A comedy of errors - Part 2

When it rains, it pours, right? Two nights ago while doing chores, we noticed one of our turkeys was "off ". As in near-death, "off". A google search later, we fed electrolytes and antibiotics and quarantined the sick bird, who had some runny poop but healthy skin, clear eyes, no respiratory issues, a mystery. The morning greeted us with not one dead turkey, but two. . .

The lone survivor. We're going to give this one a little time to make sure it isn't ill as well, then get one more for company. 

It will be a mystery, whatever illness reached them, it acted fast with no symptoms until about 12 hours before death. We've had a good track record so far, considering poultry diseases are not easily diagnosed or treated. We can always have chicken on Thanksgiving! If this guy doesn't make it, we won't be adding anything else to this pen this year.


With all the harebrained things we take on, the daily routine can sometimes be a little harrowing. Work has been more challenging than usual and changing healthcare trends aren't helping matters.

Part of commuting means I'm often the last home, and I don't often get to spend much time on dinner. Last week I had an earlier day than normal and planned to take full advantage of it. I love to cook, and I like to think I'm fairly skilled at it. So what I did next I can only describe as:

im·bro·glio

imˈbrōlyō/

noun

1. 1.

   an extremely confused, complicated, or embarrassing situation.

   "the Watergate imbroglio"

   synonyms:

   complicated situation, complication, problem, difficulty, predicament,trouble, confusion, quandary, entanglement, muddle, mess, quagmire,morass, sticky situation

I scanned the fridge upon arriving home to find a bag of shredded hash brown potatoes on the shelf. Oh great, these had to be frozen, what can I make?? I wasn't in the mood for breakfast-for-dinner, so I decided to surprise Rog with one of his favorites that is usually reserved for holidays when someone else is cooking...cheesy potatoes, or as his family affectionately dubs them,  funeral potatoes. I didn't grow up eating much 'American' food and therefore these types of recipes aren't ingrained in my brain as they are for most people. Not that I don't like these things, I really do. I just don't know how to make them.

First rule of cooking:  collect your ingredients. Failure.

I had emptied the potatoes into a bowl and added grated cheddar cheese. So far so good. I knew from the past that they usually have cream of chicken soup in them. After scanning the pantry, twice, I realized the campbells kids weren't going to suddenly appear so I popped open a can of cream of mushroom. Close enough, right? They are all over salted, jiggly and a little creepy.

Next I added some chopped onions. And black pepper. Then I got stuck and had to admit defeat and look up a recipe. Sour cream. . . hmmmm. None to be found. In the back of the fridge I found a container of french onion dip that someone brought over for a gathering. Close enough, yet again. The butter was no problem, I would never dare run out. Into the oven it went with bated breath and crossed fingers and toes.

Sure doesn't look like mom's. Still, I refuse to accept defeat. Corn flakes!! No corn flakes here. After searching through everything crunchy my options were wheat thins, peanut butter filled pretzels or these:

Things are deteriorating by the minute. I quickly crushed up a handful and tossed them in the pan before Rog pulled in the drive. To overcompensate I grilled a big sirloin, taking care to mark it with impressive geometric grill marks to detract from my assumed potato failure.

And then I made kale chips. I'm really good at making those and they look "fancy".

And then it was the moment of truth.

Really stinking good. All the chuckling, head shaking, lip biting at my sorry attempt to create one of Rog's favorites, and it was really quite tasty. Packed full of fat and artificial things but by golly, I had cheesy potatoes!

I took this really nice picture of the sedum and sea oats while I was grilling. Plant photos are an excellent distraction for a naturalist. He certainly wouldn't be upset if I made crappy potatoes, but he certainly would ridicule me at family dinners for years to come, for example the shortbread cookie incident of 1997 that we still relive from time to time.

Waiting for breeding season to be over, hoping the turkey will be ok in the morning, hoping the wall in the buck barn holds up and we don't have an unwanted 'visitor' in the does pasture.

Can I learn to love one of these?

Hmmmm. . . 

Charming isn't really the right word. . . 

Update: The other turkey croaked too. Recently we talked to another turkey grower in our area and he had widespread losses this year too, and I ran it by a vet-friend who offered - "What do you do with a sick turkey? Kill the rest."  Probably a pretty accurate statement. Although I mourn the loss of my fresh Thanksgiving turkey, I'm not exactly a bird 'fan' so I keep repeating the Adam Sandler Thanksgiving song, adding "No turkey for you, no turkey for me. . . "

And yes, we're getting a llama.

And yes, I find them a little creepy.

And yes, I'm terrified.