Katy Trail at Portland: More Opossum Tracks

Yesterday there was still snow on the ground, but it was melting and the ground was getting soggy, so instead of slopping through a muddy trail somewhere, we opted for the relatively tidy Katy Trail.

We walked on a part we hadn't been on before: Portland, Missouri, and a few miles east from there. A nice section of trail! Some parts of the Katy go through crop fields; others through woods. Here, as with other popular parts of the trail, rocky bluffs rise on one side, and the Missouri River and various jungly bottomlands spread out on the other. I suspect this section of trail isn't traveled as much as areas near large population centers.

Also, I love driving the section of Highway 94 near Portland--it curves through forested hills that open up occasionally to offer more expansive views. It's not an interstate--you know what I mean? Hooray!




Anyway, there is lots of evidence of wildlife activity in the area, notably beavers near Big Tavern Creek where it joins the river.

But what I especially wanted to share with you are a few more possum tracks in the snow. These tracks were right on the hiking/biking trail.




There were tons of various tracks all over the trail, by the way, but ours were the only human ones. It is so illuminating how the snow makes visible the hundreds of comings and goings of critters that otherwise leave little trace.

In these pictures, you can see the marks the opossum's tail made as it walked.




Hmmm. I'll bet their skinny pink tails get really cold in the winter.

I Told You They Have Opposable Big Toes!

We slept late. It’s been a hard week. This morning Sue looked out the back window at the snow in the yard and saw tracks. They seemed roughly triangular. Had a goose walked around in our yard this morning? Unheard of!

Realize: We were looking at them from the second floor.

Upon closer inspection, and double-checking on page 26 of the impressive cornucopia of mammal information that is The Wild Mammals of Missouri, 2d rev. ed., by Charles and Elizabeth Schwartz (whose text and illustrations are often lifted by many other authors and Internet sites), we realized it had been an opossum that wandered around our yard last night.

The Schwartzes write that female opossums are more likely to hunker down in frigid weather, so the chances are better that it was a male who visited.




The tracks are in pairs—left hand and left foot together, practically touching, then the right hand and right foot together, etc.






The hind feet leave quite unusual-looking prints on account of the big toe, which spreads out widely so that the left big toe is at about 4 or 5 o’clock, and the right one is positioned at about 7 or 8 o’clock—very distorted compared to how you might think they “should” be.

What a nice little gift from the critters last night. That Mr. Opossum snuffled around our yard last night makes me smile.




(For more about opossums and this blog, click here.)

Thursday Night’s Recital

Thursday night we were social butterflies. First, across the river at Summit Winery, Smokefree Jefferson City had a “Let's Clear the Air Reception” for coalition-building purposes. This is Jefferson City’s group that’s trying to get smoking eliminated from public places such as restaurants. As usual, obstruction to progress seems to be coming down to the hemming and hawing of politicians, regardless of the overwhelming evidence of smoking’s bad effect on health.

Then we left the winery and rushed over to Lincoln University’s Richardson Auditorium, where we caught the second half of a concert by Susan Quigley-Duggan and Ruth Robertson, “Un récital à deux voix.” Dr. Quigley-Duggan, a soprano, is currently an assistant professor of voice and opera at the Swinney Conservatory at Central Methodist University. Dr. Robertson, mezzo-soprano, is a professor of vocal music at Lincoln.

They were accompanied by pianists Meg Gray and Barbara Hamel; the former is an associate professor of music at Lincoln, and the latter is a professor of music at CMU.

I think the overall theme for the concert was “let’s have fun singing together.” Honestly. They looked like they were having fun, as if they were not “working” at all. The selections were diverse in terms of style, subject, era, and language. There were works from Purcell, Rameau, Vivaldi, Dvořák, Debussy, Chaminade, Rossini, and Mozart, including solos and duets. Some of it was light, bubbly operatic stuff, while other parts were so emotionally arresting that time stopped for a while.

In the latter category were the “Sacred Songs by Contemporary American Composers,” sung by Robertson, three soulful selections with quite different styles. The first was “The Edge of the Hem,” a meditation upon the miracles of Jesus, written by Robertson herself, which uses harmonic minor scale forms and other stylistic components to evoke a Middle Eastern feeling. The second in this trio was “Angel Done Changed My Name,” arranged by Wallace Cheatham and performed exquisitely by Robertson, whose expressiveness on this piece could have melted hearts of stone. “Joshua Fought the Battle of Jericho,” arranged by Lincoln emeritus professor Robert L. Mitchell Sr. (who was there in the audience), is a stirring and “technical” piece—a rousing end for the trio, as well as a clear display of Robertson’s flexibility and diction.

The two singers, reunited on stage, then ended the program with a pair of light-hearted operatic duets by Mozart: “Canzonetta sull’ aria” (Song on the breeze) from The Marriage of Figaro, and “Prenderò quel brunettino” (I’ll take the little brown-haired fellow) from Women Are All Like That.

I was sad that we missed the first part of the program, but then I was also pleased that we caught as much of the concert as we did. It was incredibly enjoyable, and sadly, not many people were there—and yes, it was even a free concert. Okay, well it was snowing. At any rate, all the people who weren’t there missed an incredible display of musical skill and what can only be interpreted as an infectious enthusiasm for performing.

Slow News Day

Well, it’s 10:30 on a Friday night, and for the second day in a row I don’t have much to share with you. I’m working on some ideas, but they need some time to develop. I do try to make this a quality blog, with actual information on it, and not just my own personal ramblings, because that could get reaaaaallly old. And frankly, my mood has been pretty down recently. Who wants to hear about how depressed I feel?

See what I mean? As a topic, Jell-O is much happier than my “feelings.”

But tonight, since it’s a slow news day—no caves explored, no butter curlers discovered, no local color to crow about—I’ll give you one of these “here is where I am right now” posts. I’ve done a few of these before. I hope you’ll indulge me again. And no, there will be no photographs to “break up” the evil, bad “text.”

I’m typing this entry in bed, and I’m enjoying our heated mattress pad, because I’ve been trying to keep the thermostat as low as I can stand it. Flannel sheets, too. It’s pretty comfy. On the floor nearby (you’d think I’d never heard of a night stand) are copies of Edwin Way Teale’s Wandering Through Winter; Richard Bolles’s What Color Is Your Parachute? which makes me feel hopeless, awful and old, so it's on the bottom of the stack; and Donald Culross Peattie’s Flowering Earth.

Then also, there's my dog-eared copy of the Bhagavad Gita, which I’ve been memorizing, in part. On nights when I can’t sleep, I recite the verses in my head. It’s kind of like counting sheep, only much more useful and comforting.

What else. My laptop is playing music to me as I write: Joshua Redman’s Freedom in the Groove—which I’ve found is really good to edit and write to.

We had some good snow today; indeed, it snowed all day, but it was soft and wet enough that much of it turned to slush on contact, so the five or so inches that probably actually came down amounted to only about 2.5 of the white stuff accumulated. By this time in the evening, however, the slush on the streets is probably frozen. I’m glad not to have to drive in it.

This has been “kicking the tires” week. Dentist, haircut, routine doctor’s exam, got my car’s oil changed, and more. Plus there was more fun: a plumbing emergency that resulted in having a square foot hole poked into our downstairs kitchen ceiling, through the plaster and lathe. The leak was fixed, but now we have some serious plaster damage from the water. Gotta find a plasterer. . . . It’s always something, isn’t it.

Julie’s Vegan Posole

I’ve been making posole for years, but this is the first time I’ve made it without pork. I think it turned out well! Plus, it was easy to make!

This is what I made for the soup party last weekend.

Here’s my recipe for porkless posole. Posole is a Mexican hominy soup eaten traditionally at Christmastime, but it tastes great in all sorts of cold weather. If you can find dried posole (hominy), by all means, use it. (Like dried beans, it takes a while to cook and soften, so as a shortcut, I often use canned hominy.)

Use your own judgment about how much of what kinds of chiles to use, based on your preferences. I love the rich flavor of Chimayo chile powder, which I bought from the Santa Fe School of Cooking. You could substitute any other rich dried red chili powder, per your preference.

The canned chipotle, being smoked, adds an almost bacon-y flavor to help replace the pork that we’re missing so bad. Smoked paprika would be a good idea, too, I’ll bet. Of course, adjust all the spices and seasonings to your own taste.




Julie’s Vegan Posole

1½ cups chopped onion
2–3 cloves garlic, minced or crushed
2–3 Tbsp. olive oil
1–2 Tbsp. canned chipotle (crushed or chopped) with adobo sauce
1–2 Tbsp. Chimayo chile powder
1 whole chile negro, dried, ground up in a spice grinder (ca. 2–3 tsp. ground)
½–1 tsp. ground cumin
1 tsp. crushed dried oregano
4 16-oz. cans white hominy, drained and rinsed
1 16-oz. can pinto beans, drained and rinsed
2 32-oz. tetra-pack boxes of vegetable broth (such as Swanson’s)
1 zucchini squash (ca. 9 in.) (quartered lengthwise and chopped into ½-inch chunks)
1 yellow squash (ca. 9 in.) (cut same as zucchini)
2 tsp. cornstarch
1 cup fresh, chopped cilantro (you can include some of the stems, chopped)
salt (to taste)

Garnish:
Cilantro sprigs and wedges or thin slices of lime


In a large stock pot, sauté onions and garlic in the olive oil until translucent. Add chipotle and all the spices and stir to distribute. Add hominy and stir to coat. Add beans and broth and heat to boiling; reduce to simmer. Cook for about 10 minutes to make the flavors meld. Add chopped squashes and cook another 10 minutes or so, or until squash is tender.

Place cornstarch into a cup, jar, or bowl; ladle about ½ cup broth into it and stir or shake well to mix. Add cornstarch mixture to the soup and stir to mix (the cornstarch will thicken and silken the texture of the broth, to replace the gelatin that meat would have provided; adjust the quantity of cornstarch per your preference).

Add salt to taste; finally, stir in the cup of chopped cilantro, which requires the least amount of cooking.

Serve garnished with pretty sprigs of fresh cilantro and wedges or thin slices of lime.

This soup is usually served with a salad/garnish of chopped lettuce, thin-sliced radishes, chunks of avocado, and/or sour cream.

Soup Soiree

File this under “foodie fun.” Sunday evening, we got together with some friends who have started a new kind of midwinter get-together.

They explained that for several years, they had been doing a pre-Christmas cookie swap—you know the kind—where each person makes up a big bunch of one kind of cookie, brings several plates of these to the party, and everyone gets to bring home a plate of each kind. Thus you have a nice variety for the holidays. Sounds great, huh?

But let’s face it: December is a busy, hectic month, and we all really ought to cut down on the cookies—whether for the calories, the carbs, the fats and butter, or whatever. So these women got the bright idea of moving the party to January, and making it a soup swap.

So everyone makes a big pot of some kind of soup, divides it into plastic containers (ca. 25 ounce) (think “GladWare,” or whatever), enough for all the participants to get some. When the party’s over, everyone takes home a container of each kind of soup.




With about seven participants, that’s lunch for every day of the week!

If you want to try this, establish dietary and other ground rules ahead of time; in this particular group, the soups were all vegan (no meat, no dairy, no eggs). I could see other groups deciding that each member should bring photocopies of the recipe, or picking a theme ingredient for each gathering, or stuff like that.

One group member had gotten too swamped with work to make up a big pot of soup but came in the door with a bag bearing cans of Progresso for everyone! We all laughed with her good-naturedly and took pity on her. We all simply felt glad that she got to go home with some nourishing homemade soups. We’ve all had those kind of weeks!




My contribution to the soup exchange? For the first time ever, I made up a big pot of vegan posole—I’ll tell you about in my next post.

During the party we enjoyed carrot-ginger soup and beer soup (made with whole wheat pasta, tofu, and veggies), a big pot of each, contributed by one group member, along with nice warm bread, snacks, and beverages.

But of course, the best part—as with all such gatherings—was the conversation, fellowship, the telling of stories and jokes, and the connections and reconnections.

Sue and I were the newbies to this group—I hope we’ll be invited to the next soup exchange! I’ve got some ideas for a dynamite tomato soup, and another based on Indian ingredients and spices!

Miss Ann Kielman

Tonight I’m sharing with you a photograph of Miss Ann Kielman, whose delicious Cucumber Mold recipe I presented to you in my previous post.

Mom stopped by the other day with a copy of the 1972 Pictorial Directory of Jefferson City’s Faith Lutheran Church, which had belonged to Mom’s Aunt Lydia Meyer, who, as I also mentioned in my previous post, had been Ann Kielman’s best-friend-forever (BFF).

That 1972 church directory! I couldn’t help hooting and pointing at some of the hairdos. There were some real doozies—beehives, wing-to-one-sides, swooping Kon-Tiki Hawaiian do’s. One lady looked like she had a Drip-O-Lator coffeepot on her head. And the men weren’t immune, either: Comb-overs and slicked-down hair galore. And everyone was wearing polyester and looked, well, permanently pressed.




I could indeed share some of the more entertaining pictures with you; other bloggers would jump on the chance to provide such hilarious pictures to which they could add witty put-downs, but you know what? I’m too classy to do that. These were and are real people, with feelings; sincere Lutherans just trying to look nice for their church directory portrait.

Face it, the fashions reached their lowest point ever in the history of humankind in the seventies, and these folks, like all the rest of us, were victims of the trends. Unlike James Lileks et al., I just don’t feel like “poking fun at the defenseless past” this time.

Back to Miss Kielman for a second. Remember, it’s pronounced “kilmun,” not “keel-man.” I remember Aunt Lyd talking about her and pronouncing it “kilmun.” And no, I don’t know why the directory spells it “Anne” while the cookbooks spells it “Ann.” I don’t know about you, but my money’s on the cookbook spelling. (If you’re reading this and you can correct me, please leave a comment!)

She’s dead. Why does any of this matter? It just does. I didn’t know her (though I’m sure I met her; she had to have been at cousin Dennis’s wedding and funeral, and at many other occasions) . . . but like Mildred Sippel, the thread of her life has interconnected with mine, and the fact that she left behind no progeny, no one to leave flowers on her grave or point at her picture in an album compels me to put her name and picture on the Internet, for people maybe even a world away to see and sort of know, a memorial of sorts, even if we’re recognizing her for her cucumber Jell-O mold and for the fact that she and my great aunt were dear, dear friends.

It has to count for something.