Plain Speak

Bit of a tousle out at the compost pile. Hissing and growling. They know me and my slingshot, so when the light goes on and I appear at the door, they slink off, two dogs and a bob-cat. Wide awake, woke Black Dell with a slap on the shoulder, stretched, washed my face, wandered over to the island for a wee dram. I can usually divine the state of the world when I roll a cigaret. Those loose pieces of tobacco, the inherent problems involved with turning a flat rectangle of paper into a cylinder, which end to put in your mouth, some things signify. A large cannon ball, a 24 pounder, with six pounds of powder in the charge, is moving rather slowly, it can be seen. You could dodge a cannon ball. Step aside and swirl your cape. It sometimes happened that the sonic blast of a close shot killed someone, without a mark on their body. More often it was fragments of a six inch ball of cast iron breaking apart, and the splinters. Guts and body parts. I have to take a break (after three days) from sea battles, blood and gore. I've been reading about Horsetails (Equisetum) because it's one of the plants planted on dikes, and I've been interested for years in the category of plants that can stand a bit of salt water, to start the reclamation process. Also, the endless salt-pans out west were interesting. Over the last couple of decades it's been a minor reading diversion. Equisetum, above all other known plants, takes gold out of soil. I knew there were plants that did this, but Horsetail seems to be the best. Sea water carries trace gold, but what I was thinking about was planting a nice stand around some mine tailings. The smelting process is simply to burn the dried stems. A few morels, budding through the duff, and tomorrow holds great promise, so I'll be in the woods most of the day. I need to get out, having been holed up for days reading naval history. Except for lunch at B's yesterday, which was delightful, AND I came home with another meal of the extraordinary chicken wings. Grilled, then doused in butter and sauce and re-grilled. They were large, twice the size you would expect, like young turkey wings, and I'd been thinking about that, where they came from. Ohio produces a lot of eggs, and these are the wings of ladies who are done with their laying. The rest of them becomes a reconstituted chicken product. A great many thighs, according to Harrison, who was probably making it up, go to Russia. After pork tenderloin, I'd have to say, I like cooking with chicken thighs best. They go so well with citrus and fruits. If I'm feeling surgical, I'll bone them and stuff them with crabmeat. Pound them out, roll them up, top with a wine and butter sauce. I served these at a cooking gig once, and to the dismay of the hostess, everyone was in the kitchen with me, eating fried chicken skin. A Cape Cod friend, so this goes back a ways, calls. She's going to be in the area in June and wants to visit, I'm right up front with the downside, no running water, no TV, the outhouse; but she eats meat, and that's rather a plus. She says she'll chance it, so we'll have to work out the logistics, which are complicated by the fact that the only bridge will probably be closed.