After the rain.

In the picture above, a single soaked Mexican heather bloom shines and dries in the sun after an inundation of early June.

Now, it’s hot, dry and very green. The heather is basking in the heat and growing like a weed.

Summer weather is upon us – arriving right on calendar time, but late by a couple of months for this part of Texas. We have yet to experience a 100-degree-Fahrenheit (37.8-Centigrade) day. By this time in summer, we’re usually busting the century mark like popcorn popping in the hot pan.

Speaking of corn, how are things down on the farm?

I just called and Uncle Joe says most of the wheat has finally been harvested. He’s still helping to cut a neighbor’s field here and there. Joe’s wheat is in; and he says it’s looking pretty good – considering all the wet. With the wait, the individual grains are lighter and drier than normal, which keeps the bushel weight down; but there are not too many sprouts from the wet grains starting to grow on the stalks, which is good. So, “not bad,” considering.

Next up is the milo, which is also called sorghum. Joe says it’s looking pretty good — if the bugs will stay out. He may have to spray. The milo harvest should start in 2 to 3 weeks.

Corn is short this year. Standing about 6 foot, taller on the better land. Ears are formed and growing. The corn harvest should begin around the end of July or early August. Standing water has claimed a lot of land. The corn never sprouted in the flooded parts of the fields. It was drowned out. Even with the water losses, the crop should be about average.

Last and hottest is the cotton. Quite a few farmers couldn’t get into the wet fields, and their cotton never got planted. Uncle Joe was able to plant his. Cotton loves the hot, and Joe says what’s out there is looking pretty good.

Overall, considering we are now at twice the average rainfall in these parts of Texas, I’d say the crops are doing remarkably well.

We didn’t talk peaches.

This is a picture from down at the farm out the back door. The peach time-of-year is upon us. Just the other day I saw a Peach Festival advertised in a magazine for a county-seat somewhere out there in Texas. That was an alert, and I’ll start looking in the grocery for those yellowish orangish fuzzy little fruits.

Men and women have grown peaches on peach trees for over 4,000 years. Cultivation began in China, where kings and emperors favored the fruit. From there, the peach traveled to Persia, where Alexander the Great reached down form his horse for one of those luscious little globes. Smacking his lips and smitten, the conqueror turned his steed around and galloped back to Europe — the peach held high in hand. After the peach conquered that continent, Spanish explorers brought the peach to the Americas, and two more continents fell to the flavorful fruit.

It took a while, but the peach has traveled around the world, and there it remains to the joy of men and women of every nationality and culinary disposition.

Hooray the peach!

Sing with me:

Apples, peaches, pumpkin pie

Who’s not ready? Holler “I”

Let’s all play hide and seek

Apples, peaches, pumpkin pie

Who’s not ready? Holler “I”

Let’s all play hide and seek

Wow, that’s zippier than my favorite polka version by the Dujka Brothers from the Blue Bell Ice Cream lands near Brenham, Texas, but it is a delightful musical use of the peach and a well-played tune at weddings — including ours.

Summer does have its advantages — once the rains stop, the crops get going and the music starts playing.

Apples, peaches, pumpkin pie.

Grandpa Jim

Gaillardia pulchella

Another name is “Indian blanket.”

The bloom appeared this morning. Summer solstice is near. In the Northern Hemisphere, June 21, 2015 is the longest day of the year. Solstice means sun (sol) stop (stice). On that day, the sun here stands still in the sky and then begins its long slow inexorable retreat back to the south, leaving cooler times behind.

But, not now. Not yet. Now are the days of the sun.

Beside the roads and in the fields, Indian blankets wave their colors to announce the heat. This flower loves the hot weather. With the rising temperatures, Indian blanketflowers unfurl across the Lone Star landscape, crowning each day in a firewheel of sundance color.

While, in the shade, the last of the quiet pinks bloom and sway in the lite summer breeze.

A phlox, I think. This one defies precise description. I cannot find it exactly pictured on the pages of my wildflower manual. For me, it is “phlox” for its resemblance to my favorite springtime wildflower. On Highway 71 just outside Smithville beginning the climb into the Lost Pines and on to Bastrop, the soil on the sloughing hillsides changes and turns a reddish tint. There, in the shade, I see the wild phlox as I race by on my drive to Austin. The ones you see here are, I think, friends to those, if not close related. Here, they are the last to pass in spring as we speed for summer.

And, Citrullus lanatus.

The watermelon.

Watermelon is the quintessential summer fruit. I say this with respect for its edible berry. The exterior rind is hard and smooth, often with the dark green stripes you see here. Insides are juicy and sweet, usually a red to pink color, replacing in shades our fading phlox. Seeds are within, offering entertainment to children on a summer’s eve.

Old as the Pharaohs and young as tonight, the watermelon is to all lands a delight and distraction whatever the latitude it holds in sway.

That was a bit of whimsy from a place appearing not so hot as that of our Gaillardia pulchella, one more in temperament with the pink phlox, hills and dales that may with waning sun wish the warmth of an Indian Blanket, faraway lands dancing in the light tune and sway of their own watermelons, and, for that, close indeed to us and ours.

Happy Summer, wherever you may be and whatever the weather.

There’s always fun to be found close by.

Watermelon.

Grandpa Jim

Last week was the 2-day week.

Each and every day seemed to be two days in length.

On Thursday, I said, “It’s still Wednesday to me,” and it was still Wednesday to me.

It worked like this: There was my first Wednesday, then there was my second Wednesday (when I caught up with you on your Thursday), next there was my first Thursday (which overlapped your Thursday), then I was in my second Thursday (which was your Friday), and so it went throughout the week.

The effect was, I admit, confusing; but, at the same time and in a strange way, it was somehow exciting, invigorating — even rejuvenating.

To “rejuvenate” is to make someone look or feel younger. That’s the definition. It’s like when you “turn over a new leaf.” That’s the idiom, which doesn’t mean to pick up sticks. It means to start a new life, to make a fresh start, to resolve to do better, and to roll out of bed the next morning with a youthful spring to your step and a child-like smile on your face. You’ve been rejuvenated. You’ve turned over a new leaf. You’ve been washed in the Fountain of Youth.

People have long sought the Fountain of Youth, and it has long been thought to be a real place.

Out there somewhere, around the next bend in the path, up high nestled in those mountains, or on that faraway undiscovered mythical island of legend, there’s an upwelling and outpouring of life-renewing water that can cause troubles to fade away and age spots to disappear.

Juan Ponce de Leon was a well-traveled and well-connected Spanish conquistador. He had the ear of King Ferdinand and the funding to outfit a fleet of ships. As the first Governor of Puerto Rico, he’d heard of a place to the North laden with gold and dripping with – you guessed it – the waters of the Fountain of Youth.

Long Ponce de Leon sought the fabled land of Beimeni and its waters of rejuvenation.

One day, he thought he’d sighted that place of fable. It was a tropical paradise of rich exotic blooms. Ponce exclaimed, “La Florida!” “La Florida” means “The Flowery.” He had discovered the beauty of modern-day Florida, the peninsula stretching and separating the Gulf of Mexico from the Atlantic Ocean and the longest coastline of any state in the contiguous United States. Of course, Ponce didn’t know what a “state” was, and he could have cared less. He was in a mad rush for treasure and new life.

Over the years, Ponce de Leon sailed and landed, hiked and fought, and sailed and landed, over and over again, up and down that long coast. His energies ebbed and his body tired in his unrelenting drive to find and dip in those elusive waters of youth.

Finally, on his last voyage to Florida, in July of 1521, a poisoned arrow pierced his thigh. Ponce de Leon retreated to Havana, Cuba, where he died old and broken at the young age of 47 years.

There is a saying: “It’s not when you get old, it’s when old gets you.”

Juan Ponce de Leon discovered old can happen even when you should be young and youthful.

It might be said that Ponce de Leon caused his body to age in his efforts to lose his age. He let old get him, rather than waiting to grow old. The adventurer died too young. That is sad. He is a well-remembered man. The wish is that he could have enjoyed more the life he did have and grown old in the length of those days.

Ponce de Leon sailed after riches and youth and lost both.

Perhaps, there is more in a day than just one day? Perhaps, some extra time can be spent savoring the seconds again – as confusing as that might, at times, seem? In the rush to acquire more is more actually lost? Could more be with us, and we only need to slow and linger to find it longer?

Can it be that the fountain of youth is not letting old get you, but allowing you to grow old?

It is good to have an extra day or two to think on these things.

The 2-day week may be time well spent.

I do feel younger.

Grandpa Jim

Apple pan dowdy is not betty, buckle, grunt, slump, cobbler, crisp, crumble or clafouti. These are all desserts made with apples or other fruit, but only one is the real dowdy.

Apple pan dowdy is a Colonial American after-dinner (or anytime-you-can-get-it) treat dating back some 200 or more years. It is a baked apple dish resembling a pie or cobbler, but with a top which has been made to look “dowdy” by layering overlapping pieces of rough cut dough, rather than carefully stretching a single uniform piece of nice smooth pie dough. The result is sort of frumpy, old-fashioned and frowzy appearing, which are synonyms for the word “dowdy,” which itself means somewhat unfashionable and out-of-place. Think of Carol Burnett dressed up like The Charwoman, her signature character – not fashionable, but certainly endearing and memorable. That’s Carol’s character and that’s apple pan dowdy, a slightly messy but delightful result.

Here is a Google image of an apple pan dowdy.

The reason I thought of apple pan dowdy is because I used the words with my wife and she said, “What are you saying? Where did you hear such a thing?” This is before I figured out — with the Internet’s help above – the whole bit about Betty and Slump and Carol and The Charwoman. I didn’t even draw the connection to the word “dowdy,” which is obviously the source of the dish’s name. I didn’t even think, “dish.” I just remembered, “hearing” something. It was in my head, that catchy little apple pan dowdy something, humming and singing to me.

It was before my time by a few years, but I bet it was still on the radio when I was a little guy crawling on the floor beneath my Mom, who was singing and baking around the kitchen, with this song:

Shoo Fly Pie and Apple Pan Dowdy

Makes your eyes light up

Your tummy say “Howdy.”

Shoo Fly Pie and Apple Pan Dowdy

I never get enough of that wonderful stuff

That’s it. A young Dinah Shore sang the song. In 1946, it was #7 on the Billboard chart. With those lyrics and catchy tune, I’m sure people kept singing, baking and shaking to “Apple Pan Dowdy” for a long time after that. I mean, who could resist a friendly pan of dowdy and a song to sing along with it?

To listen to Dinah and Apple Pan Dowdy on YouTube, just click below.

I just did and that was so good.

I feel better all over.

Shoo Fly Pie

and

Apple Pan Dowdy

I’m wondering, “What’s for dessert tonight?”

Not cobbler, betty, buckle, grunt, slump, crisp, crumble or clafouti, I hope.

I’m looking for something a bit more dowdy.

If you know what I mean.

Sing it again:

Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah

Someone’s in the kitchen I know

Bakin’ an Apple Pan Dowdy

And shakin’ to the radio

Now, where did that come from?

Why am I thinking “Railroad”?

Fee, fie, fiddly-i-o-o-o-o

Fee, fie, fiddly-i-o

Bakin’ to the

Old radio

Grandpa Jim

What do elephant seals and kolaches have in common?

Let’s start with kolaches.

This is what’s left of our share of the kolaches from a recent “Czech Kolache Workshop.” That’s right: Kolaches are from the Czech Republic. Actually these are from Texas; and historically speaking, kolaches originated more broadly in the area of Central Europe.

At the start, kolaches were a wedding dessert. Only those first kolaches were so much fun, people started making and eating them all over the place. Growing up, my wife’s family would make twelve dozen kolaches on a Saturday to get them through the week. With twelve kids, those kolaches were long gone before the next Saturday rolled around.

As you can see from the picture above, kolaches are squarish-roundish pastries with a base and rim of interestingly light puffyish-but-still-chewyish risen golden dough and a generous dollop of fruitish-preservish-jamish tasty mixture ladled smack dab into the middle. My favorite fillings are poppy seed, apricot and sweet cheese. These in the picture are apricot. At the workshop, we also made apple and strawberry.

Growing up, my parents would head on down to the Kolache Festival at St. Ludmila’s Catholic Church in Cedar Rapids, Iowa and bring back a sampling for us kids. I loved all the fruit-fillings, and I remember the kolaches well.

This is where the controversy begins.

To understand the developing dispute, let’s now look at the elephant seal.

Embed from Getty Images

These are Northern Elephant Seals. Notice the long noses. Those noses can grow up to two feet in length. Not long ago, Northern Elephant Seals were hunted for their oil, which was second only to sperm whale oil and quite valuable. In fact, the northern seals were thought to be extinct when a small group was found on an island off the Baja California coast. Conservationists stepped between the hunted and the hunter; and, with government help, the Northern Elephant Seal has made an amazing come back. When we visited the Hearst Castle in California about a year ago, we watched hundreds of the seals lounging on a beach nearby.

Returning to the controversy in the kitchen, at our Kolache Workshop, we also made these.

These are klobasniky. (Klobasniky is the plural of klobasnek.) Yes, klobasniky are made of kolache dough, but that dough is wrapped around a sausage. The results look and taste somewhat like kolaches, but these treats are not kolaches. Some insist (some even in this house) that klobasniky are true kolaches. To the contrary, there is no record of such a kolache in the baking history of the Czech Republic or the pastry archives of Central Europe. Check the Internet.

Rather, the klobasniky arose with the rising of the Lone Star State and are solely of Texas origins. Stop at any Czech stop in Texas and you will find klobasniky and kolaches. The meat-filled ones (the klobasniky — as good tasting as they are) did not exist in the Midwest of my youth. A true kolache always had, and always will have, a fruit or cheese filling. If it is different in the North these days, just take a peek into the kitchen and see if you don’t find a baker with a big grin, wearing cowboy boots, waving and hollering a friendly “Welcome, y’all!”

Klobasniky are sausages in blankets of dough. Some refer to these as “pigs-in-a-blanket,” but here again we see a flagrant pictorial inaccuracy and an obvious aesthetic mis-representation. Gaze upon these pictures.

Embed from Getty Images

What do these look like to you and to me?

Pans of klobasniky! That’s what they do so all look like.

Klobasniky are not kolaches, and they are not pigs-in-a-blanket.

Klobasniky clearly resemble elephant-seals-on-a-beach!

How could anyone have thought otherwise?

The beach ones are well protected.

And the pan ones are also

Well appreciated for

Whey they

Are:

NOT KOLACHES!!

Grandpa Jim