Gleeful in our wet dirt shirts!

 

               Gleeful in our wet dirt shirts!

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We did it! We single-mindedly pulled in our first rain yesterday (Friday) with a little help from Alvin the Chipmunk out in the Pacific swirling stormily.

Would you believe that the wet dirt here in Oconahua has a decidedly different odor than the wet dirt just up the road at the rancho in Etzatlan? As collector of wet-dirt smells, I am amazed. I love the scent of wet earth, especially after the first seasonal rain.

While talking about how the rain turned out to be a delightful mood changer for me, my friend reminded me that that rain train runs both ways on the tracks. Immediately I was back on the Kitsap Peninsula in Washington in February, after months of daily rain, wondering if the Arc would be ready to float in time.

Fickle I am and easily turned, I admit it.

I took a holiday from morning hose dragging chores for a couple days. I went out and stuck my fingers down into the dirt in a few of my neediest pots to find that the moisture held. More rain will come, maybe today.

Then our sadness. Paco died. Ana and Michelle have rescued several dogs over the years, and Paco, Monkey and Dude keep company with my Lola while she alternates between my area and the common area. (There are two more dog areas but my Lola and I don’t socialize there.)

If Paco stood upright, I’m sure he’d be as tall as me. Big and black with white markings, lolloping ears and tongue, a leaner. Paco was just big and dumb and loving and leaning into me was his way to show me love. Unless I sat down. Then he wanted to be my lap dog. Which I don’t allow!

Paco took ill suddenly, refused breakfast and went downhill throughout the day. The Girls took him to the vet in the late afternoon. While there, Paco’s big heart simply quit beating. His death came as a shock.

Paco was never sick. Dude, who had been ill for a long time, seems to have made a miraculous recovery. We just don’t know as much as we imagine we know, do we, especially about the Great Circle.

Sometimes feeling sad makes me want to get creative in the kitchen. Sometimes feeling happy makes me want to get creative in the kitchen. Sometimes other feelings, well, you get the gist.

I like muffins. I’ve not made muffins in years. Since paring down my kitchen tools to bare necessities when I moved to Mexico, I no longer have a muffin tin. You know how the best part of a muffin is the top? I took a basic muffin recipe, gussied and fussied it and made a tray of muffin tops.

Is that genius? I assembled the ingredients, gave wet and dry a quick swirl, added a small, very small, handful of flour since the batter was not going into tins to shape it, scooped spoonful by spoonful onto a baking sheet, cut down baking time from 25 to 15 minutes, and forgive my brag, muffin tops are the best!

I’d love to claim this idea as my own but that is not honest. There is a woman with a food truck in Glendive who whipped out a batch of these and my daughter told me about muffin tops and I thought it a great idea. So I whipped up a batch with great success and now pass the notion on to you.

Clouds are stacking up over the mountains. There is a good chance for rain this afternoon. I have only a couple empty garden pots to fill so I’ll crowd together a few seeds of lettuce, cilantro and spinach.

In the spirit of “Build it and they will come” and  “Rain follows the plow.” Oh, the folly.

Sondra Ashton

HWC: Looking out my back door

June 5, 2025

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