Poultry & Prose

Frugal Foodies Will Favor This Frosty Cake

This weekend I had a chance to try out a cake I’d wanted to try for a long time. A Frosty Snowberry Cake, from a 1950s-era Pillsbury Bake-Off book. The “snowberries” are actually cubes of jellied cranberry sauce that are folded into the batter. The ingredients were the most basic of staples: flour, sugar, egg whites, shortening, and baking powder. By a happy coincidence, I even had the ingredients that I don’t have every day: light corn syrup and cream of tartar for the boiled frosting. Vintage kitchen implements that have gone unused in the time we’ve been here were finally pressed into service. A glass double boiler. Cake pans with metal slider releases.

Cakes seemed healthier in the 1950s than they are today. No pudding in the mix. No preservatives to give the cake the longevity of Twinkies. My son Wyatt said the cake was “chewy.” I think he meant “bready.” The cake didn’t quite look like the picture shown here, as cakes that come out of our $99 oven tend to look like the Metrodome after it collapsed. However, it scored major points for satisfaction. The cranberry sauce gave the cake the taste and texture of a jelly roll. I didn’t have food coloring to tint the frosting pink, so I added a pinch of raspberry Jell-O instead. It did the job just fine.

Here’s the recipe for Frosty Snow-berry Cake, which was the Senior Winner in the 1953 Pillsbury Bake-Off. Mrs. Marguerite Marks of Camden, New Jersey did herself proud!

The Next Step for Poultry & Prose

Anyone who has regularly followed this blog has already figured out what I’m going to say.

I will no longer be writing Poultry & Prose.

I now live on 15 acres and the poultry are no more. So the title “Poultry & Prose, Stories from a free-range writer on a five-acre idea farm,” no longer fits.

Add to that, I didn’t renew my custom domain and have been unable to preview anything in Blogger. Not to mention I feel like I need a shower after seeing the names of Russian and Ukrainian porno sites that have taken over my stats.

During a Sunday afternoon when an electrical repair left us without power for three hours, I turned on my battery-powered Macbook and went through the contents of my “Blog Stuff” folder. Duplicate images and beginnings of posts that went nowhere, I trashed. But in amidst the content were a few posts that I considered to be really good, three months or even three years later.

Those, I will be posting as my last entries on Poultry & Prose.

After that, until I decide whether or not to start a new blog, I will be guest posting wherever bloggers would welcome my opinion on politics or the economy or whatever else comes to mind.

So, I hope you enjoy these last few posts. Since I can’t preview, please forgive any typos that may appear in the copy. And thank you, dear readers, for reading!

MinnesotaCare: a Model for Obamacare?

As an advocate of single-payer health coverage, I like MinnesotaCare. It has a few glitches, but once they’re identified and fixed the program could be the model for the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act, otherwise known as Obamacare. (“Obamacare” is a term I’ve come to embrace. A one-of-a-kind program shouldn’t be known by an acronym, ACA, that is shared by millions of other organizations.)

After being on MinnesotaCare for several months, these are the benefits and challenges I’ve identified:

The benefits

• MinnesotaCare is single payer. One insurance provider covers medical, vision, and dental claims. I’m not crazy about the idea of a health insurance exchange, a central concept of Obamacare. Buying health insurance isn’t the same as window-shopping at the Mall of America for a flirty party dress and pair of peep-toe pumps. Shopping for health insurance isn’t fun – it’s tedious and frustrating.

• Premium payments are based on a sliding scale. No matter how much money you make, you feel you pay too much for health insurance. In the long journey to create Obamacare, details came into focus as policymakers drilled down. Through focus groups and listening sessions, they discovered that $400 a month for health insurance was beyond the reach of many American families. There is no short-form answer for determining MinnesotaCare premiums, as you can see from this schedule. But you can still qualify with an annual income as high as $52,512 – which isn’t that much when you think about it.

The opportunities

• Sweeten the reimbursement rates. Health insurance is useless if medical providers won’t accept it. The MinnesotaCare provider I chose is South Country Health Alliance. While I’ve had no problem using South Country for medical, prescription and vision claims, I have yet to find a dentist in southeast Minnesota who accepts it. (I’m on a couple of waiting lists that stretch several weeks out.) I don’t know if nonparticipation is because of South Country in specific or MinnesotaCare in general. If providers don’t accept Obamacare because of what it is (or who created it), opponents will say, “See, it doesn’t work.” We need to find a way to make sure it does work.

• Make it easier for customers (and providers) to ask questions. When you call the MinnesotaCare information line, you get a recording suggesting that you call on Thursday or Friday because of the high volume of calls. If you have a question on Monday, and need to schedule an appointment now to avoid a long waiting list, you don’t want to wait until Thursday or Friday. And the backlog I’m talking about is just for MinnesotaCare. Can you imagine the questions people will have about Obamacare coverage? Even if there’s an email address where you can leave your question and a representative will get back to you, you feel that you’ve done something.

• Remove income as an eligibility requirement. Awhile back I wrote about how I was too affluent as a Pine County resident to qualify for MinnesotaCare, but became eligible when I moved to Dodge County. Can you imagine if a similar yardstick were used for public school eligibility? “I’m sorry, but you’re too smart to qualify”? Public school is there for all who wish to use it, regardless of means level. You’re not forced to use public schools. You’re mandated to use a school, but it doesn’t have to be a public one. If you’d rather have your kids attend a private school, go forth and God love you.

MinnesotaCare isn’t Cadillac coverage care, as I discovered when I bought my latest pair of glasses. Still, less-than-Cadillac coverage is fine if you didn’t have a car in the first place. As President Obama has frequently said, if you’re happy with your private insurance coverage, you can keep it. But if you need insurance and can’t get it, you have an outlet. And Minnesota’s very own MinnesotaCare could be the model for it.

Related Posts

Hot Damn. I Have Health Insurance

You’re an Old Lady Now: or, Drawing the Line on Bifocals
Give Up My Pharmacist? Never!
When Health Insurance Is No Health Insurance

When Is a Pond Not a Pond?
When It's a Gravel Pit

When you hear the words "gravel pit," chances are you think of Fred Flintstone operating a brontosaurus bulldozer and excavating boulders from a dry, dusty quarry. That's what I think of, anyway.

So people probably wonder why I call the pond near our house a gravel pit. That's what Mike and his parents call it. So that's what I call it.

The Story of the Gravel Pit
The pond started out as a Flintstone-like gravel pit. In the 1980s, contractors who were rebuilding State Highway 56 asked residents if they'd be willing to sell fill in order to provide a base for the road. Mike's parents, who lived on 40 acres at the time, obliged. Gravel was dug out from a five-acre area. The excavation went below the water table, creating a spring-fed gravel pit.

The spring-fed gravel pit near our house.

If you go wading in the water off the main beach, you'll follow a long, long slope where the water gradually gets knee high, then chest high, then shoulder high. That's the driveway where the trucks entered the pit to collect gravel and sand. But at any moment, the water depth can plunge to 15 feet. One old-school fisherman says some parts of the gravel pit are 65 feet deep. But the jury is still out on that one.

If Jerry can make it to the top
of the bluff, he's in good shape.

The topsoil that was taken off the sand and gravel was bulldozed and bermed into a 25-foot-high bluff. It provides a "Rocky"-type workout for my dog Jerry. If he can make it all the way up to the top, he's in good shape. Lately he's able to make it up only halfway, as he's been out of commission for a couple of weeks. He stepped on a piece of glass on a secluded trail at the pit and cut an artery in his foot. So I confine his romps to the main beach.

The Gravel Pit Changes Owners
Locals still refer to the gravel pit as "Maricles' Pond," even though the land changed hands some 30 years ago. Mike's parents sold 25 acres of their land to the DNR for $9,000 -- a decent price back in the day. The DNR was interested in turning the land into a WMA, or Wildlife Management Area, a place to preserve wildlife and provide public access to fishing and hunting. Mike's parents sold because the gravel pit had become a headache: loud parties, drug deals, dangerous characters. Also, the DNR pointed out that Mike's parents would be liable for any injuries.

And when you mix beer and bodies of water, an accident is waiting happen.

Shortly after the sale a guy backed his pickup to the water's edge, dove off the truck bed into the water, and hit his head on a rock. He was temporarily paralyzed. Mike's parents would have been on the hook had they still owned the land.

The Gravel Pit Gets Trashed

Members of Triton High School E.A.R.T.H.:
Environmental Awareness and Responsibility at Triton High.

Broken glass and empty cans aren't the only things partiers leave behind. Over the years, people have used the WMA as an unceremonious dumping ground for flat-screen TVs and computer monitors. In June, students from Triton High School's E.A.R.T.H. Patrol collected 12 bags of trash and a truckload of old electronics. On a recent hot dry day, a woman who brought her dog for a swim noticed the fire pit was smoldering. She doused the fire pit, then disposed of the bag of trash I had picked up. So there is hope.

Maricles' Pond Is Minnesota's Pond
The 25 acres of land no longer belongs to our family, but technically it does. It belongs to all Minnesotans. And we all have an obligation to preserve it. If I ever win the lottery, I'll buy back the land from the DNR. Until then, when I drive on State Highway 56, I'm satisfied knowing that our gravel is providing the foundation.

Related Posts
Triton Teens Take Out Trash
Don't Bogart that WMA, Dude!

The Anorexic Economy

Everyone’s heard about how Marilyn Monroe’s size 14 of the 1950s would be considered plus size today. But you don’t have to go back that far. The perfect sizes of the 1980s and 90s are today’s portly sizes.

Look at actress Courtney Thorne-Smith, today (left) and from the 1980s (right). Today she's a spokesperson for the Atkins weight loss plan. In the 1980s she played a Laker Girl named Kimberly on L.A. Law. Yesterday's chipmunk cheeks are today's chubby cheeks.

When I drive my son Wyatt around, the car radio is tuned to the local pop music station. At one time, weight-loss products were advertised twice a year: after Christmas and before the beach season. Now, they’re advertised 365 days a year.

One of the commercials made me do a double take. The announcer talked about how she was once a size nine. After taking this particular fat-burning protein powder, she is now a size three. Size three.

The last time I tried to lose weight, size nine was my target size. And now it’s a plus size?

I can’t help but compare how the ideal body size and the ideal workforce size are both shrinking. Absolutely, shedding pounds can be good to a point. You feel better, you’re healthier, and you can accomplish more because you have more energy. But when you’ve shrunk so much that you start shedding muscle and your body can no longer function the way it should, it’s past time to rethink your plan. Ask anyone in the thinned workforce who’s trying to do the jobs of three or four people.

Food for thought as our anorexic, schizophrenic economy lurches along.

Image sources: Courtney Thorne-Smith: sitcomsonline.com and article.wn.com. Marilyn Monroe: makems.com. Adele: last.fm/music/Adele

A Killdeer Named Larry

My husband Mike has a penchant for bringing home orphaned or abandoned animals. When he and my son Wyatt came in with a closed cardboard box, and Wyatt asked, "Guess what's inside?," I couldn't.

Inside the box was a baby killdeer. Mike explained he and Wyatt saw the chick standing alone on the road after a hawk had swooped through. The parents weren't around so Wyatt picked it up. "Let's call him Larry," Wyatt suggested.

"Why Larry?," I asked.

"Larry Bird," my basketball enthusiast son explained.

Killdeer are plentiful here in southeast Minnesota. Mike was familiar with the breed. They wouldn't eat grain, but instead needed live insects or worms. Mike turned on the garden hose and ran water into the parched soil. No worms appeared. And the bird refused to eat the insects Mike caught for him.

"You probably should have left him on the road," I said.

"I know. But I'm an old softie," Mike admitted.

He persuaded Larry to swallow a few mouthfuls of water. Then Mike prepared a hot water bottle for Larry's box. The bird spent the night in my studio, away from curious cats.

The next day we contacted Oxbow Park in Olmsted County, a wildlife manager at Rice Lake State Park, and a person with the Rochester DNR. They all suggested the same thing: try to get a killdeer family to adopt the chick.

Mike and I got into his truck and slowly drove around. After awhile we found a spot where a couple of killdeer circled. Mike took Larry and placed him on the ground, as killdeer spend most of their time there. We drove down the road a ways so we could watch if the adult killdeer accepted him. They didn't.

"I don't know if Larry could keep up if someone did adopt him," Mike said.

We went back to the cornfield to retrieve Larry.

We went back to the cornfield to retrieve Larry. I held the bird in my cupped hands to warm him. Protruding bones felt like bumps all over his body. He was as fragile as an empty walnut shell.

“I don’t think he’s going to make it,” I said, as Mike continued driving.

We passed a barn, a cornfield, and a farmhouse with a fundamentalist warning posted above the mailbox. I read the sign.

“Jesus is coming. Are you ready?,” I asked Larry.

“His eye is on the sparrow. But not on the killdeer,” Mike remarked.

We circled the block. Usually, killdeer mates dart back and forth anywhere you care to look. Today, none could be found.

Mike and I thought about the options for Larry. A swift bullet through the heart? A quick twist of the neck? We didn't have the heart for any of them. "We'll probably end up putting him through college," I said.

Back at home, we mixed up a batch of sugar water. Mike held Larry’s beak to the cup and he drank several mouthfuls. Larry’s lethargy gave way to a sugar high. Later in the day, Mike figured out how to feed him worms. He pureed them.

“In my blender?,” I asked warily.

“No, I used a small canning jar. The blender blades fit in the bottom of the jar.” I didn’t ask any more questions after that.

Despite my initial trepidation, I looked forward to sharing stories about Larry as he grew and feathered out. Releasing him in a few weeks when he could survive on his own. Singing “Born Free” as he circled the skies and came back to visit us.

The next morning was 10 degrees cooler than the previous morning. Mike opened the box. “Larry’s dead,” he said. We were both silent.

“At least I tried. I didn’t just leave him there. He got an extra day,” Mike said.

He got an extra day, all right. An extra day of safety and comfort, because an old softie stopped on the road and couldn’t pass by. And for Mike and me, our biggest worry for a few hours wasn't money -- but keeping a chick alive.

Maybe God’s eye was on the killdeer, after all.

Triton Teens Take Out Trash

Students from Triton High School came out yesterday to clean up the littered DNR land near our house. The students are members of E.A.R.T.H, or Environmental Awareness and Responsibility at Triton High. E.A.R.T.H. adviser Allison Horejsi said the land cleanup was a way to branch out beyond the school and get involved in the community. The students cleared out bottles, cans, computer monitors, and flat-screen TVs. Here's what the fire pit at the gravel pit looked like, before and after the E.A.R.T.H. cleanup:

Triton High School is located in Dodge Center and serves the three southeast Minnesota communities of Claremont, Dodge Center, and West Concord. Thank you to Ellery, Mikayla, Thor, Jacob, Amanda, Emily, Devin, Bradley, Gabby, Matthew, Eliseo, and Ms. Horejsi. Also thank you to Rochester stations KTTC and KAAL for covering the cleanup! Watch the KAAL video here.

Related Posts:

Don't Bogart That WMA, Dude!