Changes and Restlessness

My Dad, who says that approaching the age of eighty allows him to lay claim to wisdom, predicted back in January that 2013 would be a "year of change".  Perhaps he was well aware that Daughter was to graduate this year, or perhaps his wisdom was telling him something, I don't know, but he was right.

It has been a bit of a challenge, getting through this year.  So many changes to cope with and so much to do leaves little time for relaxing or reading-or writing-and I feel like hollering "stop the world, I want to get away from this ceaseless spinning for a minute"!  But it doesn't stop, so we must cope as best we can.

Daughter has graduated from high school, and plans to attend college starting next week.
I've had a bit of surgery, nothing major but it kept me down and useless for a month or so.
For the first time in forty years I got my hair cut short - wow that's been an adjustment!
I've made major changes to my kitchen and the spare bedroom.
I finally repaired the truck cap on got it put on the truck.
The garden is in, but between the incessant rain and the bumper crop of rabbits bouncing around my yard I won't have much harvest.
And it seems every time I turn around, we lose electrical power so the sump pump doesn't work and the rain floods the basement.

Sometimes it's hard to remember to stop and count my blessings, but despite all the change and craziness, we're really doing well.  We're basically healthy, we have plenty to eat, a roof over our heads, and I still have a full-time job.

I do confess to a certain restlessness, such as I haven't felt since my college days.  Maybe with my rapidly approaching fiftieth year I'm having a mid-life crisis - in which case I think I should go out and buy a motorcycle, and take up playing bass guitar for Montgomery Gentry.  But for now I'll make do with clearing excess stuff out of my house, and taking the long way home.

Last week I had to attend a meeting down in Lansing.  On the way home I decided to avoid the expressway and wander along the back roads; with no set plan I would simply take whatever road struck my fancy.  Michigan is beautiful, did you know that?  There was sadness, too, of course.  Silent, empty factories, with giant, weed-choked parking lots.  Tumble-down shacks with ten junk cars out front.  Getting stuck behind another walmart truck for ten miles of hills.  And the thousands of dead and dying ash trees, with whole woodlots and fence rows of dead skeletal branches reaching skyward in protest.  Our poor state is under attack from so many foreign invaders that are killing our native plants and animals!  Even just during my lifetime the landscape has changed dramatically.
But for that day, with the sun playing tag with some rainclouds, and the open road before me, it was wonderful-good.

I was in a kettle moraine area where the roads swooped up and down hills and curved around unexpected little lakes before straightening out and shooting between massive crop fields.  The colors, the sights, the smells; everywhere I went, it was a quintessential calendar picture of a Michigan summer.  Long, orderly rows of beans marching to the next fence row where a doe and her two fawns slipped out of the woods to munch on the blossoms.  The sharp, acrid scent of corn pollen.  An old white house with weathervanes and a big front porch, nestled between the original windmill and a happy red barn bearing a sign: Pioneer Farm, Established 1836.  A tiny cemetery where the setting sun lit the old stones that mutely speak of hard work, short lives, and a civil war. The sweet, homey smell of a just-cut hayfield.  A sudden hill-top view of a deep, cold lake with boats scattered about it's surface.  Little towns with names like Pewamo and Ionia, where old houses with corbels and dormers and fieldstone foundations hide behind massive shade trees.  Kids out on bikes, a tiny elderly woman buzzing along on a giant lawn tractor, expertly swinging around the birdbath, a couple of guys with their jean-clad backsides sticking out from under the hood of a classic car, a farmer pulling a load of straw bales, his son perched on his lap, tiny hand on the steering wheel and a giant grin on his face.  The Tiger ballgame on the radio, AM static crashing just like when I was a kid, though I still miss Ernie Harwell.

Every mile or two, a narrow dirt road would beckon me to follow it off under the trees, with promises of "Charlie's Sweet Corn", or firewood for $40.00 a face cord, a public access park along a lake or river, or home-made ice cream, a dozen flavors.  Really, I could have simply kept driving, kept looking and enjoying and wandering for days and not grown tired of it.  Maybe someday I will just keep on going, meandering my way right on up through the UP and on into Canada.

But for now, responsibilities hold me close. Playtime was over; I had to get back to work the next day, get back to mowing, weeding, mulching, painting, cleaning; walking the dawg, paying bills, filling the bird feeders, cooking, baking, laundry; and readying Daughter for dorm life.  It's also time to get serious about making some peach jam and putting up corn and beans, not to mention making another batch of laundry soap and experimenting with the new recipes I've been collecting.

And maybe a few minutes to daydream over the motorcycles for sale section of craigslist.....

When Would You Go?

Well, the Easter Holy-day has already come and gone, I hope it was a blessed one for you and your family.  I love the simple, time-honored rituals and pageantry of my church during Holy Week; the Maundy Thursday and Good Friday services of black drapings, darkness, and sad hymns of the Ultimate Sacrifice; then the glorious and triumphant Easter morning of white and gold, trumpets and thunderous, joyous hymns of celebration and thanksgiving!  I know that my Redeemer lives, what comfort this sweet sentence gives! 

Spring is officially here, though the weather is only reluctantly acknowledging it.  But the robins and red-wing blackbirds have returned and the sky is full of noisy geese honking their way northward.  The nasty grackle has come back to my feeders, chasing away everyone else, beating up the goldfinches and greedily tearing apart the suet block.  The trees haven't budded yet but the sky has that sharp blue of early spring and most of the snow is gone.

I was in one of the more remote parts of the county when I snapped this picture:

It might be difficult to make out, as my phone camera isn't the best, but there are no less than eleven jet trails across the sky.  Add in the electrical wires in the foreground and the view is rather cluttered, to my way of thinking.  I remember right after 9/11, when all air travel was grounded for a while, how clean and empty the sky was.  My Dad said it reminded him of his childhood, when there weren't any jet trails and the sky was always clean.

Which brings up a favorite topic of mine:  time travel.  I've always found the idea fascinating, and it's been the basis for a plot line in some of the best stories, from the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon, to "Time and Again" by Jack Finney, to "Somewhere in Time" by Richard Matheson.

So if you had the opportunity to time travel, when would you go? 

The heart and mind shrink away from the immediate thought of being in the crowd of listeners as Jesus preaches the Sermon on the Mount; seeing the Son of God is so beyond any fanciful discussion.

But there are thousands of years of history to explore.  Would you see the pyramids being built?  Duck as Martin Luther throws his inkwell at the devil? Follow Lindbergh across the Atlantic?  Listen to Lincoln give the Gettysburg Address?  Watch the last spike be driven for the trans-continental railway?  Struggle through the first winter with the Mayflower pilgrims? Hear the hoofbeats as Paul Revere rides?  Watch men land on the moon?  (Some of us can remember that!) The possibilities are endless.

And then there's the central thought to all time travel stores:  would you try to change history?  Would you try to prevent the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand?  Perhaps evacuate Pearl Harbor and set up anti-aircraft guns on December 6th?  Conk J.W. Booth on the head when he enters the back door of Ford's Theater?  Hit "reverse" on the Titanic's engine control?  Abduct Hitler as a child, and leave him on a remote sheep station in Australia?  Again, the possibilities are endless, but when one considers making changes to history, the ethical and moral dilemmas are also endless.

But most of my thoughts on time travel are much more humble.  I'm not so interested in the mighty battles and famous people, I think about here. Good old Michigan. And I want, in the worst way, to see it as it was 200 or even 100 years ago.

I've traveled quite a bit of the state, and love to explore historical sites and read the markers.  There are hundreds of ghost towns; some with a house or two still standing, most with nothing but the outlines of stone foundations alongside the ghostly trace of an old railway.  Everywhere there are barns, beautiful, graceful structures that once sheltered a farm family's hopes and dreams, now in various stages of decay.  It amazes me how well built and sturdy these structures are, their century old timbers stubbornly resisting the elements even after decades of neglect, and it makes me so sad to see them knocked down and burned in the name of progress.

I wish to see the beech and maple forests, the deep, dark woods of giant white pines that ruled before the loggers came.  I want to be part of a pioneer family that cuts the trees and raises the barns, to be part of that energy and hope and struggle when the earth was quiet and the skies were innocent of jet exhaust. I want to see and coal-powered steamers on the Saginaw River, and tall-masted sailing ships on the Bay.  I want to visit Mackinac Island, walk the wide porch of the Grand Hotel in it's heyday, and attend a worship service in the old stone church just below it.  Then there's the local tragedies that send echoes of pain and sadness across the years, like the bombing of the Bath School in 1927, or the Great Fire of 1881.  I found this stone in a tiny cemetery on a dead-end road in the middle of nowhere, it tells a sad story:

Occasionally it seems I can almost reach out and touch history - in some areas here history wasn't so long ago!

I used to attend a Bible study led by a a wonderfully gracious and intelligent woman who had spent decades as a teacher in a local rural school, a true one-room schoolhouse that served kindergarten through eighth grade, a remnant of the pioneer schools.  I remember the tales she told of her mother's life in the Michigan woods, especially the time she was home alone with the baby in the cabin, as all the men-folk had left to hunt the bear that was terrorizing the neighborhood.  Of course, when she went out to hang the wash, she came face to face with the bear right there in the yard.  Being a pragmatic pioneer sort of woman, she simply dropped the laundry basket, grabbed a shotgun from the cabin, and shot the bear.  The amazed consternation of the men-folk upon their return was the topic of many a family gathering, to be sure.  Within my own family I marvel at the memories of the horse-drawn milk wagon making the rounds every morning, the struggle to 'get by' on the home garden and chicken flock during the depression, and the nostalgia for a time when a good job at Chrysler or GM meant security.


I hope everyone takes a moment or two to appreciate the history that's all around us.  We can't time travel, but we can think and read and learn and remember.


Until next time, God bless you and keep you, my friends.

Play Date!

Well, maybe the term doesn't apply for someone my age, but really, it was fun and relaxing and a little bit exciting, just like gluing glitter to construction paper Christmas ornaments in third grade.  A friend came over last Saturday, and we spent the day makin' stuff.

First we made another batch of the lemon sugar scrub I made for New Year's.  The apricot oil I used in the original recipe had an odd odor to it, so that I ended up using a lot of lemon oil to cover it.  This time we replaced the oil with vegetable grade glycerin, but I'm not sure if I like it.  It took less lemon oil to make it smell wonderful, but the scrub isn't as softening as the first one was, and after a few days in the jar it separated.  More experimentation is called for on this one.

Next up was lip balm.  Our recipe was very simple - one ounce beeswax, four ounces coconut oil, and a teaspoon of flavoring oil.  The instructions called for vegetable oil, but one of my homesteading friends had been talking about how great coconut oil was so I had bought a jar and thought this was a good way to try it.  I think it gave better results than the oil might have.  The beeswax is melted in a double boiler (we used a pint canning jar in a pot of water) then the coconut oil is added and it is blended well.

Adding the flavor oil is the last step, then a pipette is used to transfer the liquid balm into the containers.  We did some with strawberry flavor, and some with spearmint, and they both smell great. The balm turned out very nice, soft and easy to apply, but doesn't melt when carried in my pocket.  Definitely doing this again.  We learned a lot about the process and if you try it here's a couple of tips:  keep the balm jar in the hot water and work quickly as the balm will set up fast and leave air bubbles in the tube or clog the pipette.  It's also handy to use a small basket to keep the tube upright while filling.

Ready to fill the tubes

Cooled and getting caps

For our last project of the day, we made laundry soap.  She brought the ingredients and a scribbled list of instructions which only she could read, so I was often confused.  She handed me half a bar of soap and said "this is for you".  Ok, great, um, thanks...I'll put it here by the sink.  "No, you silly, grate it into the bowl!"  Ah, ok, I'm following you now!  She was busilly grating away with the other half of the bar, and using my only grater, so I went digging in the cupboard and pulled out what might be an old time cheese grater - not sure what it is, but it sure did a great job on the soap!

A few turns of the crank, effortless grated soap!

I eventually got her to translate the recipe:

1 cup borax
1 cup super washing soda
1/2 bar Fels naptha soap
1 bar any soap with glycerin, such as Ivory
4 cups hot water
4 1/2 gallons very warm water

Grate the bar soaps into separate bowls and add 2 cups of hot water to each bowl.  Microwave each bowl for one minute and whisk thoroughly.  Put 4 1/2 gallons warm water in a 5 gallon bucket, add the melted soaps, borax, and washing soda.  Whisk thoroughly and put the lid on tightly and let stand overnight.  Whisk a few times before use.

Well, that's what the recipe said.  (We doubled it so we'd each have a bucket full.) After the soap had sat in the buckets a couple of days, I finally got around to putting it in jugs.  When I pulled the lids off the buckets, I was surprised to find a gelatinous mass of an uncertain color.  I guess I had been expecting some sort of liquid-y detergent-y sort of result, but no matter, I grabbed the largest spoon I had and started stirring,  It took quite a while to get the entire bucket of gel whisked up, but I got it done and started filling jugs.  We ended up with quite a bit of soap!

I've used it for four or five loads so far, and I'm very happy with the results.  I didn't care for the smell of the Fels-Naptha, but thankfully the smell isn't present in the clean clothes.   It's not a homogenous mixture, but I just shake the jug before I pour, and I use about one cupful for a load.
The weather, though cold, was clear on Sunday, and I used my new soap to wash my linens and hung them out on the line.  I think they seem cleaner than with store-bought detergent, and it is so heavenly to sleep in fresh sheets that were dried outside in the sunshine and fresh air! This project was definitely worth it - especially with the cost of store-bought detergent these days.  We have maybe twelve to fifteen dollars invested and have ten gallons of detergent.


Yes, I'm going to say it - the whole day was good clean fun!

More Winter!

Well, the weather guessers, as a friend likes to call them, are running around squawking with their feathers ruffled.  Seems mid-Michigan is supposed to get some snow.  I'm ok with that.  As a Michigan native, I sort of expect that this time of year.  To be honest, I'd like to see more than the paltry 5" to 7" that is forecast. I'd like to see a good 12" or more - enough to shut down every school in three counties, and close my office for the day.  Wouldn't a day off to stay home warm and snug just be wonderful? 

Of course, as a Michigan native that has seen almost fifty winters, I'm smart enough to prepare for the challenges of the season.  I've loved winter for as long as I can remember, and while the severe cold is getting a bit hard on the joints I still love it.  I suppose as with many things, it's the childhood experience that sets one's preferences in life.  My young childhood had an idyllic setting - a forty acre farm equipped with a hundred-year old house, a massive barn with hand-hewn beams and large hayloft, a small creek bisecting the property, and beautiful, giant maple trees flanking two sides of the house.  Best of all was the catalpa tree in the back yard that leaned a bit to the east, making it so easy to climb, and the tire swing tied to a stout branch.

That farm was where I learned to love the pattern and rhythm of the seasons and it's the site of so many memories - that first spring bike ride, splashing through the icy puddles on the dirt road; the glory of those maples every autumn, summer afternoons with the catalpa tree blossoms floating in my little wading pool.  But it is the winter I remember most clearly, the smells and sights and feelings of it.  Perhaps because winter brought Christmas?  Perhaps because I immersed myself in the stories of Silver Chief and the Yukon Territory?  Hard to say.

I remember magical first snows, the type that is a pure, fluffy white with the blades of grass showing through, perfect for building snowmen, and the dry squelching sound my boots made in it.  I remember staying outside until my fingers and toes were tingling with cold, and my mittens were soggy.  Mom would call us in for lunch, spaghettios and milk in front of the kitchen fireplace and oh how we'd holler as our hands and feet thawed!

Dad would use a front end loader to clear the driveway and push the snow up into piles perfect for playing king of the hill and trying out our new plastic sleds.  We had the kind that were a simple sheet of dark blue plastic with a couple of holes cut in for handles.  The plastic naturally liked to live in a roll shape, and wasn't fond of unrolling.  It was always a bit tricky to try to unroll it and try to hold it flat while simultaneously jumping on to it before it rolled up again or took off down the hill before one had both butt-cheeks on it.  More often than not, sled and kid would end up bumbling down the hill in a sort of half-rolled sandwich, boots, scarves, and mittens poking out at odd angles, landing in a giggling heap at the bottom.

Sometimes I would wake up early, well before dawn, but the world would still be light, snow gleaming with thousands of sparkles under a bright moon.  I would wake up my little brother, and the two of us would quietly pad down the stairs and out into the kitchen, where I would make each of us a bowl of oatmeal.  We'd put on our snowsuits and struggle into our boots and mittens, and let ourselves out into the silver world, amazed at the velvet blue sky above, and the intricate blue shadows on the snow under the trees.  We'd climb up into the hayloft and build a fort out of bales, then snuggle down and read books, the cows sleepily murmuring in the stalls below.

Now that I think of it, that may have been the last time I enjoyed getting up early!

With memories like those, who wouldn't love winter?  Yes, as a grown-up I've had to face the reality of frozen water pipes, heat bills, icy roads, and getting stuck; and sad incidents of  folks being stranded or killed in accidents, but I've never lost my love for winter.  And as I said before, I keep prepared for it.

Recently I pulled my pack out of the truck and went through it again to make sure it was well-stocked and ready for anything from being stranded by a storm to a vehicle break down.  It really doesn't take a lot of money to gather a few things together.

I start with a nifty camouflage pack that is designed to function as a backpack, as well as attach to the back of the truck seat that I found on a clearance rack for ten bucks.  In that pack I have:
blanket (bright red fleece and zips up to form a light-weight sleeping bag)
change of clothes
old windbreaker
water in pouches (freezes without bursting, ordered from Amazon)
power bars
hot chocolate and instant soup
metal cup
sterno fuel and folding stove
first aid kit
matches
compass
knife
personal care package (toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, etc; the little bottles you get at a hotel are great for this)
foot and hand warmers
gloves
hat
multi-tool
sunscreen
insect repellant

It's amazing, but it all fits in the pack, and the pack fits under the back seat of the truck.  There's another pack for the vehicle things, like cans of fix a flat, bungee cords, jumper cables and so on, and the snow shovel and can of gas go in the truck bed.  And as with many preparations, I always hope I don't need any of it, but it's peace of mind to know I have it.  Hmm, that sort of sounds like a motto, doesn't it?

Until next time, God bless you and keep you safe, my friends.

Musings on the Way Home

February often puts me in a contemplative mood.  The busyness of December and January have faded, and I inevitably come to the realization that winter is getting soft around the edges before I've had a chance to play in the snow.  The days are getting longer, the sun stronger, but my skis are still warm and dry in the hall closet, and there's nary a snowman to be seen in my yard.  When did life become such busyness, so much work and so little play? 

I decided to take the long way home, just to get out and about a little. The animals have started moving about more, large herds of deer and flocks of turkeys crossing the fields and feeding even right up near the road.  Traveling the back roads took me around an Amishman, long gray beard flowing over his shoulder as he rattled along in a tiny cart pulled by a fractious horse; past snow-draped fields with the remnants of cornstalks showing, half-frozen creeks, gray silos standing guard over red barns and rutted lanes, and critters everywhere.  On just that one trip home I saw over 200 deer, 150 turkeys, 6 hawks, and one bald eagle.  It was warm enough, at 34 degrees, for a native Michigander to ride around with the window down, and I could smell the wet mud scent under the cold, soft scent of the snow, and hear the truck tires swush on the gravel road.  The roads were deserted enough that I could come to a full stop in the middle of the road and stare at the eagle circling overhead.

I was still restless when I got home, so I took the old dawg out for a walk, which is always fun, but never more so when there's snow to play in.  The number of tracks we saw were amazing - deer, turkeys, rabbits, coon, somebody's undersnow tunnel, and some I couldn't identify - and it was clear, given the dawg's reaction, that each trail of prints left an equal trail of scent.

So the the sun finally tumbled below the horizon, the temperature dipped, and it was time to go inside and light the fire and relax in my chair.  The happy, large, hairy, muddy dawg sprawled on the floor in utter disregard for my carpet.  Ah well, a happy pet is worth some carpet cleaning, right?

 Happy-happy-dig-dig-dig

Even the bits of snow thrown up by the plow leave delicate little tracks.

New Year, Same Life

It's been a long time since I posted; not for lack of anything to say but for lack of time. It has been four weeks or so of head colds, broken down vehicles, power outages, and so on. It seems as though life has become a pattern of lurching from crisis to crisis, like crossing a stream by hopping from one wobbly rock to the next.

Christmastime was good; it truly is the most wonderful time of the year for me. Not only for the celebration of the Savior's birth, but also for the time spent with family. Two whole weeks off from work, Daughter is out of school, and evenings are spent doing jigsaw puzzles by light of the Christmas tree with a roaring fire in the fireplace and the dawg sprawled out on the floor, snoring. We have had very little snow so far this winter, in fact when we headed in to town for the Christmas Eve church service it was rainy and dismal. After an hour or so of singing the wonderful age-old hymns, and hearing once again the verses from Luke Chapter 2, we came outside to a world transformed. The rain had become a story-book Christmas snow, gently drifting down, soft white flakes covering everything like a benediction. It was late, and the town was quiet, lit only by few street lights and Christmas decorations shining from front porches.

New Year's Day usually passes quietly for us, but this year we had a group of friends over for dinner and games. I experimented with a recipe for a home-made scrub and passed out some jars of it; so far it's had good reviews. I reviewed a lot of ideas from the internet, mixed and matched a little, and added my own touches. It was easy to mix with my wonderful Kitchen Aid stand mixer. Here is what I came up with:

3 cups brown sugar

1 cup granulated sugar

2 cups jojoba oil

5 vanilla beans chopped fine

2 tablespoons honey

1 ½ teaspoon lemon essential oil

I put the dry ingredients in the bowl and used the wire whip on my mixer to break up any lumps and then added the liquids. I kept the mixer on setting 3 and used a spatula to keep pushing the mixture back down in the bowl. Some of the measurements are approximate, your mileage may vary. Adjust the ratios until you get the consistency you want. I have no idea on the shelf life, though the honey should help keep it stable for a while. Making the scrub was sort of a last minute thing so I was limited as far as packaging it; next time I'll use more ribbons and try to find some cute little wooden spoons to go with it.

Unfortunately those two weeks always pass much too quickly and it's back to reality. Work, school, and dealing with half-done projects, vehicles that seem to break down again as soon as they're home from the mechanic's, and the overwhelming effort of applying for financial aid and scholarships for Daughter's dream of attending college this Fall. On the plus side this is the time of year when the nights are clear and cold, with the stars close and bright and Orion standing guard outside my living room windows.  It's also the time when I get the payoff from all the planting, harvesting, and preserving work I've done. I know that Daughter and I are enjoying wholesome food that is as free from chemicals and additives as I can possibly make it. There's enormous satisfaction in everything from home-made peach jam on my toast in the morning to quick dinners created from the jars of chicken, tomatoes, and vegetables in my pantry. 

And that makes it all worthwhile.

God bless you my friends.

May you live in interesting times...

I've read somewhere that wishing that on a person is a way of cursing them, of wishing them times of turmoil and trouble.We certainly seem to be in such a time, as a nation, and it's been a bit interesting around the homestead as well.  Nothing major or life changing, just the little things going wrong, or not getting done, that add up and cause trouble.

I leave my Christmas lights in my big spruce tree in my front yard all year long.  (Yes, I'm a Yankee Redneck Woman!)  But the tree is a good twenty-five feet tall, the lights are small, and can't be seen when not lit.  The tree has grown so tall that I can no longer reach the strands of lights in the uppermost branches.  So I simply leave them, and plug them in each Christmas.  This has worked well for years, but when I plugged the lights in a few weeks ago, none of them would light.  So, I spent the time and money and effort, running up and down the ladder, to put new lights in the tree, as high as I could possibly reach.  All was well until the high winds and heavy snows today; now only one strand is lit.

Today I wanted to bake Christmas cookies and went into the pantry only to discover that the mice got into the bags of dehydrated foods I put up earlier.  I hadn't been able to find any more two quart jars locally, and had intended to get to the city for some but hadn't made the trip because I have a tire with a slow leak that won't get that far but I haven't gotten it fixed yet. So now instead of baking cookies I get to empty and scrub my pantry and all of the contents.  I hate mice!!  Not sure yet how much food I've lost.  I had bought caulking and some extra mouse traps, but never found time to go around and seal whatever gaps I could find.

And so it goes.....certainly minor annoyances, compared to what others are suffering, but tiresome nonetheless.  Tuesday's event, though, was the most interesting.  I have my old pick up parked out front for sale, and wanted to start it up and run it for a while to keep it tuned.  The plug wires had gotten wet, so it didn't want to start right away.  A few more cranks of the starter, and and little pump of the accelerator, and.... BAM!!!!  Well I hopped out of that truck a heck of a lot faster than I had climbed in it, heart pounding, eyes wide, knees shaking.  I ran over to the front porch where Brother was standing, curled up on the steps and huddled down in my jacket.  For a moment I was the scared little girl that wanted to climb up in Daddy's arms.  Brother was no help, he was laughing so hard, though his eyes were a bit wide too.  He said he was able to actually see the shockwave from the blast.  At first I thought it was a rod blowing through the engine block, which would have ruined any resale value in the truck.  On second look, though, we saw what had really happened - the muffler had exploded.  And this isn't the little pansy muffler you see on a lot of vehicles; on these older Chevy trucks it's the size of a beer keg.  The sheet metal of the muffler ripped open with enormous force, slamming into the ground hard enough to make the truck crowhop.  I've never experienced anything quite like that and I don't wish to again.

Fortunately Brother was able to install a new set of spark plug wires, and he used a floor jack to press the warped metal back up off the ground.  I was able to start the truck and drive it around, but boy is it noisy now!  I guess I can either drop the price on the truck, or get a new muffler installed.

Today winter arrived with a vengeance, wind and snow and icy roads and closed schools.  I stayed inside.  The local FFA had their annual fruit sale a few weeks ago, so I had a bushel of citrus fruits to get canned.  I'd never done citrus before, and after laboriously hand-peeling the first couple of grapefruit, I decided it was a lot easier to use a knife and quarter them, then cut the fruit away from the peel.  Ten minutes in a hot water bath, and the jars are ready for the shelves.  That is, as soon as I fumigate the pantry.  Anyways, I think they look wonderful in the jars.

The wind is still howling around the house tonight, and the windows are frosted in the corners like a Christmas card.  Our Christmas tree is beautiful, scenting the air with pine, and scattering needles on the carpet.  As I sit here typing this I can hear the lids of my jars of fruit pinging as they seal.  Daughter is done with school until after the New Year, and all the after school events are cancelled due to the weather, so it's a rare treat to have her home on a Friday night. We don't have the cookies baked yet, but that's ok.  We're together, warm and cozy in our living room, dawg curled up next to my chair, and the tv is off.  All is peaceful in our little corner of the world for the moment.  And what more could I ask for?

I wish each of you joy and peace as we celebrate the birth of Our Savior.  Merry Christmas!

Hark the herald angels sing
"Glory to the newborn King!
Peace on earth and mercy mild
God and sinners reconciled"
Joyful, all ye nations rise
Join the triumph of the skies
With the angelic host proclaim:
"Christ is born in Bethlehem"
Hark! The herald angels sing
"Glory to the newborn King!"

 

Shut Up Already!

I imagine the title gives it away.  Yep, it's another rant.  If you don't like rants, look away now.  I'm going to be the Grinch for a few minutes.

Are you still here?  Well, then, here's the rub:  no one shuts up anymore.  It seems that respect and courtesy are outmoded, meaningless words and paying attention died long ago.

We've all experienced the transient annoyance of waiting in line at the store, unwillingly listening to a one-sided conversation as someone chats on their cell phone.  And these days parents are well acquainted with the hassle of prying a teenager out off a cell phone long enough to ask about school.

But the epidemic is worse than that.  It's everywhere, and it's driving me nuts.  Daughter plays in the school band, and while I'm glad she does and I encourage her and enjoy listening to her play, I actually dread the school concerts.  The grown-ups, who presumably are the parents that should care about what the kids are doing, talk constantly.  It seems their conversations and phone calls can't wait the four minutes until the song is over.  Not only that, but they let the younger children run up and down the bleachers, thumping and banging and giggling and making it impossible for a parent to videotape the concert.

Earlier this week we drove all the way to the city to attend a professional symphony orchestra concert.  You know, the kind where you pay money for a ticket, and a maestro with a baton waves his arms at the violins.  Even there, people talked through the music.  A group of five or six young men in their twenties sitting a few rows behind us just couldn't stop discussing what they did that day.  At least there I was able to speak to an usher during the break, and she was able to correct the situation.

And the one that bothers me the most?  The behavior of some of my fellow church members.  Since when is it ok to stand in the back of the church and talk during the sermon?  And why wouldn't you turn off the ringer on your cell phone before the service starts?  Bah humbug!

So I'm sending out a heart-felt plea to everyone:  please, please, stop and think and show some respect!  Try listening for a change.  Here's the way I was taught it should be:  when you attend a concert, do not talk during while the music is playing.  If you must leave your seat for some reason, do so only between songs.  If you come back from the bathroom and the band is playing, wait quietly in the doorway until the song is over, and then return to your seat.  When you go to church, sing the hymns, join in the prayers, and listen to the sermon.  There's plenty of time to visit and catch up after the service!  And for crying out loud, leave the cell phone out in the car! 

It's only polite to behave appropriately, it's not really so hard to do, and it will improve the experience for you and definitely for everyone around you.

And if you don't, the grumpy middle-aged woman glaring at you is probably me.  Let's not meet that way!

First Fire and Not Pulling the Trigger

Time just keeps on flying by.  Here it is the end of November already, and finally today we had our first fire of the season.  I guess it's appropriate, we had our first sticking snow overnight, a nice dusting over the fields and on the tree branches.  Just got it started a few minutes ago, after cleaning out the remains of the chimney swift nest.

There's nothing like the smell and sound of a big ol' wood fire, and the warmth it gives.  I think a wood fire is the best warmth ever - better than forced air heat, better than a hot bath, better than an electric blanket.  It just feels.......better.  Maybe because it's more like sunshine.  I was lucky enough to make a good craigslist find on some firewood, nice seasoned maple that should last us into the first of the year.  Since I don't have my own patch of woods it's a bit of a scrounge and scramble to come up with firewood.  Someday I hope to get to a point where I can barter for firewood.

I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving with family and friends.  We got together for the usual turkey and fixings, and I took along the pies.  The best part of the day, however, was when my little nephew fell asleep in my lap.  The warm weight and soft breath of a small child, totally trusting and abandoned to sleep, is a wonderful thing.

My contribution to dinner:  apple, pumpkin, and mincemeat.

The third from the top is my green tomato mincemeat pie:
   * 3 quarts chopped green tomatoes
    * 1 1/2 quarts peeled, chopped tart apples
    * 2 cups raisins
    * 1 cup golden raisins
    * 1/2 cup diced candied citron, lemon or orange peel
    * 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
    * 1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
    * 1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
    * 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
    * 1 1/2 to 2 teaspoons salt
    * 3 cups brown sugar, firmly packed
    * 3/4 cup Vinegar
    * 1/4 cup lemon juice

Preparation:
Combine all ingredients in a large heavy pan. Let mixture simmer and cook slowly until it is tender and thick, for two hours or more. Stir frequently to prevent sticking. To can, pour boiling mixture into hot, sterile jars, leaving 1/2-inch headspace; seal promptly. Process in a boiling water bath for 20 minutes. Store in a cool dry place.
Makes about 5 to 6 quarts of green tomato mincemeat.
Finally had a chance to go deer hunting, but came home empty handed.  While I still see quite a few deer around, the numbers are down due to a nasty virus that has killed quite a few animals.  I sat in the blind for quite a while, watching low, blue-gray clouds playing tag with watery beams of sunshine and listening to turkeys calling off in the distance. 

 A cardinal and his missus came to visit for a while, their red plumage startling against the dull colors of the landscape.  Finally, just as dusk was settling in, a deer came bounding into the clearing.  I pulled up my shotgun and drew a sight on it, only to realize it was a youngster, probably born in the spring of this year.  It just didn't seem fair to shoot it, and there wouldn't have been much meat to it anyways.

Had a clean shot but didn't take it

So I didn't pull the trigger, but sat and watched as it played around, munching on a twig here, and chewing on a leaf there.  It kept looking back into the brush, so I held still, hoping a bigger one would come in, but as the light faded into a cold and cloudy night the little deer was still alone.  I made the trek back out of the woods and across the field in the gathering dark and headed home for some soup, and while I love venison, I wasn't too disappointed.  Just being out in the woods and enjoying God's creation makes for a good day.
From the hymnal:

"Give thanks, with a grateful heart,

Give thanks, to the Holy One,

Give thanks, because He's given Jesus Christ"

Kablooey Remedy....(or, how to replace a safety fuse on a Mirro Matic)

Some time ago I made a serious error while pressure canning some potatoes, heating the canner too hot and blowing the safety fuse.  Note how you can see daylight where the plug melted and gave way.  So thankful it did!  Could have drastically changed my kitchen layout if the canner had blown up.

I took the entire canner in to my local hardware store to try and get a replacement fuse.  There are hundreds of these old Mirro Matics out there, but they had so many different catalogs and stock numbers that we couldn't figure it out.  They tried to remove the safety fuse with a crescent wrench but couldn't get it to move.  So I did some internet searches, but it seems there isn't a simple "Mirro.com" site, just multiple sites that say they carry parts.  I finally located the correct safety fuse replacement at Amazon.com, and ordered two of them.

I ran hot water over the canner lid for a few minutes, and used a socket wrench.  The old plug came out quite easily.

I cleaned the threads and installed the new fuse.  (While I was at it I made sure the steam tube was clear, too.)

The new fuse fit perfectly at exactly the same level as the old one.  Both the old and new fuses are thicker than the lid itself, by 1/4 inch or so.  This allows enough room to get a wrench on it.  The center of the new fuse appears to be a red compound of some sort, instead of the metallic gray of the old one, but that doesn't seem to make a difference.

The whole operation only took a few minutes, and I'm happy to report it was a complete success.  I just finished canning up five quarts of chicken in my old canner with the new fuse and it's all good.

Reflections and a Recipe

It was one of those soft and comfortable evenings as I drove home from work; not cold yet not warm, cool and dim with a diffuse light that rounded and blunted everything like a slightly out-of-focus photograph.  It reminded me of the ‘time between times’ spoken of in stories of Irish ghosts,  standing stones, and time travel adventures.

I dealt with my chores and hooked the trailer to the truck, ready to go for a load of firewood after work the next day while the dawg was happily running about, sticking her nose into everything and rummaging through the old straw in the garden, tail wagging non-stop. It felt good to be out working in the gloaming, wearing old leather gloves and wrassling with equipment while the sunset cast a feeble gold tint on the western sky; echoes of when I was young and strong and walking home in the dusk after my farm chores.

There were no stars, just a featureless sky of deep velvet lit only by the trucks and combine in the field as my neighbor harvested his corn.  I put some dinner on the grill, and sat in my patio swing with my dawg.  A moment of peace, reflection, and quietude.

I rocked gently as I let go of the hurry and noise of the day, slowly becoming aware of the little things around me.  The warm weight of my faithful old dawg  leaning against me, one massive paw on my knee.  The slight creak of the swing, that old familiar, peculiar whine of the combine in the field, the smell and sound of dinner (bratwurst!) sizzling on the grill, the cold beginning to nip at my ears and nose.

How I love living out in the country, in the quiet and peace!  I wouldn't trade it for the most lavish of city dwellings!  The cares and disappointments of the day are still there, but now I can put them into perspective, and spend some time in thought, in reflection, and in prayer for my family, and for my country.  It seems that there are just too many heedless, careless, and selfish people with voter’s cards these days.  Responsibility, morality, and wisdom were the losers this election, and I am gravely concerned about Daughter’s future as she prepares to graduate from high school and move on into the world.  Yet I can take comfort in knowing that God is always in control, no matter what.

Current events also make me even more dedicated to a life of simplicity and self-sufficiency, and to protecting my little homestead.  Am I going to run out next week and buy a thousand rounds of ammunition in fear of the zombie apocalypse?  No.  (Besides from what I hear you can’t stop zombies with bullets, but what do I know?)

But I am renewed in my determination to simplify and do more with less, while spending my money where it does the most good.  At this point in time I'm actually spending more, which I really don't like doing, but it's time to purchase a freezer and a half of a grass-fed beef.  High cost now, but it's an investment in high-quality, drug-hormone-GMO-corn-free meat for the next year.  Looked at over time, not only will I save money over supermarket prices, we'll also be eating much healthier food. The second freezer will allow me to buy in bulk when sales are good for seasonal harvests, and have a place to keep the food until I can get it canned or dehydrated.  As we use things up, I'll consolidate back down to one freezer and unplug the second to save on electricity.

It’s been a good year for stocking up food supplies, even though my garden wasn’t the best.  I've been getting to know people and making contacts, learning to barter and trade - which I think will be even more of an economic necessity these next four years.  I'm learning more about what we like to eat and to tailor our garden and food storage to match; for instance no squash this year, but lots of potatoes instead.  I’ve discovered that canning meat isn't so scary as I thought, and it's great for long-term storage without worrying about freezer burn or electric bills, and it's been fun to develop recipes using my stored foods.

Here's one that we've been using a lot, it's so quick and easy:

Chicken Salad
Pint jar of canned chicken
Most of a half-pint jar of canned green tomato relish
Mayo (home-made or store bought)
dehydrated onion, chopped fine
dehydrated carrot, chopped fine
dehydrated apple, chopped fine
dried parsley
sugar
salt
pepper
ground mustard
ground tumeric

Drain chicken and relish but don't squeeze dry.  Mix all ingredients together in a large bowl, using just enough mayo to hold it together, and allow to set for a few minutes to blend the flavors.  This recipe is really adaptable - I don't measure anything, but simply adjust for taste. This can be spread over home-made bread for a sandwich, or mixed with cooked pasta that has been chilled for a quick and easy salad.  

Until next time, may each of you know the "peace that passes all understanding".

Reformation Day!

It was a time late in the Middle Ages, when lords lived in castles and serfs toiled in the fields.  The Catholic Church was as powerful or more powerful than many kings, holding sway over lord and serf alike.
Unfortunately, men who lived for themselves rather than for serving others were in control of the church, and the Gospel was overshadowed by the Law.  People were taught they could earn salvation by giving money to the church, performing pilgrimages, penances, and good works.

One man who earnestly sought to earn his salvation was a young German monk by the name of Martin Luther.  He followed, indeed went beyond every edict of his monastic order, punishing himself physically and mentally until he gave up in despair.  He felt utterly broken and destroyed when he realized that no matter how hard, how desperately he tried, he could never be righteous enough to please God and "earn" salvation.  He moved on from the monastery, becoming a professor at the University of Erfurt where he spent much time studying the Bible.

His studies took him deep into the Bible, where, guided by the Holy Spirit, he came to a new understanding.  He realized that salvation is not something that can be "earned".  It is a gift, freely given.  Jesus died to pay the price for everyone, and all are covered by His righteousness.

Luther also realized that the Catholic Church was continuing down the wrong road, and indeed had been making a great deal of money selling what the called "indulgences".  A person could go to a parish priest and buy a scrap of parchment that said his sins would not count.  One could see how the idea was attractive - want to go out and get drunk and rob someone?  Simply buy this piece of paper ahead of time and no problem!  No guilt!

The practice of selling indulgences was just one of the church practices that didn't sit right with Luther, and he tried to work from within to make the needed changes.  Finally, on October 31st, 1517, he wrote the Ninety-five Theses, and nailed them to the door of the Castle Church in Wittenburg.  A simple act, a fairly common act of the time when men wished to set up a meeting to debate issues; yet with far-reaching consequences that Luther could not have foreseen.

The Protestant Reformation is a fascinating historical study, but I won't take your time with it here.  Suffice it to say that God used Luther to bring Law and Gospel, Word and Sacrament back to the people, and to this day we celebrate Reformation Day.

Meanwhile, back on the homestead, we've survived the high winds on the edge of Hurricane Sandy with some minor power outages.  So sad to see all the destruction on the coast!  Hope the area recovers quickly.  I've been busy lately, putting up over four dozen quarts of potatoes, a few dozen jars of green tomato relish and hot pepper jam, two dozen pints of carrots, and putting a bushel of apples through the dehydrator.  I'm so pleased to have the carrots!  The first sowing didn't come up this Spring, so I replanted them but thought the entire crop lost to the weed epidemic I had this year.  What a pleasant surprise to find a really nice crop peeking out from behind the tomato plants.

They look even nicer put up in a jar!

Crossing the Line

I'm at a loss. Has it truly come to this? A country founded through a fierce desire for independence, a land of freedom won by sacrifice and commitment, a home where everyone can worship God in their own way, protected and defended by the brave and honorable for over two hundred years, is now fallen so low that the Commander in Chief tells young women that voting for him is like losing your virginity to a great guy.

Yes, it's a real campaign ad.

http://youtu.be/o6G3nwhPuR4

There's just so much that is so sick and so wrong with this ad that I can hardly express my horror and disgust. I already knew that the current pretender in the White House was an arrogant, clueless man, but now it's clear he's nothing more than a pervert.

Instead of protecting our borders, he's using the Health and Human Services mandates to bedevil faith based organizations.

Instead of guarding the safety and sovereignty of America and our citizens, he parties with celebrities.

Instead of being a leader, he bows to foreign dictators and apologizes for America's existence.

Only a country falling prey to to completely selfish, evil thoughts and desires would be desperate enough to elect such a man to the highest office. Where is honor, faith, respect? What happened to responsibility and hard work?

We're drowning in debt, under attack here and abroad by terrorists, our borders are over-run by aliens, and what do we get? Bread and circuses. Though now it's in the form of cell phones and birth control.

Sadly, it seems too many of our citizens don't care what happens, so long as they get their freebies from the government, so long as they can have sex with whoever and whatever they want and then proudly parade it in public , so long as they can demand their “rights”. And they continue to elect liberal politicians who have no moral compass, who will happily spend us into oblivion to buy votes and maintain their cushy position and benefits while completely failing to do their jobs.

A desperate call for help from an American ambassador in the Middle East? Nope, sorry, have to run to Vegas to schmooze at a fundraiser.

A Christian church run by people who practice what they preach? Oh, can't have that – use government mandates to force them to pay for abortions, and sue them if they won't perform a wedding ceremony for homosexuals.

A sheriff in Arizona actually arresting illegals and sending them back over the border? Court the “latino” vote by persecuting and threatening him.

Time for a vacation? Spend millions of taxpayer dollars to send the wife and kids off to Europe.

Am I the only one who is outraged and heartbroken by it all? God help us! We continue to throw His blessings away in favor of darkness and evil. How long will He continue to show us grace and mercy before He allows our own choices to destroy our country?

If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray , and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land. 2nd Chronicles 7:14

"...run around the house three times."

When I was little, and complained of not feeling well, my Mom's first response was always "go outside and run around the house three times".  While at first glance that may seem a trifle harsh, especially in this politically correct age, there was a gem of wisdom there.  If I was truly sick, I would simply look up at her with glassy eyes and wipe my runny nose on my sleeve, and before I knew it I was dosed with a combination of honey, whiskey, and lemon juice and propped up with pillows on the sofa.  If I was just feeling sort of punky and she chased me outside, I would run around in the fresh air and sunshine and usually feel better right away.

Scientists today have all sorts of names for this phenomenon, speaking of endorphins, or getting vitamins from the sun, and so it may be, but really I think it's more a matter of attitude and a sort of toughness.  Fighting through feeling sluggish and out of sorts to get muscles moving is an accomplishment that can make all the difference.  To this day it's still her stock answer, and one I use on my own daughter.  We even use the phrase on each other as a way of motivating ourselves to go do something fun when we're so tempted to just sit on the deck in the comfy chairs.

This evening was another such time.  After spending the weekend putting up fifty pounds of potatoes, canning twenty jars of green tomato relish and another fifteen of hot pepper jam, then rushing through endless files at work, I really wanted nothing more than my recliner.  Mom has a pretty stressful, lousy sort of job too, and was ready to just chill.  But the air was warm, the leaves were gorgeous, and the lake was calling.  We just HAD to get out there in the kayaks!  I mean, how many chances will we have yet before the water gets hard?  So instead of sitting on the deck, we pushed each other to hauled out the 'yaks and trek out to the water. 

Ahhhh, how worth it!  The water was a dark, moody gray, choppy with small waves but with also with flat, smooth areas mysteriously reflecting the cloudy sky.  I could feel the stress just fall away as I dug and pulled, dug and pulled, hands tight on the paddle, shoulders straining, heart pumping.  The wonderful scent of burning leaves drifted out to us as we paralleled the shore, the water gently slapping against our boats.  A dozen deer, a mixture of yearlings and does, barely paused their browsing to watch us float by.  Turkeys moved among the deer, occasionally chortling and cooing to each other, and a couple of mischievous squirrels chittered loudly as they chased each other in circles up and down the trunk of a giant oak.  The deer would waggle their ears at the squirrels, as if to say "quit making so much noise".  Sometimes we paddled and chatted, sometimes we simply sat and drifted, enjoying the peace, the scenery, and each others company.  It wasn't until we heard rumbles of thunder in the distance that we headed in for supper.

By the time I left, we were both feeling better, more relaxed, and quietly energized.  I'm so blessed to have such a wise Mom, who has taught me well and been a wonderful example; and it's so good that we live where we can grab a kayak and put it in the water any time we want.  Having the Great Lakes to play in is truly great!

So remember the next time you're feeling sort of down and out of sorts, go outside and run around the house three times. (Or paddle a boat, ski down a hill, maybe even just go for a walk.) You'll be better for it!

October Surprise! (Or God is Good!)

Yes, I know that "October Surprise" has bad connotations, being a political ploy of politicians looking to be elected in November.  But here it was something rare and beautiful.  It was well after dark when I got home Monday, and once the truck lights shut off I thought what I was seeing was merely the neighbor's enormous combine shining lights up through the dust while harvesting beans.  Then I looked closer...it was actually the aurora borealis!  This makes about the fourth or fifth time I've been able to see them in the last three decades, so it's a rare treat.  Despite the freezing temperatures, I sat on my patio swing for over an hour, enjoying the show. They don't look like the vibrant, sparkling lights one sees on television shows about Alaska; here they are understated and subtle. I've seen some northern lights show pink and red before, but Monday's were white, blue and green, pale pastels flowing over the horizon in gentle waves.  Most of the time I could still see the stars through the gossamer veils, while some waves seemed to drift closer and coalesce, obscuring the stars. One little cloud of light seemed almost to perch on my roof top, perhaps caught for a moment on the eaves, until it could pull free and continue on it's way.  What a peaceful interlude, gently rocking in my patio swing, nestled deep in my jacket, my head resting back on the cushion, quietly overcome by the awesome spectacle of the night sky.   It was a perfect combination of clear air, shimmering northern lights, and brilliant stars.  I do wish folks would turn off the yard lights, street lights, and advertising lights, and take time to slow down and look up.  They may be astonished at what they're missing - a beautiful show, and no political ads!!

We recently took a family trip, and it was a real adventure for us to drive clear across two states, and a lot of fun to explore and see new places.  By the time we got back, we had put over a thousand miles on the van in just three days, and been through big cities, stretches of farm land, across major rivers, through valleys, and over hills. 

The very next day, that same van stranded me in the parking lot at work.  God is so good!!  When I thought about all the places we had just been, so far away from home, all I could do was sit there with the hood up and the door open, laughing.  My co-workers thought it a strange reaction to a broken down vehicle, but I was looking at the bigger picture.  Getting my brother to rescue me from work was a trivial inconvenience, compared to what could have been.  It makes me wonder, how many times does God take what Satan intended as a major, heart-breaking hurt, and instead allow it only as an inconvenience?  How often are we protected by His grace, without even realizing it?

Our October weather has been pretending it's November, with hard freezes and drizzly days.  It seems no Indian summer for us this year - and me still with dozens of chores to do before the homestead is ready for winter.  We'll be making the green tomatoes into relish and pickles, scrounging for firewood, cutting the grass one more time, and getting the screens out of the windows, among other projects.  I certainly wish there was a way to make a full time income, and yet be home with time to get everything done!  Maybe I'll have to look into cloning...

Canning beans

I finally got some beans out of my garden, the lovely "Dragontongue" beans that are yellow and purple and have no strings.  Last summer was the first time I grew these beans, and they quickly became a favorite due to their meaty heft and good texture that doesn't get woody when the beans get big.  I didn't have quite enough beans to make it worthwhile to get out the canner so I bought some nice green beans from my Amish neighbors and set to work. 

I much prefer "frenched" beans to cut beans, so after thoroughly washing the beans and cutting off the ends, I run them all through the frencher.  I have this giant colander that I feed the beans into from the frencher, making it easier to rinse off all the bits of seeds.

(Sometimes the best things can happen simply from being in the right place at the right time.  I was given this colander and quite a few other kitchen gadgets just because I was helping out a woman who was downsizing her home prior to moving.  Fun!)

After the beans are all frenched and rinsed, I stuff the jars.  I pack them in pretty tightly but make sure to leave a one inch headspace.  I cover the beans with hot water and use a plastic knife or wooden handle to make sure the air bubbles are all out.

Then I use a clean, damp cloth to make sure the tops of the jars are clean.

Then it's time to put the lids on, that I've had simmering in warm water to slightly soften the rubber sealant.

I love this little gadget!  Very simple, just a magnet at the end of a plastic handle, but it makes it so easy to get the lid out of the hot water without burning my fingers, or risk scratching the lid with tongs.  I tighten the rings just finger tight, and load the jars into the pressure canner.

The canner has a locking lid with flanges that fit like a tongue and groove when I twist the lid shut.

Not locked

Locked and ready to go

I follow the instructions in the canner manual for venting the steam and monitoring the heat so that the weight is happily jiggling, and process the beans (pint jars) for twenty minutes at ten pounds of pressure.  It can all be a lot of work, but to me it's worth it to have fresh, high quality beans preserved without chemicals and packed in glass instead of cans that may have liners that leach compounds into the food.  There's a wonderful sense of accomplishment, looking at a pantry shelf stocked with food I've preserved!