Dozer, the bulldog

Dozer, the bulldog
Dozer: He was the best dog on the planet.

Bonding

Bonding
The author of Mark's Work with Ellie Mae

Guess who's coming for dinner

Guess who's coming for dinner
Blue heron, sitting on the dock of our pond

HappyDay Farms bees are happy bees.

HappyDay Farms bees are happy bees.
Air-borne bees

BFF's forever

BFF's forever
Margie and Ellie Mae

Tomatoes and peppers are us.

Tomatoes and peppers are us.
Spicy salsa with roasted peppers, here at HappyDay Farms

Much love, John-Bryan

Much love, John-Bryan
Eric at 26 on the left, and John-Bryan in January of 1973.

Halloween fun

Halloween fun
SmallBoy and Dancing Girl

Our house

Our house
The snow season approaches...

Mahlon Masling Blue

Mahlon Masling Blue
My friend and brother.

Mark's E-mail address

bellspringsmark@gmail.com

Sunday, August 13, 2017

Extra Hot

I identify with the meme which says, “Camping: Spending a fortune to live like homeless people.” I spare no expense, at least when the expense is no more than my own time. Having borrowed a tent from HeadSodBuster, because both my tent and my big ice chest were missing, I went in search of a second mini fridge to add to my little red one.

There happened to be a good-sized one out front by the little shed that used to house our generator, but at first glance it seemed to be pretty gnarly, dirt encrusting the inside in a most unappetizing manner. Upon closer examination, however, I found that a liberal application of scouring powder, combined with copious amounts of elbow grease, attained great success, and a practically pristine ice chest.

This turned out to be most fortuitous for me because it meant that the little red ice chest I already had, could be used exclusively for (big drum roll, please…) dairy products. Specifically, I brought along half-and-half and plenty of milk, on a block of ice that stayed with me the whole time, supplemented by a bag of crushed ice (for my hat, to keep my head cool).

I wrote last year, about my frenetic desire to acquire coffee, early one morning, while at ROTR. ( http://markyswrite.blogspot.com/2016/08/rye-whiskey-i-cry.html ) May I be candid here? The most advanced and sophisticated of camping gear means absolutely nothing, if when you awake in the morning, especially after only four hours of sleep, there is no coffee. I mean, it’s not like at home where you can say, 

“What do you mean there is no coffee? 

Is the pot not plugged in?

Where’s the plug?

Is there a problem?

Is the pot not plugged in?

Is there no electricity?

Is there no coffee?

Is there no water?

Is the pot not plugged in? 

Can we plug it in?

Please? Right now?

WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?” *

Why, only last summer, if you can believe this, GF Mama and I ended up over at Westport, having forgotten the coffee on the kitchen counter, along with the filters. We had all of the rest of the necessary implements of construction, to create that which we desired, so we sallied forth to the little mom and pop store in Westport itself, and bought a pound of coffee.

They did not have the filters so I went back to camp and used a paper towel. Crude but passable coffee was the result. When it comes right down to it, my old socks would have sufficed. 

George Carlin put it best when he classified coffee as the lowest end of the speed spectrum, not that I need coffee to enhance my mania. I can- and have-stopped indulging in coffee abruptly multiple times within the last five years alone, without the accompanying headaches that others complain of. In that regard I am lucky.
My whisk

On top of it all, in acquiring one of those little mechanical whisks that run on Double-A batteries, I now whip hot milk into foam, combine a cup of freshly brewed, reheat it it to “extra hot,” and rotisitate. I have no clear idea what this word means, but it was used by my father and therefore, I reserve the right to use it also. In whatever manner I so choose.

I made lattes for fellow campers Zoe, Timo and AnnaBryn, besides the several per morning I prepared for myself. 

Er, excuse me, but could you hold on just a sec? I need to refill my cuppa…

“What do you mean there is no coffee? 

Is the pot not plugged in?

Where’s the plug?

Is there a problem?

Is the pot not plugged in?

Is there no electricity?

Is there no coffee?

Is there no water?

Is the pot not plugged in? 

Can we plug it in?

Please? Right now?

WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?”



* As I posted the other morning on social media, I provide for GlutenFreeMama as many hand-crafted cups of goodness as her heart desires, every morning of her life as I have done for 35 years, and I smile all the while. And there is no “plug” on my propane stove.



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