Last night I cooked a hasty supper of cheeper eggs and mushrooms, veggies and a salad. As always, I threw a slice of smoked salmon on our plates. It's a standard meal that I fix at least once a week on Snowdrop days. I'm hungry after she leaves and I reach for what's there and waiting in the fridge.
Ed is not a red meat eater, but if you ask him about other food preferences, he'll shrug off the question. Indeed, he has been known to eat lots of things that you or I might consider as worthy of the compost pile. Very stale pizza. Cheese that has fungus on top of the fungus. Hugely dated dairy.
Recently, I've been thinking about our eating habits. We all seem to have strong food preferences. Oh, some of us claim otherwise. Not long ago, friends were visiting for a handful of days. When I asked the usual -- is there anything you don't eat? They hastily responded -- we eat everything! I believed them, until Ed offered up one of his mussels from a plateful of mussels and fries. Oh! Not that! I couldn't eat a mussel! It once made me violently ill. So, not everything.
I, too, used to say "I'll eat anything that's fresh and honest." Grow it, cook it, bake it -- I'll eat it. That was until I was served un rein in a Paris restaurant. That's a kidney in case you don't know your organs in French. The taste of piss was so strong that I could not finish it.
Ed showed his true colors last night as he rejected the slice of smoked salmon. It tastes like iodine! -- he proclaimed. But this particular brand was on sale! -- I retorted, though once he gave the off taste a label, neither of us could finish it.
We just about never waste food here, at the farmette. I buy what we eat and we eat what I buy. In fact, Ed has been known to take a guest's plate of unfinished foods and finish it up himself (he routinely does that with Snowdrop's dinner, going after any kernel she may have missed on a corn cob, or a stray noodle that may have slipped off her fork). But last night, we put aside the slice of smoked salmon for the cats. It is unquestionably true that everyone has her or his threshold for what they will or will not eat.
The night was miserably wet. Torrential rain pounded our farmhouse. There is significant flooding in south central Wisconsin. But by morning, the weather had settled. When I got up to feed the cats, there was barely a trickle of a rain drop left. It's as if the clouds had wrung all their moisture out, exhausted by the effort.
Everything was so wet, that I decided to feed the cats in the garage. Dance wasn't around, but I've ceased obsessing about a missing cat every now and then. Dance is the glue that holds this bunch together. She'll be back.
I take out the usual cat food and I throw in the bit of smoked salmon. Typically, these guys are ravenous in the morning but today, they're hardly eating. Most of the salmon disappears, some of the cat food is gulped down by the little guys, but a lot of the food is left behind.
What's going on??
As I mull this over, I take out the large broom to sweep up around the garage. The cats are neat, but the chickens mess this space constantly, especially on rainy days when they use the garage for cover. And that's when I see it: bones, fur tufts, and some remains of a large animal head.
I look closely. No, not a cat head. A rabbit head. A large rabbit head. Attached to a large skeleton.
Uff! No wonder the cats are not hungry! I find the shovel and give the poor creature a decent burial.
I ask Ed -- could this be the work of a predator?
What, you think a predator delivered a rabbit to the garage for the cats to enjoy?
But how could our small cats go after a large rabbit??
It's a rhetorical question. Obviously they must have done just that.
The night is full of animal horrors. Of course, why should I regard this as somehow vile. Rabbit, or un lapin if you want, appears not infrequently on the French menu, especially in country restaurants...
Breakfast, of a vegetarian kind, inside.
In the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop. I'm glad I took her to the Dairy Expo yesterday. It's considerably cooler today and we haven't quite gotten used to the autumnal chill yet. (Not that she doesn't ask to go back one more time!) We quickly retreat to the farmhouse for an afternoon of indoor play. (No, she's not cold -- she tells me.)
Spirited, but inside.
It's Wednesday evening, but there's no bike ride for Ed tonight. It's gusty and wet. The cats are antsy, the cheepers are huddled in the coop. It's a good night for takeout Thai. And for staying inside.
Ed is not a red meat eater, but if you ask him about other food preferences, he'll shrug off the question. Indeed, he has been known to eat lots of things that you or I might consider as worthy of the compost pile. Very stale pizza. Cheese that has fungus on top of the fungus. Hugely dated dairy.
Recently, I've been thinking about our eating habits. We all seem to have strong food preferences. Oh, some of us claim otherwise. Not long ago, friends were visiting for a handful of days. When I asked the usual -- is there anything you don't eat? They hastily responded -- we eat everything! I believed them, until Ed offered up one of his mussels from a plateful of mussels and fries. Oh! Not that! I couldn't eat a mussel! It once made me violently ill. So, not everything.
I, too, used to say "I'll eat anything that's fresh and honest." Grow it, cook it, bake it -- I'll eat it. That was until I was served un rein in a Paris restaurant. That's a kidney in case you don't know your organs in French. The taste of piss was so strong that I could not finish it.
Ed showed his true colors last night as he rejected the slice of smoked salmon. It tastes like iodine! -- he proclaimed. But this particular brand was on sale! -- I retorted, though once he gave the off taste a label, neither of us could finish it.
We just about never waste food here, at the farmette. I buy what we eat and we eat what I buy. In fact, Ed has been known to take a guest's plate of unfinished foods and finish it up himself (he routinely does that with Snowdrop's dinner, going after any kernel she may have missed on a corn cob, or a stray noodle that may have slipped off her fork). But last night, we put aside the slice of smoked salmon for the cats. It is unquestionably true that everyone has her or his threshold for what they will or will not eat.
The night was miserably wet. Torrential rain pounded our farmhouse. There is significant flooding in south central Wisconsin. But by morning, the weather had settled. When I got up to feed the cats, there was barely a trickle of a rain drop left. It's as if the clouds had wrung all their moisture out, exhausted by the effort.
Everything was so wet, that I decided to feed the cats in the garage. Dance wasn't around, but I've ceased obsessing about a missing cat every now and then. Dance is the glue that holds this bunch together. She'll be back.
I take out the usual cat food and I throw in the bit of smoked salmon. Typically, these guys are ravenous in the morning but today, they're hardly eating. Most of the salmon disappears, some of the cat food is gulped down by the little guys, but a lot of the food is left behind.
What's going on??
As I mull this over, I take out the large broom to sweep up around the garage. The cats are neat, but the chickens mess this space constantly, especially on rainy days when they use the garage for cover. And that's when I see it: bones, fur tufts, and some remains of a large animal head.
I look closely. No, not a cat head. A rabbit head. A large rabbit head. Attached to a large skeleton.
Uff! No wonder the cats are not hungry! I find the shovel and give the poor creature a decent burial.
I ask Ed -- could this be the work of a predator?
What, you think a predator delivered a rabbit to the garage for the cats to enjoy?
But how could our small cats go after a large rabbit??
It's a rhetorical question. Obviously they must have done just that.
The night is full of animal horrors. Of course, why should I regard this as somehow vile. Rabbit, or un lapin if you want, appears not infrequently on the French menu, especially in country restaurants...
Breakfast, of a vegetarian kind, inside.
In the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop. I'm glad I took her to the Dairy Expo yesterday. It's considerably cooler today and we haven't quite gotten used to the autumnal chill yet. (Not that she doesn't ask to go back one more time!) We quickly retreat to the farmhouse for an afternoon of indoor play. (No, she's not cold -- she tells me.)
Spirited, but inside.
It's Wednesday evening, but there's no bike ride for Ed tonight. It's gusty and wet. The cats are antsy, the cheepers are huddled in the coop. It's a good night for takeout Thai. And for staying inside.
