My toaster wants my email address

I stumbled across an essay entitled "My Toaster Wants my Email Address" written by a rather cynical 23-year-old named Lily-Rose Dawson who is just over smart technology.

Her growing dissatisfaction with this Brave New World culminated in an incident in which she was working as a camp counselor and had been sent to town in the camp's 15-seater van to pick up some supplies – which is how she found herself trying to pay for street parking in a "smart" world. Rather than a simple old-fashioned parking meter, things were far more complex:

"I stood in the rain scanning a QR code, which led to a website, which told me to download an app, which asked me to create an account, which wanted my email, my phone number, the van’s license plate, my card number, and permission to send me 'occasional offers.' To park. On a street. Which taxes already paid for. ... The app then charged me a 35-cent 'convenience fee,' which raises the question of what, exactly, was convenient, and for whom. Not for me. I checked."

Or her thoughts as paper menus fade from American restaurants: "What replaces it is a QR code taped to the table, leading to a PDF formatted for a screen the size of a drive-in movie, which I navigate by pinch-zooming across the appetizer section like an analyst studying spy photos of a missile site. Some of these menus want me to create an account first. To look at food. At some point a fully grown adult with a job title stood up in a meeting and said 'What if customers had to log in to discover that we serve mozzarella sticks,' and the room said yes, and that man was promoted, and I inherited the results. The experience lasted thirty seconds. A man handed me coffee. The coffee was coffee. But the survey wanted to know how the interaction made me FEEL, on a scale, with an optional comment box, and if I skip it the barista’s numbers apparently go down, because somebody decided a human being’s employment should hinge on whether strangers complete beverage homework."

I understand this young woman's vexation. Believe me, I really understand it. But if this new "smart" world is this frustrating for a 23-year-old, imagine how much worse it is for those of us approaching our Golden Years, who were around when phones were affixed to the wall and required rotary dialing.

All the "dumb" things we, and our parents, grew up with still worked decades later. Today's smart appliances only work for as long as the manufacturer supports the item's firmware. Once the company decides to move on to something smarter, what then?

Dawson notes: "Every one of those things has since been improved into something that needs my phone, an account, two-factor authentication, and a terms-of-service document longer than Deuteronomy, which I clicked 'agree' on without reading. ... And it's still spreading. There is a toaster on the market right now with WiFi and a companion app, meaning the machine that warms bread now has a login, which means the headline of this article is not a joke, it's a product category."

Don and I have been fighting tooth and nail against getting smart phones or any smart appliances or furnishings. And yet we know the clock is ticking. Someday we'll be unable to bank, shop, or (apparently) park without being connected.

Maybe that's why I'm enjoying my writing career so much. My fictional characters aren't interested in anything "smart," and my nonfiction subjects largely involve doing things the old-fashioned way.

Cheers to that ... as long as it lasts.

Freelance cattle

Yesterday evening, as I was picking blueberries, I kept hearing the mooing of range cattle.

This isn't really unusual. There's a family who lives about a mile away from us who raise beef cattle, and they have extensive property in the area. They rotate their cow/calf pairs year round. We hear cows all the time.

The reason the noise from the range cattle caught my ear last evening was because it was coming from the wrong direction, from down a steep hill where this family doesn't own property ... and the noise sounded like it was getting closer. "I wouldn't be surprised if some of their animals got out of the fences," I commented to Don as we leashed up Mr. Darcy for his evening walk. This, too, is nothing unusual. With as many cattle as this family raises (several hundred), a few are bound to get out once in a while. The neighborhood takes it in stride.

Fast forward to this afternoon. I glanced down the road and saw five cows and three very young calves grazing their way up the road. Oh great. Freelance cattle.

Normally this wouldn't be a big deal, except these animals were conspicuously not the same breed as those raised by the folks down the road from us.

We started checking in with neighbors, who reported (a) yes, the animals have been hanging around everyone's respective properties all day; (b) they do not belong to the family down the road; and (c) neighbors have been calling around, trying to find the owners, to no avail.

Immediately upon seeing the cows right below our house, Don and I sprang into action. Don went to close the lower driveway gate so the freelance cows wouldn't wander onto our property.

I called our own livestock in and secured them in the corral for the evening, since I didn't want to risk any fences being breached by our animals (notably our steer, who may not be as steered as we'd hoped when we castrated him as a calf; while he's never managed to impregnate anyone, he sure does act like a bull) in their eagerness to greet the newcomers.

Our actions were none too soon. The freelance animals lingered right in front of our driveway gate, cropping down the grasses. Had the gate been open, we would have had visitors.

From the corral, our own cows could see the freelance animals as they moved up the road. They were very interested, mooing and bellowing.

I noticed a brand on one of the cows. Don and I both looked up brands for this region and found absolutely nothing. Side observation: That is one massive cow.

Bottom line, no one has any clue where these animals belong.

We half expected to find the freelancers on our front lawn, since we have no gate blocking it off, but instead they diverted down a side road and disappeared from view down the hill in the same direction as I heard them coming up yesterday evening.

It was a very hot day, about 96F, and I'm guessing these animals have not had much to drink in the last 24 hours. I hope they find their way home.

Bonus photos of our animals in the corral. Here's Lucy:

Romeo:

And Maggie licking her yearling heifer Stormy:

Blackberry bonanza

I don't like blackberries. Let me amend that: I don't like blackberry bushes. The vines spread like crazy and can take over whole pastures or hillsides if not checked. The fruit, however, is fabulous.

A couple years ago, we had a summer of no fruit. The wild plums and blackberries, which normally glut the land in season, were categorically bare. It was weird.

Last summer, it's like the plants made up for lost time. While the blackberries were once again abundant, the plums were absolutely phenomenal. I'd never seen so many wild plums.

This year, while the plums are bearing well, it's nothing like what the blackberries are doing.

Every bush, vine, and branch is covered so thickly with infant fruit that the branches are already bending down.

A couple weeks ago, when blossoms were still on the vines, I could stand next to a bush and hear the hum of bees as they went from flower to flower.

As a result of all this diligent pollination, the young berries are coming in thick and fast.

I have no idea why the blackberries decided to explode this year, but I'm certain the wildlife will appreciate it once the fruit is ripe. And, well, a sample of the fruit might make its way into our kitchen as well.

Homemade ice cream

With hot summer days upon us, it's the perfect time for homemade ice cream, right?

Right. Before we could achieve this goal, however, we had been waiting for three things to happen. One, we needed to find an ice-cream maker. Our old thrift-store machine had broken, so we had been keeping an eye out at various thrift stores for a replacement. We were finally able to locate one (in a rather shocking pink color). This is a much larger machine than we're used to, with a generous six-quart capacity.

Pink or not, we weren't quibbling with the price of $10. New machines cost a lot more.

We found this machine back in May, and we kept it on the porch waiting for the second thing to happen: Milking Maggie. We found the ice-cream maker several weeks before little Lucy was born, so we needed to wait until we had the necessary milk and cream available.

And third, of course, we were waiting for hot weather. Who wants to eat ice cream when it's not hot out?

Finally all three things came together, and I decided to make ice cream.

I started with plain vanilla. This takes just a few ingredients: Milk, sugar, cream, vanilla, and a pinch of salt. (It also calls for half-and-half, but hey, that's just milk mixed with cream.)

I started by skimming some cream into a bowl.

Then I scalded some of the skimmed milk...

...after which I added the sugar and salt and stirred it until the sugar dissolved.

Mixing milk and cream to make half-and-half.

Adding vanilla.

The mixture (called a "base") should be chilled before putting it in the ice-cream canister. I poured it into a gallon mayo jug and put it in the fridge for half an hour or so.

After cooling, into the ridiculously tall canister it went, along with the paddle.

I had bought a bag of ice for the occasion, so I put the canister in the bucket of the ice-cream machine and layered the space between canister and bucket with ice and rock salt. I let the mixture churn for 40 minutes.

The ice-cream maker performed perfectly fine. The only thing it didn't do was make the base into ice cream. That's because I was too parsimonious with the ice and salt (I was trying to divvy up the ice so I could make another batch later). As a result, the "ice cream" came out of the canister in the same liquid form as when I put it in.

I've made ice cream many, many times in the past, and have never had the result this liquid-y before. To be fair, though, our previous ice-cream machines were much smaller than this one, so adding too little ice was simply a rookie mistake. Note to self: Add more ice and rock salt next time.

Not to be deterred, I poured the base into a bowl and put it in the freezer overnight. We tried it the next day when the ice cream was frozen, and it was fabulous.

However I wanted to make some peach ice cream (peaches are my favorite fruit), but hadn't gotten around to getting more ice yet. So ... I decided to make ice cream without the machine.

There are a number of ways to do this, so I opted for the freeze-and-stir method.

I repeated the process of skimming the cream...

...scalding the milk, mixing the half-and-half, etc.

However this time, to the same base recipe, I added some peach purée I had canned up a couple years ago.

A few days ago, Don helped out with a community ice-cream fundraising event and came home with a couple of empty gallon-sized ice-cream tubs. Originally he planned to use them for holding nuts, bolts, screws, etc., but then changed his mind and suggested they be used for homemade ice cream instead. However in the case of the peach ice cream, the base filled a tub almost to overflowing.

So I transferred the base to a larger bowl and covered it with one of those shower cap-style bowl covers.

I put the bowl in the freezer and set a kitchen timer. Once an hour, for four hours, I pulled out the base and stirred it up.

After that, I simply left it in the freezer overnight and throughout the next morning to let it freeze solid.

And you know what? It was delicious!

Maybe gourmands can tell the difference between churned and unchurned ice cream, but we couldn't. Conclusion: Don't let the lack of an ice-cream maker – or the lack of ice, in our case – deter you from making homemade ice cream.

That said, it's a very, very good thing the dairy ingredients were free since they came from our own cow. Purchasing the necessary amount of milk, half-and-half, heavy cream, or even the peaches to make purée would, unfortunately, make it far more economical to buy a gallon of commercial ice cream. Sadly, that's the reality of current food prices.

Here are the recipes I used, which came with the ice-cream maker. The recipes below make four quarts:

Vanilla Ice Cream
• 2 cups milk
• 1 3/4 cups sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 2 cups half-and-half
• 1 tablespoon vanilla extract
• 4 cups whipping cream

Scald the milk until bubbles form around the edges. Remove from heat. Stir in sugar and salt until dissolved. Stir in half-and-half, vanilla, and cream. Chill for 30 minutes before churning.

Peach Ice Cream
Same recipe as above, except add four cups of peach purée before freezing.

A little ray of sunshine

Some of you might remember the circumstances under which our pastor met and married his beautiful wife. (If not, see here and here and here and here.)

Don and I get to church early in order to help get certain things set up for the service. This is why, this past Sunday, we were inside the sanctuary when our pastor, his wife, and their toddler son arrived.

The moment – the moment! – this little boy came inside the church doors, he brought joy and smiles with him.

The boy (I'll call him "G") is like the church mascot. Everyone loves him. He knows everyone by name, he bestows hugs and affection freely, he giggles and laughs. He is a little ray of sunshine.

Don and I share a pew with Mrs. Pastor and G, in part so I can help corral the squirrely toddler while his daddy is conducting the service, but honestly it's not a hard task. This child is extraordinarily well behaved, thanks to both his innate sweet nature and his parents' proper discipline. It also helps that he has a selection of snacks and toys in the pew with him.

Mrs. Pastor is expecting their second son in October, and we're so happy for them. Some people are just wonderful parents, y'know? Soon they'll have two little rays of sunshine.

In the throes of harvesting blueberries

I am deep in the throes of harvesting blueberries.

These blueberry bushes have become a serious summer commitment. Last year, if you recall, we harvested upwards of 92.5 lbs. of fruit.

Whether this year's tally will exceed that remains to be seen, but certainly we have no shortage of unripe berries at the moment.

Not all the bushes ripen at the same time. They seem to ripen from left to right across the stand. At first (toward the end of June), just two or three bushes showed ripe fruit, with the rest of the berries remaining green and hard.

For the first few picks, I'd harvest maybe a pound or a pound and a half.

That was then. This is now. At this point, all the bushes are ripening heavily. I pick about every three days. This morning I spent four hours picking and came away with a total of seven pounds.

On days I pick, I start early (to try and beat the heat). I begin by putting up our old craft-booth umbrella as movable shade. This umbrella, which we've stored unused for decades, has proven to be worth its weight in gold since the blueberries have come into such heavy production. Not only is it easier to determine ripe from almost-ripe fruit under shady conditions, but clearly the shade ratchets up my comfort level while working in the bushes.

While picking for four hours at a stretch may seem tedious, I remind myself that there are any number of people who would be happy to spend a few hours in a blueberry patch.

This is what seven pounds of blueberries looks like.

I brought the newly picked berries into the house, where I'll let them sit for about three days at room temperature, which helps sweeten the fruit. Meanwhile, it was time to sort and clean the five pounds of berries I picked three days ago, which have been sitting on the kitchen table.

I sort berries on a dishtowel. It's helpful to fold the edge of the towel under once or twice to form a small barrier, which keeps berries from rolling off.

This is my little sorting station: Unsorted berries on the right, sorted berries in the middle, debris on the left.

There can be quite a difference in fruit size, depending on what variety the berries are.

This is what I'm sorting out: Blossom ends, stems, and unripe fruit. I also pull out any berries that are withered or overly squishy-ripe.

From the bowl with five pounds of berries, this is the resulting debris.

To date, I've harvested about 28 lbs. of blueberries. If we're on track to match last year's harvest, that means I'm not quite at the one-third mark. A blue blessing indeed.