.)
What you need:
¼ stick of butter
½ onion, finely chopped
cooked pasta noodles, enough for a large skillet (ca. 4-5 cups)
2–3 eggs, whisked with
½ cup of sweet cream
1 cup of frozen veggie mix (optional)
1 cup of shredded cheese
2 stalks green onions, chopped
5 sprigs cilantro (optional)
salt & pepper to liking
Sautee the chopped onion in a large skillet until glazed, add the pasta and (optional) frozen vegetables to be heated through, pour the egg mix on, continue to shuffle, add herbs, cheese, salt & pepper, keep shuffling until egg is set. Serve immediately with a nice mixed salad.
Ich hätte es mir gleich denken können: der Sommer kommt ja wieder. Zu spät für die Flucht nach drüben. Obwohl—bei uns in Arizona geht der Sommer eigentlich nie ganz weg, auch nicht im Winter. Deswegen kommen dann die Snow Birds aus Iowa, Minnesota und Nebraska. Aber leider ist ihr alter Schnee dann unterwegs schon geschmolzen. Von Rodeln keine Spur, denn in Arizona brodelt der Asphalt.
Jetzt im Juli ist es grad so schön warm, dass du dir auf der Kühlerhaube (welch eine Fehlbenennung) ein Spiegelei braten könntest. Hundert Grad (37 C) sind da nichts, das haben wir mehr als fünf Monate lang. „It’s a dry heat“, eine trockene Hitze, scherzen wir Arizonier dann mit unseren Touristen. Obwohl, wenn das Thermometer auf knusprige 115 (46 C) klettert, dann sind wir gespannt, ob es keinen Knacks kriegt.
Mir bleibt die Luft weg, wenn ich aus dem gekühlten Haus in die kochende Garage geh. Die Spucke ist mir schon längst vertrocknet. Wenigstens habe ich Ofenhandschuhe für die Autotürgriffe dabei, weil die auch schon glühen. So, erst lass ich mal 10 Minuten den Motor und die Kühlung laufen, damit ich das Steuer anfassen kann. Es ist kein Scherz, schon viele Babys und Haustiere sind in solchen Folteröfen gestorben. Und nur Vollidioten bestellen sich in Arizona eine schwarze Innenausstattung fürs Auto. So meschugge bin ich noch nicht. Bloß nichts drin liegen lassen, was schmelzen oder explodieren könnte.
Aber was kannst’ machen? Bei so einem Sauwetter jagt man keinen Hund mehr auf die Straße. Hab ich Fieber? Da lebt man wie im Dämmerzustand und Unfähigkeit zu irgendwas so vor sich hin, wie unter eine Glasglocke. Klimakühlung im Haus, im Auto, im Mall, von der Natur keine Spur, lieber nicht, die ist grausam heiß.
Sculpture by Heloise Crista at Taliesin West
Mein Garten ist schon arg vertrocknet trotz Sprinkleranlage. Die Tomaten sind Dörrobst. Sogar den Kakteen wird es zu heiß. Erst als ich die Schattensegel über den Kaktusfeldern im Botanischen Garten wahrnehme, verstehe ich, warum meine Aloepflanze so traurig aussieht. Da brennt es direkt runter auf den Steingarten, gegrillte Aloe also.
Sogar zum Baden ist es zu warm. Im öffentlichen Pool schwimmt man herum wie ein Wienerwürstel in der Erbsensuppe—und das Wasser sieht auch so aus. Nein, danke. Auf dem Salt River kann man sich in einem Autoreifen treiben lassen, nicht schlecht. Aber am besten mit T-Shirt und Trainingshose bedeckt, sonst gibt’s rote Garnelen zum Abendbrot. Solardach haben wir zwar, aber die Zellen kommen mit dem Strom für die Kühlung nicht mehr nach. Kann man nur hoffen, dass das bisschen extra Schatten unter den Platten die Sonne etwas bremst. Auch dem „Sonnendach“ wird die Hitze zu viel.
Barracks at Goldfield Town
Kurz gesagt, Arizona ist ein Winterparadies. Im Sommer gibt es genau drei verschiedene Temperaturen: „hot“, „hotter“, und „bloody hot.“ Arizona ist der einzige Staat, der keine Sommerzeit hat. Wieso? Weil wir ignorieren den Sommer ganz einfach. Deswegen kriegt er auch keine besondere Zeit. Ganz im Gegenteil sind wir froh, wenn die Sonne abends schnellstens wieder abhaut. Wir haben angeblich auch einen „Monsoon“, aber alles was dabei herauskommt sind Blitze und Staubstürme. Trotzdem hat Arizona ganz herrliche Regenbögen—einmalig auf der Welt, weil ganz ohne Regen. Ich glaube wir machen die mit Panavision, oder so ähnlich wie ein Feuerwerk.
Na gut, am Wetter kann ich nichts ändern—aber meine Einstellung schon. Jetzt habe ich folgendes probiert: ich habe mein chinesisches Schneesturmposter anmeditiert und mir vorgestellt, es ist Winter. Und es hat funktioniert. Es war wie Weihnachten. So habe ich nichtsdestotrotz gleich Schmalznudeln und Plätzchen gebacken. Ignorieren ist das Beste, was man tun kann, wenn an der Lage nichts zu ändern ist. Aber manchmal wird’s mir trotzdem ganz “Chihuly.”
It was one of those days when I had no desire whatsoever to slave behind the stove. Don’t misunderstand me wrong, I like to cook and be creative. But I was running out of time and energy (whisper, whisper, yes, cooking can also be a chore). So I winged the dinner and put the roast and side dishes to cook in one go.
WHAT YOU NEED:
lean marinated pork loin
heat-hardy vegetables (onions, carrots, bell peppers etc.)
one potato for each guest
PROCEDURE:
Set the oven to broil temperature
Wash & chop the vegetables, put them in a disposable oiled pan together with the marinated roast. (Or season the roast with salt, pepper, & other spices yourself.)
Wash & wrap the potatoes in aluminum foil.
Put all the ingredients in the oven, broil the roast 10 min top and bottom, then reduce temperature to 380 F to cook for another 60 minutes.
Add ca. 1 cup of liquid after broiling and during roasting in small batches (broth, water, beer etc.) and baste the roast with a brush occasionally.
10 min before serving, thicken the sauce with 1 Tbsp. cornstarch (mix starch with a little water) and add more seasonings to taste (cream, soy sauce, chili paste etc.), let the sauce cook and reabsorb the flavor.
Country music was nothing new in Ascholding. More than 30 years ago, old-time country music ambassador Bob Everhart came to perform in my quaint German hometown. Maybe those stones got rolling there?
I visited Bob’s Traditional Country Music Festival in 2015 and was amazed that his flagship event was still going. My friend Maria (also from Ascholding) faithfully played the zither there at several workshops as 30 years before. Bob apparently had not changed much; but he was close to 80 years old now (did I miscount?). How did he keep up this energy? Music keeps him young.
Eventually, I stopped at the festival information booth. Boy, some of these photos seemed familiar. When I was a student at the University of Texas, I attended Bob’s Old-Time Country Music Festival several times. And took pictures. Yep, some of my snapshots stuck out of the photo display. Bob had kept them all these years! Even Bob’s Folkways album cover seemed awesomely familiar. I remembered that performance in the 80ies. I came to Iowa from the University of Texas. Could I have taken the picture for the album cover and didn’t know it?
