"Rain in May is a barn full of hay."

The old hay loader

There's an old farmer's saying, "Rain in May is a barn full of hay," but a barn full of hay doesn't get there by wishing. I remember as a child how my father used to take in loose hay with a hay loader pulled by an old flatbed milk truck from the 1930s which he actually drove at the age of thirteen, picking up cans of fresh milk daily from local farmers and delivering them to the creamery.

The rusty old truck we used for haying was far from the truck it was in its finest days. I can still smell the old gasoline engine and its pungent, oily-smelling exhaust system. It was a shabby-looking pile of metal with a seat made of springs you might actually feel if it wasn’t for the old carpets covering it. It lacked a door on the driver’s side, and the window was removed on the passenger side to allow for the free flow of air. The windshield on the old truck vented outward as well which helped the fumes filtering up from the floor boards to escape.  

Hay being fed up a loader

As the driver, my job was to steer the dilapidated truck slowly down a row of hay, straddling it with the front wheels. Dad caught the loose hay rolling its way up the hay loader and distributed it evenly onto the flatbed until we had a full load. Once the hay was stacked to a certain depth on the bed, it also buried the driver’s view out a low rectangular back window. The only way to see the person on the load was to step out on the old running board and look around and up. 

A sharp whistle was my signal to stop immediately. It either meant the hay was thick and coming up too fast or the truck bed was full. Or every so often a black snake would take a hike up and have to be pitched off. The worse possible scenario was when we hayed the side hills on our farm. If the hay was extremely dry and slippery, it shifted and slid off, taking Dad with it. That meant a delay, since the hay would have to be thrown back up onto the truck bed. 

Hay forks

When at last, we reached the barn, a giant hay fork from a track, extending from roof peak to roof peak, was lowered and the hay was pulled upward, onto the track, and onward to the end of the mow where a trip rope would drop the huge heap. These giant forkfuls would then have to be again distributed evenly about the loft, outward to the corners.

 

Haying in summer meant hot days, muggy nights, and sore muscles. But the smell of newly mown hay or dried sweet clover in the loft negated all the sweat and hard work. And when the hay reached the rafters, you could look out the little window at the peak and see the fields spread out before you and the swallows gliding at eye level—and you thought you were queen of the mow.  

Finally, It's Spring in Central Pennsylvania!

It's springtime! Everything around us in Central Pennsylvania whispers of the beginning of spring ever since the calendar has been turned to April. The onion snow has melted, and warmer temperatures have antsy homeowners mowing lawns and inspecting the flora and fauna in their yards.

The rhubarb has valiantly pushed itself out of the ground, fearless of freezing nights. Fiddleheads have recently appeared, along with the first dandelions the bees have patiently been waiting for.

 Lilac bushes are decked out in green buds and tiny purple blossom tips which will transform into delicate, lavender flowers to make the evening air smell sweet and pleasurable. Daffodils and the tiny Muscari Latifolium, from the grape hyacinth clan, have popped up and spread out low to the still-chilly ground.

The chickadees and cardinals, two of the first birds to appear each spring, have found the seed feeders and persistently call to their respective mates. Sparrows sing a merry tune while a nearby wren just chatters her displeasure like a cranky child.

Canada geese, winging north, honk out a lonesome sound  and skim the trees looking for the safety of water where they’ll rest for the night before taking flight the next day. And in the swamps, marshes and pond perimeters, the peepers send up a nightly chorus of a song reminding everyone that finally—yes, it’s springtime in Pennsylvania. Finally!

Happy Easter with Polish Haluski - Fried Cabbage, Ham & Noodles

Two Recipes

            Haluski (Recipe 1)

             
           Ingredients:

 
2 1/2 Cups fully cooked ham, cubed small

     (Note: bacon or sausage can be substituted)

1 3/4 cups white onion, diced

1 clove fresh garlic, minced

1 1/2 pounds cabbage, cut into bite-sized 

       pieces

1 teaspoons salt  (if using bacon delete 

       this ingredient)    

1 teaspoon olive oil

8 tablespoons butter, divided

1 tablespoon freshly black pepper

1/2 teaspoon white pepper

8 ounces dry egg noodles

                Directions:

In a large skillet, over medium high-heat, cook the ham cubes in 3 tablespoons of the butter until they start to slightly brown, about 1-2 minutes. Add 2 tablespoons butter more to the pan, then add in the minced garlic, onions and sauté for roughly 2 minutes. Add the cabbage, oil, salt and both peppers, mix then cover reduce to medium heat and cook for 8-10 minutes. Meanwhile, cook the noodles according to package, then drain. Once cabbage mixture is tender, add in the drained noodles. Add the remaining 4 tablespoons of butter and cook for about 2 minutes. 

Haluski  (Recipe 2)

Happy Easter!

Ingredients:

4 cups egg noodles

^{1/2 cup butter}

2 cups sliced sweet onions, about 1/8 inch thick

2 teaspoons brown sugar

6 cups cabbage, sliced thin

1 teaspoon caraway seed (optional)

1 cup diced ham, sausage or bacon (optional)

Directions:

1. Cook egg noodles according to package directions, then drizzle with a bit of oil to prevent the noodles from sticking together and set aside.
2. While noodles are cooking, melt butter in large deep skillet over medium-low heat.
3. Add onion, sprinkle with brown sugar and saute, stirring occasionally for about 5 to 10 minutes, or until softened and just beginning to turn golden. Add optional desired meet at this point.
4. Add cabbage to skillet, stirring well to incorporate with onion, and saute for about 5 minutes, stirring occasionally.
5. Stir in caraway seeds if using, then cover, reduce heat to low, and let simmer for 5 to 10 minutes.
6. Turn heat back to medium, add cooked noodles, salt and pepper, and stir well until noodles are heated though. Serve hot.  Makes 4 servings.

 

Welcome Spring! ~*~ Daffodils - by William Wordsworth ~*~

In 1802 William and Dorothy Wordsworth's visited Glencoyne Park, in the Lake District of England.  On 15th April 1802, they passed the strip of land at Glencoyne Bay, called Ullswater. It is this visit that gave Wordsworth the inspiration to write his famous poem.

Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud
  That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
  A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.                  

Continuous as the stars that shine
  And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
  Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
  Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
  In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
  In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
  Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

St. Patrick's Day - When Everyone Is Irish!

St. Patrick’s Day in the United States is the only day when everyone is Irish. It’s a time for wearing green, reveling with friends, drinking beer—often also green—eating Irish food, watching parades, and generally celebrating Irish culture, heritage and traditions. 

St. Patrick’s Day was officially declared a Christian feast day in the early seventeenth century in honor of St. Patrick. It was observed by many (Christian) religions because it commemorates the arrival of Christianity in Ireland.

Patrick was born in Roman Britain in the fourth century to wealthy Roman Christian aristocrats. His father was a deacon and his grandfather was a priest. At the age of sixteen, he was kidnapped by Irish raiders and taken as a slave to Gaelic Ireland where he spent six years there working as a shepherd.

After making his way back home by escaping to Gaul, now France, Patrick became a priest and studied for fifteen years before returning to Ireland in 432. According to legend, St. Patrick used the three-leaved shamrock to explain the Holy Trinity to Irish pagans.

The first organized observance of St. Patrick’s Day in the British colonies was in 1737 when the Charitable Irish Society of Boston gathered to honor their motherland. During the American Revolution, George Washington, realizing his troops had a morale problem and in acknowledgment of the valiant Irish volunteers who served in his army, issued an order declaring the 17^th of March to be a holiday for the troops in honor of St. Patrick’s Day.

Throughout the years and throughout the United States, cities with Irish populations continued to celebrate the special occasion with parades and festivities. Even the White House celebrated St. Patrick’s Day, starting with President Harry Truman.

So to everyone, whether you are Irish or wannabe Irish, I lift my glass of ale and wish you this Irish blessing:

These things, I warmly wish for you
Someone to love, some work to do,
A bit of o' sun, a bit o' cheer.
And a guardian angel always near.

To your good health—“Slainte.”