Beer rocks, please!

I grew up with German Mennonite parents and grandparents, and learned to cook and bake a lot of the traditional foods that go along with that heritage.

However, I realized early on that most of the wonderful dishes are often difficult and incredibly time-consuming, so I would rarely fix them. When I did, inevitably I would regret it halfway through the hours-long process. So over the years, my three kids learned to steer clear of the kitchen whenever mom was cooking veranika, or baking zwiebach, or making anything they couldn’t pronounce.

A few summers ago, I noticed “beer rocks” written in my son Harrison’s handwriting on my kitchen white board. I love when my kids leave me menu suggestions, but this one made me pause. Bierocks, which involves yeast, were part of my dreaded German Mennonite Pocket Trifecta. But I’d recently inherited a Kitchen Aid stand mixer with a dough hook. That would make it easy.

So I picked up a couple cabbages on my next grocery trip, and one afternoon decided to make bierocks. The recipe in the Ebenfeld Mennonite Brethren Church cookbook listed “your favorite sweet roll dough.” No problem. My mom had copied Grandma Epp’s “Rolls, Buns, or Doughnuts” and other family recipes for me for my bridal shower. After 17 years, I might as well try it, I thought. 

I used the mixer to combine the yeast with the other ingredients, “using enough flour to make a soft dough,” the recipe said. After four cups my flour bin was empty. I checked my pantry shelf for an extra bag. None. Darn. This was going to require more than a cup or two from my neighbor, so I headed to the store.  As I was in the checkout line (with a lot of other items I’d grabbed while I was there) my husband called my cell phone.

“Karen, your stuff is exploding all over the counter,” he said.

 

“I’m on my way.” 

When I got home, I saw the yeast-flour mixture had indeed risen and bubbled over the sides of the stainless steel bowl, and was spilling down the front of my cabinets onto the floor.

I cleaned up the mess and started adding flour. And more flour. I remembered the gigantic ceramic bowl Grandma used for baking on Saturdays, and the table piled with baked goods hours later. Oh no! I was making bread for a week!

I had plenty of dough for the double batch of bierock filling I’d made. After finally pinching the last pocket closed, tucking the ends under and placing it on the pan, I still had lots left. I rolled out the remaining dough and slathered on butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon and rolled it up for cinnamon rolls. I filled two pans.

But in the meantime my kids and husband had all at various times wandered through the kitchen, wondering when dinner would finally be ready. They’d all snagged a hot bierock or two from the cooling racks, which was fine with me. At that point I didn’t feel like having a sit-down meal anyway. On Harrison’s second trip into the kitchen, he noticed the kitchen in shambles and the exhaustion on my face.

“Mom,” he asked hesitantly, now realizing the enormity of his request, “are beer rocks German?”

“Yes,” I sighed, giving him a flour-dusted hug. “Yes, Harrison, they are.”

Bierocks are filled with seasoned ground beef and cabbage.

Get them while you can, they don't last long at our house.

The Lessons of Losing

One of my favorite amazing statistics:  On any given Friday night, of all the high school football teams who play, 50 percent of them LOSE.

Losing is a part of life. It happens. It happened to half of the teams who played last night. The problem is, North is ALWAYS in the bottom half.

But last night we had a chance. We were ahead! In the third quarter, we were ahead 18-9 against South. Then they scored, but we still were ahead 18-17. Then they had a chance to score but we held them FOR THREE DOWNS RIGHT AT THEIR OWN GOAL LINE. So, they kicked a field goal and got ahead 18-20 with a couple of minutes left. We took the ball almost down the field, but didn't even get a chance to kick a field goal of our own, and the game was over.

We lost, again.

And we knew it would be this way. Before Caleb enrolled at North last year, everyone told us "get ready to lose." But we wanted to stay with our assigned school. North has great tradition. We didn't want to jump through the hoops to get a special transfer so our son could play on the winning team of choice. We would tell people that if everyone would simply send their kids to their assigned schools, the teams would be more even. If the good kids living in North's district would actually attend and play for North, we could be competitive. And they would say, "Yeah, but you ultimately have to do what's best for your kid," with the implication that finding them a winning program was the way to go.

But last year we knew of some good players Caleb's age who were going to North. Their motto was, "We're bringing it back!" They won a few games as freshmen. Now those sophomores are playing varsity. They're trying. But they can't overcome an offensive line that steps aside to let the defense rush through. Players who have made mistakes are allowed to make them again and again, while others who have demonstrated they can do better are left on the sidelines or placed in positions where they are underused.

Because that's another problem with losing teams--poor coaching. Sloppy, unorganized practices lead to games like last night. Coaches who are not students of the game don't catch when the chain gang gives the opposing team an extra down on the first possession, causing them to score and setting the tone for the entire game (that was against Dodge City).

And of course, I'm speaking as a mother here, but last week playing fullback my son had 47 yards rushing on two carries (one two-yard gain, and an awesome 45-yard run in which he nearly scored. North did get one of their two touchdowns of the game from that series). So this week, did they even let him touch the ball? Did they even put him in as fullback? Of course not.

We know programs go through "rebuilding" years, but at this point we see no signs of construction. And don't get me wrong, the coach is a nice guy, but not all nice guys should be coaches.

So now we look at Harrison, who will enter high school next year (yikes). Should we take the advice of friends and "do what's best for our child' and seek out a high school with a winning program? I'd hate to do it, but faced with four more years of sitting through football games like last night, it's tempting.

Memory Lane

On our way to Wolf Creek Pass and Pagosa Springs, Dave couldn't resist turning in to Big Meadows. Dave's grandparents took him and his siblings camping and fishing there every summer.

The summer we were engaged I got to join the Franklin clan for a weekend. We've been back about a dozen times since then with our kids, family, and friends.We camped when I was pregnant with Caleb. The next year, we hung a johnny-jump-up in the tree to keep our 6-mo. old amused, and borrowed a baby backpack to hike with him around the lake. On Laurel's first visit, she was nearly a year, but not yet walking, so I spent the week trying to keep her from crawling through the dirt. A few years later, Caleb and Harrison were able to climb the Big Rock and leave their sister stranded, just as Dave and his brothers had done with Jennifer. That might have been the year that Caleb, who NEVER wet his bed, had an accident in his sleeping bag on night one of a four-night stay. (OK, not all the memories are good).

 The road wasn't paved, but we took it anyway. On the way, we spotted this deer wandering on the road.

Loud pipes save lives. This guy heard us coming and had no desire to become a Heritage Softtail hood ornament.

 The campground was closed! Good thing we hadn't planned on staying there. I vaguely recalled seeing a notice that it would be closed in 2011 when we were last there with our friends the Kraemer's in 2009. It will be open next year after campground renovations are complete. They're probably making the sites bigger to better accommodate the RVs. I imagine a new sign is on order as well.

 Ahh! There's the lake. Several people were fishing.

I take a moment to enjoy the view. Not sure what Dave was looking at.

 Here's proof that we were there!

Dave's grandpa Earl, who died in 1993, caught many trout out of this lake, and he loved this place more than any other place on earth. I had to take one last shot of Dave in front of the lake that hold so many good memories for him, his family, and for ours.

Living the Dream, or, The Open Road

Getting away for even just a long weekend is never easy. For us, summers are challenging because we have a lawn service, and it's our busiest season. However, our boys work with us, so they know what to do, and Caleb now has a driver's license.

So Dave arranged for the boys to take care of a few lawns on Friday and Monday, and suddenly we were free.

Dave had always wanted to ride his motorcycle on the scenic mountain roads in Colorado. We decided to put the Harley in the back of the truck and enjoy the AC as we traveled through western Kansas. We had put it in the back of the truck once before, when we drove the Harley to Dallas to pick up the truck which Dave saw on ebay. Still, it's a dicey operation. At home, Dave and Caleb managed to get the bike in the back of the truck without a hitch using our curb and ramps.

In the back of our minds, however, was a nagging concern about we were going to get the motorcycle back off the truck. Dave scoped out Salida, and decided the boat dock area near the river would work.

He lined it up, got out the ramps, and rolled it off as smooth as you please.

 We parked the truck in the alley behind the hostel where we'd spent the night, then loaded all the gear we would need for the next three days on the bike.

And we were ready to roll. As we got on the open road heading toward the mountains, I realized how worried I'd been about all the necessary details coming together. I thought, "We're actually doing it!"

Almost immediately, Dave said, "We're doing it!"
We were living the dream.

Dave Nearly Loses His Sole in Durango

I've got to skip ahead a bit on our trip because I can't wait to write about our evening in Durango. We decided to wing it and didn't book a hotel until we got into town at about 8 p.m. We found a vacancy (not an easy task) at an acceptable Knight's Inn. It was a little ways away from the historic downtown district, but Durango has a trolley, so we decided to take it.

This free trolley will take you downtown. 

Our hotel gal told us the trolley stopped running at 10 p.m., but we decided we could walk the mile and a half back. We got dropped off and enjoyed window shopping and checking out the night life.

After listening to a band for a while (more on that in a following blog), we decided to walk back to our hotel.

On the way, we saw a cool old Chevy Suburban,

and an old Honda Civic.

and this great rooster in front of a neat coffee shop in a renovated old home. That's when it all happened. Dave's trusty Keen sandal, which had lasted for four years, became a flapper. The heel portion of the sole came unglued, and it flapped with every step.

I was nearly lying on the sidewalk from laughing so hard. But we kept going, Dave flapping every time he lifted his left foot.

Then the flapper flopped into the street, making me laugh even harder. Dave had lost his sole in Durango.

Dave says he thought, WWJD? What Would Jarrod Do? Referring, of course, to my Hillsboro High School friend known for always carrying a Louis L'Amour paperback in his back pocket.

So, Dave picked up his sole and stuck it in his back pocket and continued on to the motel

with his new moccasin.

A Hostel and a Hike

I'd been to Salida several times before, but it wasn't until last year when we had to get our 4-wheeling licenses, that we actually got off the main (ugly) drag and down to the cute historic district by the river.

So I was pleased that the hostel Dave found for us to stay in was in the historic district, just a block from the city park that borders the river. This was the charming street we found after our long day of travel through western Kansas.

While Dave called John, the owner of the hostel, I took some photos.

This is the hostel, painted fun and funky colors throughout.

We enjoyed the cooler temps and the short walk to a restaurant that John recommended.

In the middle of the mountain in the background is the "S" for Salida.

It was nice to see people out enjoying the evening, after coming Wichita where people are hibernating next to their ACs to escape 100-plus temperatures.

On our walk, I notices the "S" on the mountain, and also what looked like a trail going to a lookout tower. Back at the hostel, I asked John about it. He showed me a map, told me how to pick up the trail. He said the hike would take a little over an hour. I was in.

So, at 6 a.m. (only 7 a.m. Wichita time) I got up and headed for the trail. I was a little confused on where it actually started, but I saw a guy with a marathon tech shirt (good sign!) and his recquisite dog (why do Coloradoans always have a dog or two in their vehicles?) in the parking lot, and he pointed me in the right direction.

On the side of the hill about halfway up, the sun just touching the tops of the mountains looking to the west.

Like lots of hikes, it was a lot more involved that it looked from the ground.

View from the top.

I made it to the lookout tower, but didn't bring my Sharpie to mark my accomplishment. I should have had a jogger who was there also take my photo for proof that I made it to the top. I guess you'll just have to trust that I'm the one who took this photo and not 'Dave. 

 

 

 

 

 

 
Here's the "S!" 

Rocky Mountain High

About two weeks ago, when Wichita was on day 20 or so of 100-plus degrees and we were getting tired of pushing mowers over crispy grass, my husband decided we needed to go to Colorado.

When Dave gets an idea, he makes it happen.

So, last Thursday we had the Harley loaded in the back of the truck (we decided we would really like AC on the trek through western Kansas) and we headed for Salida, Colorado.

We were nearly there when we saw there had been an accident.

This wrecker truck was attempting to pull out

Whoops! To the left of the rafts is an old school bus that overturned on this river access road while transporting a load of rafters.

the bus that is upside down. It had been transporting people to the river and pulling the trailer of rafts. Some people told us that out of the 50 or so people on the bus, only 6 needed to go to the hospital, and it didn't seem that anyone was seriously hurt.

 

So, we snapped a few pictures and continued on our journey. We had lots of adventures, so be sure to check back every day this week for a new installment!