I didn't believe it 'til I saw it with my own eyes

Someone, I don't recall who, mentioned to me a few weeks ago that it's possible to cook a whole chicken in a crock pot without adding any liquid.

That sounded a bit bizarre to me, but then I came upon a recipe last week that called for a whole chicken, a few vegetables, and essentially no liquid.

The recipe did say to add a tablespoon of olive oil and a splash of lemon juice to the chicken, but that was it.

The recipe contributor also mentioned she'd removed almost all of the skin from the chicken, although this was not necessary.

I bought a 4.5 lb. chicken, removed as much skin as possible, stuffed the bird into the crock pot, added the olive oil and lemon juice, added some cut-up carrots, a white potato, and a sweet potato (both cubed), tossed in a cut-up onion, dusted everything with salt and pepper, put the lid on the top, set the heat at "Low," and...went about my day.

The recipe I used called for four hours of cooking on "low," but that seemed a bit skimpy to me, so I extended the cooking time to six hours.

At the end of the six hours I removed the cooked vegetables, then the tenderest chicken I've ever had the pleasure of eating, from the pot. What amazed me beyond the tenderness of the chicken was the fact that the crock pot was almost full of liquid when I opened the lid. And oh! the aroma in my kitchen all day!

The chicken was of the falling-off-the-bone tenderness type.

Um-um, good.

Since trying the above recipe, I've discovered there are many cook-whole-chicken-in-crock-pot recipes on the web, such as this one, or this one, or this one or this one. None of these recipes calls for adding any liquid to the pot, just whatever herbs/spices you want.

The next time I cook a chicken this way, I think I'll not bother to add vegetables.  I want to see what the chicken is like with various seasonings added and nothing else.

Give it a try! It's quick, easy, and delicious.

Have you heard of Postcrossing?

I hadn't heard of Postcrossing until a month ago, when my niece Rachel said she and her six-year-old daughter, Violet, are Postcrossers, and she wondered if I might like to be, too. (Rachel and Violet have a world map to which they add pins when they receive new post cards.)

I did, and I am. I registered immediately.

Postcrossing is a free project, except for the cost of postcards and stamps.

Once registered, you simply request the name and address of a participant, to whom you will send a card.

I've sent seven "official" and one "unofficial" postcards so far. The unofficial one went out this morning to a young man, Milad, in Baghdad. He'd come across my name on the site and wrote to ask if I'd send a postcard to him from Maine, preferably a card with a map of Maine or of our capital building, or something of that sort. It's OK to make direct swaps like this, and I was happy to fill Milad's request, but I plan to do most of my swaps through official requests to the site.

My cards have been sent to Belarus, Germany, China, Russia, the Netherlands, Lithuania and Finland. I sent the Portland Head Light card below to Tatiana in Belarus this morning.

I've received three post cards to date, from Belgium, the Netherlands, and Belarus. Maartje in the Netherlands read on my profile that I like to knit, so she thoughtfully chose the card at left for me.

The ostriche card is the one I received today, from  Rebecca in Belgium. She's a second-year teacher there, mentioning on her card that she hopes the job gets easier. I e-mailed her a thank-you and assured her the first two years of teaching are, by far, the most difficult.

Jurgita in Lithuania mentioned on her profile that she likes vintage cards, pictures of mothers and children, etc. When Ken and I went to Montsweag Flea Market a few weeks ago, I found just the card for her: an early 1900's card depicting a mother giving a baby a bath in a basin. Luckily, the card had not been written on, so I purchased it and sent it to Jurgita.

To visit the Postcrossing site, go here.

To view my profile at the site, go here.

To learn more about Postcrossings and its over 330,000 participants, go here.

I think this project is a wonderful way to meet new people worldwide, and to reaffirm what fine folks the vast majority of us are!

Our Molly (and Murphy and Hershey)

In my header is Molly, our chocolate Labrador, at eight weeks old, back in 2002. Quite frankly and not at all modestly, I think that is one of the most adorable photos I've ever taken, but not due to my photographic skills. There's simply nothing cuter than a Labrador puppy.  Ken and I tried to put Molly back into the crock a few days later, for another photo shoot, and she'd already grown too large to fit into it! To the left is Molly today, looking older and wiser.

We got little Molly after losing our beloved Murphy, another chocolate Lab. Although our hearts were broken, we quickly found room in our hearts for this new, rambunctious puppy.

We've had three chocolate Labs in all: Hershey, who lived to be only 14 months old and passed away, much to our grief, when we'd put her in a boarding kennel before we left on a three-week trip to Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. What a shock to come home and learn our Hershey had died only a few days after we'd left on the trip. Her death has made leaving our dogs behind when we travel all the more painful.

I've always felt as if we never really got to know Hershey. She traveled to Newfoundland with us the first summer we had her, when she was just a small puppy, and she was a hit with the natives. Many had never seen a chocolate Lab before, which surprised me since Labradors are native to, well, Labrador, and Labrador is next-door to Newfoundland.

Hershey traveled on that trip in the back of our pick-up truck, safely stowed in her kennel. At night in various campgrounds, she'd snuggle into bed with us in our tent camper, because the mosquitoes were relentless to her if she stayed in her kennel at night. It took what seemed like hours for her to finally settle down in bed, preferring to walk on us, bat us with her paws, lick our faces, but she'd eventually tire herself out and sleep all night between Ken and me. We loved little Hershey and thought we'd have her with us for years. The next summer, she died.

Murphy, full name Murphy Brown, was ours for eleven years. What a kind, gentle dog she was. When I'd get home from school in the afternoon and sit down on the cedar chest to put on my walking shoes before we'd go out for our walk, Murph would lay her head in my lap. She was a dear, dear friend. Cancer took her from us in 2002. She's buried in a grave dug by Ken behind our house. (Hershey, however, is buried at our former house.)

And now there's Molly Brown. What a piece of work she is! She doesn't let us do much without first getting her permission, preferrably in writing. We are not allowed to use our front or kitchen doors unless we're taking her outside with us. She takes personal offense when the UPS truck drives by the house, and she declares all-out war if it pulls into our driveway. When she and I are out for our daily walk, she's as sweet as pie to some of the neighbors but barks and growls at others. For the life of me, I can't figure out what criteria she uses to determine if she likes someone or not. She spends most of each day pretty much glued to me: If I go into the kitchen, she follows; if I go into the living room, she follows,...In the evening, when Ken's in his recliner and I'm on the end of the sofa near Ken, Molly tucks herself in at our feet. She likes to be with her people. At the moment, in fact, she's holed-up with me here in my study, sleeping at my feet and snoring a tad loudly. I'm sure if I should type something about her she didn't like, she'd leap to her feet, grab me around the neck, pull me to her so we're nose-to-nose, and demand I delete what I'd just written. That's our Molly.

Now Molly is showing signs of aging. She's almost ten. She hasn't yet had the health battles that Murph had, but her muzzle is quite white and she has slowed down.

I hadn't intended to reminisce about our dogs when I uploaded the photo of Molly-in-the-crock. I'd simply planned to share that photo so you could see what a little doll she was in her pink collar and with her amazing teal-blue eyes. Somehow the memories flooded back. There you have it. And I have a big lump in my throat.

P.S. Since my header photo of 8-week-old Molly has been deleted, I'll add it here:

Three updates

First, the baby birds. Two friends identified the little critters as phoebes, and I'm sure they're right. Why I couldn't figure this out myself, I don't know.

Later in the day of the last photo I shared of them, Ken came into the house to tell me the babies had left their nest and were now perched on the chicken wire which Ken had put under the deck flooring to (ahem) keep birds from nesting there. (So much for his attempt at that.)

Anyway, the babies stayed on the wire for several hours and into the evening.

I think we know which one was already showing signs of being an independent thinker, don't we?

Early the next morning they were back on the wire or still on the wire, I'm not sure which, then they began their first, tentative flying lessons. Soon they were off. They had literally "left the nest." I'm glad I happened to photograph them while they were in their nest, because I had no idea that would be their last day as our tenants.

Second, my knitting. I'm still at it. Right now I'm working on an adult Aran cardigan. It's my second adult one and sixth one in all. For some reason, it seems to be progressing way too slowly.  I do love knitting cables and various other patterns, though, so I'm happily plugging along.

Before starting the Aran, I knit myself a pair of socks from the Crazy Zauberball yarn which I mentioned in April. I loved working with this yarn, and I especially loved the rich colors in the ball I chose. I made no attempt to match the colors sock-to-sock. That would have been a fruitless attempt, I'm sure.



And finally, the kitchen. No photos, because I want to knock your socks off when it's completed. It's coming along nicely, though. The cabinets are in, and yesterday a guy came from Blue Rock to take measurements for the granite counter tops. They will be the finishing touch, and they'll be installed on June 15.

Oh, and the bow window. That will be installed this Thursday or Friday, assuming the window is delivered to us on schedule.

We do have one slight problem with the new hardwood floor: our dog, Molly, is afraid to walk on it! She's never been known to be terribly brave, and although she's a Lab, she's even afraid of the water, for crying out loud. But afraid to walk on the floor??? She seems to think it's ice, and she walks very slowly and close to the wall when we insist she use that route to go outdoors. We're hoping this is just a phase and she'll accept the new floor before long.

That reminds me, Molly and I need to go outdoors to see if our gardens are afloat after all the rain we've gotten in the past few days. The rain started on Saturday and finally quit this morning. There's a lot of flooding in the state, because many areas, including ours, got up to 8" of rain in all. My worry is for farmers who've planted large fields of crops and now might have lost them.

Still hanging on

I planted the garden this past weekend. It always feels good to get it "in" and check on it daily to see if 1) it's still there, and 2) it needs any TLC.

I have a little ritual for planting the tomato seedlings. The ritual starts in January when I begin saving banana peels. I use my kitchen scissors to cut them into small pieces, then I put them into large plastic bags and store them in the freezer.

When it's time to plant the tomatoes, I dig a deep  hole, drop in a handful of banana peel, then add some compost from my compost bin (see brown pail), add some soil, then add the tomato plant.

I became a believer in the banana peel/tomato plant "marriage" and few years ago and haven't looked back. My plants produce lots o' tomatoes, and I give the banana peels (and compost) the credit.

I don't worry about getting my hands dirty when I garden. Hands are washable, after all.

Ken says an abundance of earthworms is an indication of good, healthy soil. That must mean my garden's soil is in top condition, because the place is crawling, literally, with earthworms.

This little fella at 5 o'clock to the pepper plant is probably the only earthworm for miles around to have his picture taken.

 I plant the lettuce on the back side of each tomato stake. This works well, because the lettuce has outlived its usefulness by the time the tomato plants take off and demand more space.

I also planted summer squash, cucumbers, zucchini, and beets. I'll add radishes and Swiss chard as soon as I remember to buy seeds.








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Meanwhile, this is the current state of my kitchen. The sink used to be under the window; cupboards used to rest comfortably on either side of the window and under the now non-existent counters, and the fridge used to NOT reside in the dining room.

It's all coming together well, though, and I'm remaining optimistic. Ken says the kitchen will be done within two weeks. We shall see.

This little bird family (four in all) resides under the floor in a corner of our back deck. Last year their parents built a nest in another corner, a back corner, of the deck, so Ken destroyed the nest this spring, thinking the birds would take the hint and move elsewhere.

They did: to a front corner. They're darned cute though, aren't they?

Hanging on

I'm trying to think only pleasant thoughts while my kitchen looks like a train wreck during this remodeling project. The refrigerator is in the dining room, along with the old kitchen island, the dinnerware and cooking pots, the eating and cooking utensils. The worst is yet to come, because the stove top and oven and also the microwave are still intact and usable. Oh, mercy.

Anyway, to keep myself from doing something drastic, I'm focusing on pleasant thoughts, like our drive up to Wiscasset on Sunday. We went to Montsweag Flea Market, which is a favorite haunt of ours each summer, then drove up to Wiscasset village for lunch at Sarah's.

We sat on the restaurant's deck overlooking the Sheepscot River to enjoy our meal. Lobster rolls and a cup of haddock chowder were the special of the day, for $16.99, and that's what we both ordered. Delicious, and plenty of it.

Meanwhile, back home, the lady slippers are in bloom. The little patch I keep an eye on each years has its usual seven flowers in bloom. A new home has been built next to this patch, so I've taken it upon myself to announce to the new home owners, "LADY SLIPPERS ARE AN ENDANGERED SPECIES IN MAINE. IT'S AGAINST THE LAW TO PICK THEM." Not very subtle, perhaps, but I'd hate to see those lady slippers die out.

 I spotted this Lady's Mantle in my flower garden a few minutes ago. Last night's showers left tiny raindrop jewels along the edge of each leaf. You can double-click the photo to enlarge it, if you'd like.

My irises are beginning to come into bloom. I love the beauty of the irises.

As you can see from my header photo, the Jack-in-the-pulpits are also in bloom. We have a large patch of them in the field on the left edge of our property.

So that's the beauty along the Maine coast and in my own neighborhood. Inside my home I'm serenaded by the sound of hammers, saws, power staplers, and the like. I try to focus on the finished product, but right now that seems very far away.

What's on my mind

One thing on my mind is this deer (and his companion, not in the photo). The two of them cruised around the wood's edge of our back yard last evening, causing me to worry.

I fear they were checking to see if my vegetable garden is planted (it isn't), and to see if any tasty little shoots are sprouting yet (they aren't, obviously).

The deer's appearance last night, the first sighting in our back yard since last summer, officially launches my Summer of Worrying, worrying that I'll get up some morning to find my garden gone. I go through this every summer and sometimes wonder if the vegetables we enjoy from the garden are really worth the amount of worrying required.

In an attempt to thwart the deer from entering the garden, I mixed up a batch of deer repellent this morning and sprayed it along the wood's edge, on the tree stump in the photo, on large rocks, wherever.

Deer repellent recipe:

In blender mix 2 cups water and 1/2 cup dry milk powder. Add 1-2 eggs and blend well. Now stir in 1 T. dish soap. DO NOT TURN ON THE BLENDER once the liquid soap has been added, or you'll be sorry. I know this for a fact. I tried it once.

I'll also sprinkle blood meal around the garden's perimeter once it's planted. We have a friend whose garden is in prime deer territory, but he swears by the blood meal to keep the deer away.

Another thing on my mind is how to survive our imminent kitchen remodeling. It officially begins on Monday. Here you see my dining room table loaded with most of the contents of my kitchen cupboards. I emptied the cupboards this morning, the top ones, that is. Still have the pots and pans cupboards to do, but I'll get to that tomorrow. So far I've survived the mess created by Ken's ripping up the old flooring so the new hardwood floor can replace it. I tell myself that if I can survive that step, I just might survive the rest of them.

Meanwhile, I've grown a little addicted to crocheting wool granny squares and felting them for coasters. If I can focus on the crochet, maybe I can forget about the deer and the remodeling.

Maybe.