$28 lunches?

Now that Older Daughter is no longer living with us, I'm rediscovering my cooking skills. (For the duration of the time she was staying with us, Older Daughter's "rent" was cooking, and man was she good at it!) Recently I found a nice recipe online called "Sweet Chili Rice Bowls" and decided to give it a go. It was delicious, so the other day I made a much larger batch so Don and I would have several days' worth of meals.

Here are the ingredients:

• 1 pound boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into bite-sized pieces
• 1 cup jasmine rice
• 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 1 cup broccoli florets
• 1 red bell pepper, sliced
• 1⁄4 cup sweet chili sauce
• 2 tablespoons soy sauce
• 1 tablespoon rice vinegar
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 teaspoon grated ginger
• 2 green onions, chopped
• Salt and pepper to taste
• Sesame seeds for garnish

I made a few changes to accommodate what ingredients we had on hand. I used canned chicken instead of uncooked chicken. I didn't have any red bell peppers, so I chopped up an onion. I used apple cider vinegar instead of rice vinegar.

However I would like to point out that every single ingredient (with the exception of the chopped garlic, which I canned last fall) is store-bought, not home-grown. I didn't make the vinegar, or the soy sauce, or the sweet chili sauce. I didn't grow the ground ginger or even the broccoli or onion (too early in the season). The chicken was also not home-grown. Yep, all store-bought. Keep that in mind for a bit.

Making the dish is easy. While the rice cooked, I drained the canned chicken...

...then added it to a pot with some olive oil (another store-bought ingredient). Then I chopped an onion and some broccoli...

...and added it to the chicken.

Since the chicken was already cooked, all I had to do was soften the broccoli and onions a bit. I covered the pot for a few minutes to let steam do its job, then uncovered and kinda stir-fried the mix.

Then I added all the spices and sauces.

This portion of the dish was ready before the rice was finished cooking, so when the rice was done, I dumped the stir-fry part into the rice and mixed everything up.

It's not fancy, but it's hearty, filling, and provides enough for at least six meals (three days for two people).

Now let's break down the costs a bit. Since I tend to buy some things in bulk (notably chicken breasts which I can up, as well as rice in 50-lb. bags), let's bring the prices up to reflect current grocery-store costs for the triple batch I made. For convenience's sake, I'll use the Walmart check-a-price website, even though I don't shop at Walmart since it's so far away:

• 2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into bite-sized pieces (about $8)
• 4 cups jasmine rice (about $3.22)
• 6 tablespoons olive oil (about $2)
• 2 cup broccoli florets (about $1.25)
• 1 onion, chopped (about $0.75)
• 1 cup sweet chili sauce (about $1.81)
• 1/2 cup soy sauce (about $1)
• 2 tablespoon apple cider vinegar ($0.07)
• 2 tablespoons chopped garlic ($0.19)
• 1 teaspoon ground ginger ($0.05)
• Salt and pepper to taste ($0.05)
• Sesame seeds for garnish ($0.05)

These ingredients add up to $18.44. From this enormous batch I made, I estimate we'll get at least six meals (three meals apiece) for Don and I, which comes out to about $3.07 per meal. Understand, however, that since we buy so many things in bulk, the actual cost is a whole lot less.

Now why, you may ask, did I go through all the trouble to break down this particular meal? Two reasons. One, it consists of store-bought (as opposed to farm-grown) ingredients). Not everyone has the benefit of a homestead to supplement their diet, so realistically most people get their food from the grocery store. And two, it illustrates how inexpensive it is to create meals at home, even for people (like me) who are less-than-enthusiastic cooks.

This whole exercise came about because of an opinion piece I read recently by someone named Ward Clark entitled "Young People Drowning in Food Costs? Try Boomer-Style Frugality."

Mr. Clark wrote, "It's a bit frustrating, and not just for us aging Boomers, to see young people whining about the cost of eating, and then to learn that they are getting much of their food from Uber Eats or DoorDash."

He then profiled a Twitter (X) post in which a young person complained, "Lunch just costs $28 now. Are they not supposed to eat?" To this, a Boomer named Joel Berry jumped in and broke down the cost of a healthy homemade lunch made with store-bought ingredients (wheat bread, deli turkey, cheddar, condiment of choice, apple, hard-boiled egg, carrot sticks, tap water) for a grand total of $2.05 and concluded by saying, "You can do this."

As of the publication of Mr. Clark's opinion piece, Joel Berry's X post had received 9.3 million views, most of which presumably applauded his Boomer frugality. Conclusion: Don't gripe about $28 lunches when there are far more inexpensive alternatives, none of which take much by way of kitchen skills.

Does it seems a lot of younger people are deliberately sabotaging their own finances beyond repair through spectacularly bad decisions and behaviors, like regularly having $28 lunches instead of $2 lunches? Maybe it's because, as journalist and technology columnist Taylor Lorenz pointed out, DoorDash has become a "necessity" because Zoomers lack the "capacity" to cook. But are Zoomers incapable of making a sandwich? For some people, that $28 is a week's worth of groceries.

It took me about fifteen minutes to throw together those rice bowls, which provided enough food to last both of us for three meals. And don't forget that turkey sandwich and veggies lunch recipe. If you're incapable of pulling together a lunch that simple, then you have more serious problems than you realize.

My "Boomer" advice to young people is this: Learn to cook. Or at least, learn to make a sandwich. Your future self will thank you.

Spring snakes

Don came trotting into the house the other day. "Grab your camera," he said. "And hurry."

Whenever he suggests something like this, I don't argue. I grabbed my camera and hurried.

He had been working on a project which required the use of a couple of 2x6s, a pile of which we have stacked and tarped in the driveway. He pulled back the tarp just enough to pull out a couple of boards, but what he saw made him come get me and the camera.

Two racer snakes – good sized ones – were curled up on the boards, looking annoyed at the disturbance.

I'm guessing they were both about two feet long.

The morning was kind of chilly, so the snakes were rather sluggish. This allowed us a few moments to admire them.

I was snapping photos fairly quickly so they're not in the best focus, but one snake looked like it was blind (blue eyes). Either the camera was playing tricks with the lighting, or (Don's suggestion) it might have been in the beginning stages of shedding.

Despite the presence of the snakes, Don needed his boards; so he carefully started pulling them out of the pile, far enough away from the snakes so as not to disturb them. Despite this, they began moving.

Zooming in on that one snake ... yep, blue eyes, not a trick of the light. Yep, shedding.

The blue-eyed snake tried to crawl into a space between the boards as Don pulled one out above it. No worries, that was the last board he needed. We re-tarped the wood and left the snakes alone to continue their task of keeping mice under control.

Although it wouldn't surprise me to find a snakeskin next time we need a 2x6.

The season of roses

The wild roses are in full bloom.

As with everything else this year after the freakishly mild winter we had, they're a couple of weeks early.

But that's okay.

Whatever time of year they bloom, they're beautiful.

Magic evaporating rain

I checked our weather report at about 12:10 pm this afternoon and was startled to see this dramatic prediction:

Holy cow, half an inch of rain within the span of about an hour! Chaos! Batten down the hatches! Alert the media!

Fortunately we did none of that. Instead I checked the identical weather report about ten minutes later and saw this:

Yawn, ho hum. Another magic evaporating rain prediction.

(Of course, the joke is on me if the original prediction actually comes to pass....) 

UPDATE: Whelp ... I stand corrected. A massive storm cell is, even as I write this, right overhead and dropping furious rain on us. Lightning is flashing and thunder is echoing.

We scrambled to get the cows under cover before it hit. I'm grateful we have barn space enough for everyone.

By the time it passes, it could easily total out to half an inch. I would like to formally apologize to the weather people for doubting their prediction.

A happy family

Our house phone went on the fritz last Thursday. Naturally such things always happen right ahead of holiday weekends, right? At least it meant for a very quiet and undisturbed weekend, since no one could call us.

We relied on our "dumb" flip phone (we don't have smart phones) to call the phone company and troubleshoot the issue. After going through the usual suggestions, the phone company representative concluded we needed a new modem, and she assured us it would arrive by the Tuesday after Memorial Day, which in fact it did.

We needed to talk with another phone company representative to walk us through the process of replacing the sim card, etc. Once she understood we couldn't receive texts (remember, no smart phones), she was able to confirm our account and all proceeded without a problem.

But an interesting thing happened. During the process, both Don and I were either on the phone with the representative, or trading the phone back and forth to read the tiny little numbers on the sim card, and then testing the phone by sending and receiving calls. While I was on the flip phone with the representative, Don called Older Daughter on the house phone to confirm calls could go through.

Don's phone call to Older Daughter was plainly audible to the phone rep I had on the other end of the flip phone. This rep spoke flawless English, but she was clearly foreign (my guess: Southeast Asian). Throughout our interaction, she was nothing but polite, kind, and professional, but then she broke character to say something personal. "It sounds like you have a very happy family," she observed. "I hope you understand how blessed you are."

This out-of-the-blue observation startled me for some reason. I have no idea what this lady hears or experiences on a daily basis, but she must talk to all kinds of customers. I just found it interesting that she would make such an observation seemingly from nowhere.

But neither am I arguing. We are a happy family, and we do understand how blessed we are. I hope this phone rep, whoever she is, is equally blessed.

Watch out for baby humans

No photos, sorry, so you'll have to use your imagination.

Our pastor and his wife dropped in for a visit the other day. We're always happy to see them, and their two-year-old son "G" is a joy to be around.

But, being a toddler, G got restless with all the adult conversation, so after a while Mrs. Pastor and I took him outside to show him the cows. We figured he'd be fascinated by the bovines since he's never seen any such animals up close before.

I forgot to consider, however, that the cows had never seen a baby human up close before, either.

I mean seriously, none of them had ever seen a child, much less a toddler. They stared at G, enraptured.

I hitched G up on to my hip and carried him through the gate to where all three animals were staring at him intensely. G was quiet and very well-behaved, but it made no difference to the cows. If we tried walking up to one of them, they dodged away.

Even our steer, Romeo, backed up stiff-legged when I tried to get G close enough to pet him. Maggie scooted away when we got too close. These are animals, you understand, who are always up for a pat on the rump or a scratch on the chin. Not this time.

Watch out for those baby humans. They can be scary, apparently.

As it turned out, G was far more fascinated by the tractor rather than the cows. He climbed right up into the seat and spent the next twenty minutes vroom-vrooming over the steering wheel. He's all boy, that kid.

Memorial Day

As I often do on Memorial Day, I like to draw your attention to a set of remarkable photos taken a few years ago by a reader (Katie) and her husband, who were formerly stationed in Germany. Katie learned that Don's uncle, Donald Sowers, who was killed in World War II, was buried in Ardennes American Cemetery in Liege, Belgium. She and her family visited the cemetery and sent these photos. (The entire collection can be seen here. Go look at them. They're remarkable.)

Later, a reader named Kathy left the following moving comment on that blog post I shared:

I searched for 2 years to find my mother's first husband Harold Norris, killed 4/4/44 @ 2:04 PM over Romania. I received a photo of his grave from Belgium and walked over to my mother's home and said, "Mom, where is Harold buried?" She said, "New Jersey". I said, "Mom, sit down, we need to talk."

Her mouth dropped open when she learned that her first husband was buried in Belgium! He has been there for (then) 65 years. All I started with was his purple heart, his name and service number. It has lead me down a path filled with new compassionate friends and a new understanding of the word sacrifice. Harold was an airman, navigator and top turret gunner. His plane the Miasis Dragon was shot down after delivering a fatal blow to an oil refinery in Bucharest Romania. The plane was hit at the waist by a land-to-air missile. The plane nose dipped, the pilot pulled it up, then it went nose-over-tail to the earth in a fireball. 4 crew were "carbonized" and were buried together in one grave by Romanian Monks. Later, in 1949, with dental records my mother provided, the US was able to locate his remains from the others and he was buried for the 9th and final time in Ardennes. The other 3 airmen are still together buried in the US.

One of the beautiful things I noticed was that each man's life is symbolized with a marble cross. They all worked and sacrificed as a group and from above, all of their individual crosses make up a larger cross. This collective larger cross can only be seen by people in airplanes and God. 3/5ths of the graves hold the remains from airmen who lost their lives....it is to those who fly that the larger cross is visible...a beautiful way to honor them.

The other thing I learned in 2010: the people of Belgium, France and other countries meet and honor our heroes. At Ardennes in 2010, there was approximately 100,000 people present, not many were from the USA. It seems that in life, we considered these men to belong to us, but in their death, the European people consider that these men belong to them, whom they thank and honor every year. Most graves have been adopted. Harold's grave was adopted many years ago and now the lady who adopted his grave is teaching her young grand daughter to care for it. She obviously does not want her grand daughter to forget the gratitude she has for the men who lost their lives saving hers.

I wrote to a man who was age 7 when the bombs were falling on to his town. He was scared and saw more than a 7-year-old should see. He remembers the American forces and he remembers liberation. For those who know what happened, who saw the cruelty and oppression, who had no hope, our US Military saved them, their children and their grand children. The maximum gift was given, freedom was restored at a great price, those receiving the gift are grateful....and other airmen and God can see their collective cross, a memorial for their sacrifice, from the air. This has put many things in perspective for me...I hope it will for you too. --Kathy

_______________________________

This is an essay Don wrote many years ago in tribute to his fallen uncle:

Forever Young

I don't know how he died, really. No one does, since everyone who was with him died at more or less the same time.

I'll bet he was afraid. I would have been.

It must have been hell on earth – above earth to be exact. A booming, banging, grinding, shaking, shattering horror. Especially it must have been tough on him, hanging as he was below the belly of a crippled plane, a bubble of glass exposed to the flak and the fire from enemy aircraft. A tasty and too-visible target.

His B-24 Liberator was powerful, true. But it was also lightly armored and easily damaged in combat. When damaged, the B-24 often lost the electrical power needed to rotate its gun turrets, and the gunners would have to hand-crank their turrets around, trying to follow the enemy planes.

Too slow. Too slow.

He was probably the youngest man on board. He was certainly the lowest-ranking member of the ten men who made up the crew. That first day of August in 1943, he'd only been in the Army Air Corp for a year and a half. He'd only been overseas for six months. He was 19 years old. He came from a farming family that lived in a very small town in Kansas. He had one sister, two brothers, and two very worried parents.

He was assigned to 98BG, a bomber group stationed out of Benghazi, Libya. His mission that day? In coordination with 178 bombers and 1,700 crew members, the 98BG was to attack and destroy the oil refineries at Ploesti, Romania. These facilities provided the Third Reich with one-third of its fuel … and the Nazis were very hungry for fuel in the waning days of 1943.

The oil refineries at Ploesti were protected with massive anti-aircraft batteries and hundreds of German and Romanian fighter planes. The distance traveled by the Allied bombers meant that no fighter protection could attend them. They were alone.

"Fire over Ploesti" by Roy Grinnell

It was a tremendous undertaking, a gamble of men and machines desperately needed for the war effort. A 2,400 mile, eighteen hour trip there and back again, with only a half-hour of available time over the target.

And in the end, for over 500 airmen and 52 bombers, there was no going home.

They say he's buried at a cemetery near Liege, Belgium. Maybe he is, maybe he isn't. The records show that his B-24 was shot down over the refinery, but that it happened before the crew could disgorge the plane's 8000-pound payload of high explosives. And the B-24 Liberator was well known for burning merrily when it crashed.

But his name is on one of the white crosses standing in formation at the lovingly well-tended cemetery.

His parents back in Kansas received the medals that he was awarded posthumously at a ceremony, probably one of many such ceremonies on that same day. The medals were: a Distinguished Flying Cross, a Purple Heart, and the Air Medal with three oak leaf clusters.

Both his brothers eventually went to war as well. One went as another tail gunner, the other as a pilot. His younger sister stayed home, grieving for the older brother she would never see again on this side.

Eventually she married my father.

The parents, the brothers, and the sister passed away some time ago. There is now no one who can tell me anything more about Donald Phillip Sowers – Sargent, United States Army Air Corp. The uncle I never knew and whose name I share.

Donald Philip Sowers never woke to the face of his bride on the day after his wedding. He never paced the floor late at night singing softly to an infant daughter who just couldn't sleep. He never got to hold his child's hand the last time she needed, or wanted, help to cross a street. He never felt the aches and pains of a long life, well lived. And well loved.

But I will remember him and so will my children. If you've taken the time to read this, tip a glass in his name and remember him. And all the other lost brothers and sisters as well.

Think of the things he missed, for the things you have.

Donald Philip Sowers died fighting the greatest evil of our time – a young man of 19 who will never grow old.

_______________________________

A mighty "thank you" to our past and present veterans, whose sacrifices too many of us are willing to overlook, dismiss, or forget.

Baby fruit

After an explosive season of blossoms from plums, apples, and other fruit, we're well on our way toward a bumper crop this season.

I photographed two apple trees in our driveway when they were in full bloom. These pictures were taken on May 1.

The flowers were thick with pollinators – honeybees as well as wild bees, various types of flies, and who knows what else. All I know is we could stand under these trees and listen to the loud humming of all the various insects.

Can you see the honeybee (lower center) in this photo?

As a result of all this insect industry, the fruit is beginning to set. I went around a couple days ago and photographed some of the baby fruit we have so far.

I started with the four beds of strawberries in the garden.

These are ever-bearing varieties, not June-bearing, but the first wave of fruit will also ripen in June.

The two apple trees, whose blossoms were shown at the top of the post, are now busy producing fruit.

Lots and lots of baby apples.

We have a massive plum tree in our driveway. Last summer, I photographed it when it was heavy-laden with fruit.

It looks like this year, while perhaps not matching last year in terms of sheer volume, will still be highly productive.

Our older apple trees, the ones we had professionally pruned a few years ago, are also producing heavily. A few weeks ago, they had lots of blossoms.

Now they have lots of baby apples.

Of the four (different kinds of) peach trees we planted a few years ago, all are thriving, though two are significantly bigger than the others.

But all four are producing fruit, so much so that I may have to thin some out lest they get too heavy for the branches. Peaches are, hands down, my all-time favorite fruit, so it's gratifying to see a hearty crop.

The blueberries spent the last few weeks blossoming heavily.

After last year's bumper crop of 92.5 lbs., I'm braced to get even more this year.

The fruit-set is very heavy. Normally I start picking around the end of June, with the harvest lasting until very early September.

That's all the baby fruit we have around us at the moment. The other major fruit category around here – blackberries – won't flower until mid-summer and won't be ready to pick until last August or early September.

Seasons of bounty!