My Marines

Continuing my story about my Epic Vacation... 

I arrived in Pigeon Forge on Thursday, for a reunion with a bunch of buddies from my Marine Corps unit.  The cabin we stayed at was actually in the countryside, roughly halfway between Pigeon Forge and Sevierville.  Calling the place a cabin is a bit of an understatement though.  It was three stories, with a pool table, a swimming pool, two hot tubs, and a two-lane duck pin bowling alley.  The kitchen had two stoves, two dishwashers, two refrigerators, and the dining room had two massively long tables.  It was absolutely wild!  We spent a ton of time on the deck off the main floor, consuming adult beverages and just catching up.

I hadn't seen one of the guys who showed up, Bob, in over 30 years, and as is typical with my Marines, it was like we hadn't missed a beat.  Everyone got along very well, as is always the case.  While we generally avoided the goings-on of the world, we did briefly talk politics.  Military people tend to be on the conservative end of the spectrum, so I was the odd man out in my political leanings, but we were all respectful.  For the most part, we talked about our lives and re-hashed our old war stories.  The fun part of this is that our time in service overlapped, and we were all deployed at different times, so had new audiences when we bragged about how we saved the world from communism.

We saw a mama bear and her two cubs a couple of different times while we were there.  They were close, but not dangerously so.  The first time we saw them, momma was foraging in the woods behind the cabin, and the second time, they were exploring a giant dumpster in the driveway of the house next door, which was under construction.

We went into Pigeon Forge twice.  One day we went and raced go karts, and on the second visit, we took a redneck comedy bus tour.  Both days included a visit to the Old Smoky moonshine distillery.

The meals were cooked at the cabin, and they were kind of organically planned.  We had big breakfasts of bacon and eggs, and out dinners consisted of burgers, steaks, and chicken, all cooked on the outdoor grill.  Everyone willingly pitched in to cook, serve, or clean up.

Everyone who attended this trip agreed that it was a massive success, and we are very much leaning toward the same location next year.  The fun part is that even if we double the number of people attending, we will have plenty of room to put everyone up in the cabin.

Tune in next time, when I talk about my motorcycle adventures.

Epic Vacation

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I took a little vacation last week.  The vacation was essentially split into sections... traveling to the first destination, a reunion with some of my Marine Corps buddies, some motorcycle riding in the Smoky Mountains, and traveling home.

The reunion took place just outside of Pigeon Forge, TN.  This is a long way from my neighborhood, so I split the commute over two days, since I rode the bike.  Day one I traveled to Indianapolis, and day two landed me in Pigeon forge.  For the most part the ride was pleasant and uneventful.  It was brutally hot, but this didn't really bother me.  I made sure to stop every hundred miles or so to pound a Gatorade and rest.  As the day warmed up, I wore an evaporation vest under my jacket, which helped keep me cool.  Later on, I swapped out the vest and just soaked my t-shirt.  This didn't last as long, but it provided more cooling because the shirt wasn't as heavy, so I got better air flow.

The scenery was nice, especially on the second day, traveling from Indy to Pigeon Forge.  The mountains were particularly scenic.  The only real headache I experienced was getting from Pigeon Forge to the cabin.  My GPS didn't play nicely, so I found myself riding to a turn, stopping to confirm my location and next turn, repeating ad nauseam.  GPS problems became a recurring issue later on, but I'll expound on that more later...

 Tune in tomorrow when I talk about the reunion. 

Harsh Karma

I recently found out that my ex has been diagnosed with congestive heart failure.  I don't know the details, because quite frankly, I'm not all that interested.  The only reason I care at all is because it impacts my kids.  This is where it gets interesting:  It turns out they're not that interested either.

If you recall some of my previous writings about her shenanigans, you will remember that she has been a less than stellar parent, which is a charitable way of phrasing things.  It's more accurate to say that she's been manipulative, neglectful, and generally selfish.  Her behavior has been so bad for so long, that both kids recently cut off communication with her.  When she contacted them to share that she was hospitalized, their reply was something to the effect of I wish you well.

One of my girls asked my thoughts.  I replied by saying "When you girls were younger, I saw how she treated you, and I hated it, but I knew I had to play the long game.  I know I wasn't perfect at it, but I tried diligently to not bash on her, while also not excusing her behavior.  I knew my bias, and also kind of understood that bashing on her would do no good.  The best thing I could do was be there for you, and hope that one day you would realize how poorly she treated you, and that you'd eventually see her for the person she is.  I just didn't realize how harsh that outcome would be."  When challenged on the use of the word harsh, I clarified that a harsh consequence is not always excessive... sometimes it's justice.

On the Road Again

I'm heading out for a little vacation.  I'm jumping on the bike and heading out for a reunion with some of my Marine Corps buddies.  I may or may not post while I'm doing my thing.

Oh, You Loony MAGA-ites!

You can't make this sh!+ up! MAGA doesn't believe that climate change is real, but they're fully on board with the idea that an individual can purchase the materials to "geoengineer" extreme heat or cold, just to make things inconvenient for their supreme leader.

Road Trip

When I was in the Marine Corps, I was stationed at (now closed) MCAS Tustin.  This is in the heart of Orange County, California, and everything was close by.  I could be at the beach in less than 30 minutes.  Disneyland was less than an hour away.  I could be in the mountains or the desert in about an hour.  LA was about an hour away, San Diego was about 90 minutes away, and I could be in Tijuana in less than two hours.  Every weekend was a road trip.

One weekend night, I loaded up my VW Bus with a bunch of my Marine buddies for an evening of cruising Newport Beach. Relatively early into the evening, I saw a young woman, obviously quite intoxicated, staggering around a parking lot.  She was in bad shape!  She could barely stand, she was slurring her words to the point where I could hardly understand what she was saying, and her pants were missing.  I knew that if she didn't get home, something very bad would probably happen to this young lady.

I convinced her to get into the van with us, letting her know we were taking her home.  This was before the days of cell phones.  I asked her where she lived, and she slurred "Inshunithus."  I couldn't understand what she was saying.  I asked again, and she again slurred "Inshunithus!"  I asked her to spell it, and she replied "E... I... N... I... Inshunithus!"  She then passed out in the lap of one of my buddies, and she was down for the count.

I had one of my buddies dig into her purse and locate her driver's license to find her address.  She was saying "Encinitas," which was over an hour south of our location. One of my friends grew up in Oceanside, which is close by, and knew how to get to that city.  Once we got there, we were able to wake her up, and she was able to give us directions to her house, where we dropped her off and waited by the door until she got safely into the house.  Again, it was before the days of cell phones, so we didn't have GPS to guide us.  We were fortunate that she was just coherent enough to give us turn by turn directions to her place.

When we looked at her license, we learned it was her 21st birthday, which explained why she was so snot slinging drunk.  It didn't explain her missing pants (or skirt, whichever it was.)  To this day, I have no idea what happened to her after we dropped her at her door, and I have no idea how she got so far away from home.  I can't help but wonder if she had a "Dude, Where's My Car?" scenario.  And if so, did she ever find it?

All I know is that we planned an evening cruising the beach, and we ended up taking a road trip to E.. I... N... I... Inshunithus!  We had hoped to pick up some chicks, but not exactly like this.  As is usually the case though, the best road trips -- nay, the best stories -- are the result of an unexpected twist of fate that changes your plans.  Kind of like another road trip, where my buddy Fred and I decided to drive to San Francisco for a newspaper and a Coke, and to drive across the Golden Gate Bridge, not realizing that San Francisco was eight hours away.

A Labor of Love

One of my favorite aspects of summer is fresh produce.  I love making fresh salsa, cucumber salad, and homemade pickles.  Iowa sweet corn is the best there is!  Right now black raspberries are in season.

I've had a small patch of black raspberries in my back yard for almost as long as I can remember.  You won't find black raspberries in stores, because they have a very short shelf life.  But I've made a small tradition of taking my kids to the back yard to pick black raspberries with me, and then my grandkids.  In the early years, the patch was small and only produced a few berries, so we'd just go out and eat them straight off the vine.  Since then, I learned how to tend the canes and the patch has grown noticeably.

A couple of years back, I discovered a wild stash growing in a woody area close to my house, and everything changed. I suddenly found myself with enough berries to do more than eat a small handful every couple of days.  I decided to try my hand at making jam.  I actually started out making a simple sauce to pour over ice cream, using only the berries and just enough honey to lightly sweeten the reduction.  The pivot to jam was a natural progression; I just had to mildly tweak my recipe.

The process was as much about learning as anything else.  For starters, I was not interested in a jam that contained as much sugar as fruit.  But I also learned that a certain amount of pectin, sugar, and lemon juice are all necessary for the jam to gel.  I made three small batches of jam last year, sharing the product with family and close friends, actively soliciting feedback, and refining accordingly.  My final recipe uses about 1/3 of the sugar of recipes I found online, and I believe it's far superior because it focuses on the flavor of the berry instead of maximizing the sweet.

This year's harvest has been the best so far.  I've harvested over a gallon and a half of berries, which will yield about 30 quarter pint jars of homemade black raspberry jam, and the season is not quite finished.  Oh, quick side note, I also found a patch of wild blackberries this year.  I hope to not only harvest them, but also I hope to propagate and transplant a few canes to my back yard.

This is definitely a labor of love.  The short shelf life of a black raspberry means that I need to forage at least every other day.  Daily foraging is better.  Mosquitoes are out in force, especially in the wild patch in the woods.  It's hot, and the wooded area blocks the breeze.  The raspberry bushes in the woods are mixed in with nettles.  Between the nettles and the thorns on the canes, I have to wear jeans.  And it's getting hot!  There have been many times where I've been out foraging in 90+ degree weather with Iowa humidity stacked on top of it.

And the labor doesn't end with the foraging.  I have to freeze the berries so they don't rot.  The foraging window is about a month.  So I have to keep the freezer clear for that time.  Then there's actually making the jam.  I have to do it in small batches, making only six or so jars in a batch, and each batch takes about an hour to an hour and a half to make.  This doesn't include the cost of the sugar, pectin, and jars.

The funniest part is that, while I love raspberries, I don't eat that much jam.  I might eat 3 or 4 jars over the course of a year, but the overwhelming majority is given away.  To me, this is a hobby.  I love the idea of being able to harvest wild edible food, and I enjoy preserving fresh, local produce for use during the cold winter months.  My favorite part though, is sharing my culinary talent with friends and family.

I know several people who can food, but compared to the population at large, even in rural Iowa, I possess a relatively rare skill.  When I give someone a jar of my black raspberry preserves, I share that I forage the berries myself, that I can the jam myself, and that it's my own personal recipe.  I say point blank that what I'm sharing is a labor of love.  It's universally well received and highly appreciated.