October is the best month!

 

October is the best month! 

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

September ended here in my little patch of Mexico with record-breaking heat. The heat I can handle. The humidity is brutal. Early this morning, 70F, humidity in the 90s, go hang laundry on the line, come inside with sweaty wet hair. In the afternoon, when  it is 90, when I return to the house with dry laundry, I’m hot but dry. When we Montanans say, “Yes, but it is dry heat”, we know what we are talking about.

October will be different. Won’t it?

And the critters, oh, my, the critters. Critters in the house. Last night I found a scorpion on the bathroom floor. Alive. Alive when I saw him. The horrifying thing to me is that I never had that stomach lurching moment of fear. More an “Oh, another scorpion.” Stomp. Smash.

Tonight it was a lizard in the bathroom. It is still alive, somewhere up the wall. Somewhere.

I’ll bet you don’t go to bed wondering if a lizard might scrabble across your face in the night. Have you ever looked at their hand-like feet? Let’s not even allow a thought to form about scorpions in the night.

There are two varieties of ants that are ever-present, in the kitchen mostly. These little buggers are so tiny that you only notice them when they move. Okay, they move pretty much constantly. Vinegar in a spray bottle. Doesn’t stop them but keeps the population down. I am sure my diet is well supplemented with miniscule ants. Protein. We all need protein.

Then the big brown ants show up. Oh, don’t worry about them, I’m told. They just are passing through, looking for water. ???

Depending on the time of year, I’m also told bugs come in the house to get out of the cold, for shade from the heat, away from the wet, or because outside is too dry. Choose your myth, I say.

House centipedes, roly-poly bugs, silverfish. They are just nuisances. At least they stay on the floor. Spiders are everywhere, all seasons. I have the bites to prove it.

The lizard should be able to find plenty to eat while it shelters from the blistering sun, indoors, wherever it is now.

Both flies and mosquitoes seem to know their season is waning, the cold will come, giving us a few months respite. Knowing this, they zero in, frantic to chomp flesh, mine in particular. That’s not really true, I just feel like they target me in particular some days.

This morning I watched two huge flocks of whistling ducks heading north. I will miss them. They are so beautiful. They leave but their loss is balanced by an influx of colorful others. One bird sounds like a scold and when I scold back, it gives me what for in no uncertain terms. Another helpful bird screams out, “prime the pump, prime the pump”.  I’m certain that bird met up with Desert Pete. (Kingston Brothers)

In amongst the songbirds, is a bird which screeches like a banshee. What does a banshee sound like? Well, I don’t really know, do I? But if I did know, a banshee is what that bird would sound like. You can’t refute my logic.

If you are interested in animals on the move, the iguanas move out of our yards during the rainy season, finding feeding grounds in the fields more to their gourmet satisfaction. Once the corn harvest begins, the ugly critters scurry back to our yards, lush with hibiscus and every possible flowering plant we can scrounge from the Viveros. They especially seem to thrive on flowers grown from smuggled seed, not that any of us would smuggle seed, but we do have the odd contact. Nudge. Nudge.

Despite the ravages of iguanas and leaf-cutter ants, our gardens seem to thrive. Well, we tend to overplant them so have plenty to share.

Like I said above, October is the . . . wait, wait, that’s a typo. What I mean to say is, October is the pest month!

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

October, obviously

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Writing Down A Quilt

 

Writing Down A Quilt

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Usually I sit down to write with something specific on my mind. Today I have a scrap of this and a scrap of that. What does one do with scraps? One makes a quilt.

Michelle called. “Let’s go to the Plaza for cake.” In the Mercado a teeny coffee shop recently opened, fancy drinks and baked goods. They make the best carrot cake.

Michelle, Ana and I found a bench in the shade in the Plaza, where we enjoyed our drinks and cakes put our worlds in order. During this time, I had a realization. I am truly a resident, no longer a “tourist”.

The Plaza is the Town Center, lots of activity, with vendors of crafts, foods, clothing, even tools. The first years I lived here, I wanted to see everything, a tourist. Now I only want to visit with my friends.

Back home, I noticed the bed-sheet butterflies have returned. Even in the animal world, there are residents, here year-round, tourists, passing through, and snow-birds, here for a few months. For the next month, some go north, some go south, some settle in for the winter. We come. We go.

I have a new resident in my home. For the last couple years, I’ve nattered on and on, wanting a dressmaker manikin but not wanting to spend the money. At present, my entire wardrobe is the result of the work of my own hands. I took apart a pair of pants for a pattern, easily modified; the other garments I make by guess and by gosh. Often that means, stitch, take apart, adjust, recreate what I’ve just created, to fit!

Ruby Red-Dress has come to stay. As you might guess, given choices, I quickly bypassed black and gray and navy, and said, “Ruby, come live at my house.”

She will help me immensely, not just with sizing, but with the ability to be more creative. Why did I wait so long! Already my new friend is assisting me to make a top I could not have made without her help.

A few months ago my daughter sent me a box of puzzles, most new, but some from her local second-hand store. Puzzles allow my mind to shift gears.

When I dumped a previously-owned box of puzzle pieces onto my table, I sniffed, ah ha, “This belonged to a family with children.” I could smell it. I knew their home was lived in, maybe chaotic at times, but in a good way. Then I noticed a barely legible scribble on the boxtop. X MISSING PIECE. Does that mean ten missing pieces? Does that mean one missing piece? A puzzle within the puzzle.

What fun for me to work what other fingers had worked. In the lower left, one piece is missing, though frequently I would have bet on more than ten. And a horse’s head is well chewed by a teething toddler. It all worked together to make this 999 piece puzzle more special.

Seasons are changing, winter is coming. I know I should not gripe. October is pleasant. November is tolerable. December and January are downright cold. To me, that means 40s and 50s, F. Not so cold. Unless you live in an uninsulated, drafty house with no heat source. After a day or two, that is Cold!

I’ve made do with a space heater, which knocks the chill down a few pegs. But I’m never quite comfortable. When I get chilled, my bones hurt, so, those two months, I’m miserable.

My daughter told me about a different type space heater they bought last year for their basement. They live in a hundred-year-old country house. I figure their basement is about equivalent to my house in terms of size and heating problems. If it works in her basement, it should work in my home.

I went to the site we all order from, similar to our old Sears and Sawbuck Catalog, and asked for the same heater as Dee Dee bought. It told me, not available, don’t know when. Dee Dee, strangely, could order the same heater, but they would not ship it to Mexico. What’s up with this?

My girl and I spent an entire week looking at heaters, trying to assess whether they would work as well as hers, the one I wanted, the one I knew would work best for me. . Each one we chose was deemed not available.

Frustrated, and on a whim, I went to their Mexico site. The first heater depicted was my daughter’s exact heater. One minute later, it was purchased and on the way.

Laugh with me. I think I can have my cake and eat it too.

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

September flew too quickly bye

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I Can’t Believe I’m Going To Tell You!

 

I Can’t Believe I’m Going To Tell You! 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Some stories should stay hidden and this might be one of that kind. It is ridiculous, embarrassing and impossible.

I have three lime trees in my yard. In the back yard, I first planted a key lime. After three naked years and lots of talks, including veiled threats, she began producing limes in profusion. So I planted a regular-type lime in the front yard. It made limes a mere toddler and hasn’t paused yet. So I planted another regular-style lime in back next to the key lime. I use a lot of limes.

This poor dear dangled a few limes when I planted her but nary a lime, year after year and another year. I cajoled, begged, pleaded, threatened. Nada.

We several women friends talk regularly via email. I said, “I’m close to digging her up and replacing her with a mango or a papaya or something flowery.”

Karen said, she really did say this, “Take a broomstick and whack the tree trunk in each of the four directions, north, south, east and west.”

“You are joking, right?”

“I did it with my lazy apple tree and that year my apples broke branches, the apples were so full and heavy."

I can’t believe I did it. I can’t believe I admit to you that I did it. I carefully scanned the yard, to make sure nobody could see me out in the back lawn holding my broom and looking guilty. My yard is enclosed by a tall brick wall grown up with all manner of bushes, trees and greenery. The only way anybody could see me would be with one of those flying spying things. I struck a nonchalant listening pose, just in case. Air above me was clear of all but birds and butterflies.

I explained to my lime tree that this would hurt me more than it would hurt her and that it was for her own good. Then I gave her a whack, once in each direction; north, south, east and west. I sneaked back to the house blowing my nose and propped my broom in the corner.

That was a couple months ago. I didn’t give my lime tree a lot of attention until the other day while gathering a handful of key limes. I glanced over and about lost my eyeballs. My lazy lime tree was full of limes in all phases of growth, big limes, little baby limes and middle-size limes. I had to circle her twice just to make sure it was real.

Magic? Of course not. She was ready, right? It was her time to bloom, right? I know it was a co-inkydinky. A whack with a broom will not make a tree bear fruit. But it was kind of a kick just to do it, sort of gave me more patience with my slow tree.

However, if you want real magic, I got a taste of the true stuff later the same day that I noticed my tree full of limes.

I had a bag of frozen mango I’d taken out to make a pie, but changed my mind. I also had a quarter of a fresh pineapple I needed to use soon. I’d been grating Mexican-type zucchini into my pancake batter and figured a mango-pina syrup would enhance pancakes like a charm.

I whizzed the fruit in the blender. Syrup is easy, right. Fruit and sugar and water. A pinch of salt to enhance the flavor. Heat, stir, and voila, syrup to spare and to share.

Ha! Anybody who has ever worked with chokecherries knows how difficult it is to make jelly. One must be precise in measurements, exact in standing over the heat and stirring, assiduous in testing for the jell stage, and nine times out of ten, instead of jam, one makes syrup. Just the way it is. Syrup is good, so we pour it into jars and process it. Yummy, drizzled or drenched over pancakes on those cold and snowy mornings.

Fruits with natural pectin are easier to jell, but still, without care, one makes syrup. This time I took no care, measured approximates, wanting and expecting syrup.

I poured my syrup into jars, one for the freezer, one for my immediate use, one to share with Lani and another to share with Janet. The syrup seemed kind of thick but it is easy to thin out to the right consistency.

The next morning, given a chance to cool, my beautiful jars of fruit syrup had jelled. No syrup. Just jelly. Now that is real magic.

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

The almost end of September

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________