How to Grow Potatoes!
Here is a 30-page booklet that takes you step by step through growing potatoes. The cover is a bit cheesy, but don't let that fool you. This book had some great information. For example, did you know:
- Potatoes produce more nutrition calories for a family garden per square foot than any other vegetable?
- One medium potato has 110 fat-free calories and provides 45 percent of your daily vitamin C?
- Potatoes are one of the most pesticide intensive vegetables in the grocery store, but when you grow them yourself organically (which is easy, with the help of this book), you don't have to, as this book puts it, "play roulette with your children's health"?
- You can grow potatoes for almost no cost?
This book is a quick, informative read. -Caleb
Illegal GMO wheat appears to have “escaped” into nature
According to a new article in the Washington Post, Japan has suspended all imports of U.S. wheat after genetically modified Monsanto wheat mysteriously appeared in an Oregon field.
The fear now is that this illegal wheat has “escaped” from open field trials 12 years ago and has naturalized, which would have huge food implications. Although it is early days, this certainly appears to be the most likely explanation right now. Yikes.
Monsanto says the mysterious appearance of its GMO wheat is not a big deal because it is safe. People like me say it is not safe, for many reasons. The two biggest are: First, at the very least, Roundup-Ready vegetables and grains mean farmers are drenching wheat in chemicals -- and the land where the wheat grows. And second, the GMO genetics can spread through pollination, contaminating and irreversibly changing natural wheat varieties. It is hard to overemphasize that once this contamination takes place, it cannot ever -- EVER -- be undone. This is why GMO food is illegal in most of the world -- except the U.S., where corporate patents are more important than global health.
Here is the problem. The wheat was last approved for test-growing 12 years ago. This wheat was genetically modified to be resistant to the herbicide Roundup, so that farmers can spray this poison on the wheat and kill all the weeds around it, but not the wheat.
Ironically, the illegal wheat was discovered when the farmer spayed his field with Roundup, but this wheat refused to die.
Japan was the first to cancel orders for U.S. wheat, but won’t likely be the last. Europe imports 1 million tons of wheat a year, according to the Washington Post, and since the discovery they have said they are watching the situation closely because they have “zero tolerance” for GMO food.
Here is another eye-opener:
“The United States already relies heavily on genetically modified crops,” reports the Post. “Genetically engineered corn, cotton and soybeans have gone from 5 to 17 percent of the U.S. market in 1997 to between two-thirds and more than 90 percent in 2012. By some estimates, more than 70 percent of processed foods sold in the United States contain ingredients and oils from genetically engineered crops.”
Food safety groups are demanding an investigation, pointing out that the illegal wheat isn’t supposed to exist in fields and didn’t just “magically” appear.
“This was not from a recent trial, which means it’s been sitting there in the environment,” said Andrew Kimbrell, executive director of the Center for Food Safety, a nonprofit group, as quoted in the Post. “It’s highly doubtful that it’s just on one farm. If it’s out there, it’s out there.” The center’s science policy analyst, Bill Freese, added, “It’s been 12 years since this wheat was grown officially in Oregon. It doesn’t just disappear and magically appear 12 years later.”
Dandy Noodles -- Backyard Renaissance Indeed!
Here is what we had for dinner last night: Dandelion noodles, picked with revenge in my garden, and eaten up with zest! So great, and so easy to make this recipe from the brand-new Ultimate Dandelion Cookbook! First, I sauteed the dandelions in a bit of water and then pureed them with an egg in the food processor, added flour and rolled out the dough:
Then, I let that dry a bit and then cut the noodles with a pizza cutter:
Then I cooked them and served with a homemade tomato mushroom sauce that I simmered for two hours with fresh parsley, oregano, and chives from my garden:
Just writing about it is making me hungry again! And this dish even got a rare complement from my wife, so you know that is success!! We will be having this again. Delicious! Get your copy of the Ultimate Dandelion Cookbook on Kindle by clicking on the link below. -Caleb
Don't Miss This Self-Sufficient Cookbook!! "Ultimate Dandelion Cookbook"
I love this brand-new cookbook, even though I didn't write it :) I wish I had thought of it first! You can get your copy on Kindle. Why eat dandelions? Well, here are some of the facts from the book:
- Dandelion greens have more protein than spinach or collard greens!
- Dandelion greens have twice the Vitamin A of spinach or collards, and five times more than kale!
- Dandelion greens have more Vitamin C than spinach or collard greens!
- Dandelion greens are rich in Omega-3 fatty acids!
- Dandelion greens are a great source of calcium, iron, and many other vitamins and minerals. See the full chart and details in the book :)
- Best of all, dandelions are free!
Here are my favorite recipes in this cookbook:
- Dandelion Noodles -- if you like spinach noodles, you'll likely love these! And so easy to make!
- Dandelion Quiche -- (we have lots of backyard eggs, so this is PERFECT for us)
- Crockpot Gingered Dandelions, Chicken & Chickpeas
- Dandelion Pizza
- Pumpkin-Dandelion Soup
- Chinese-Style Dandelion Dumplings (this recipe reminds me of my Dandelion Ravioli in my Forgotten Skills book)
- and there are dozens and dozens more. Yum!
Want to browse the cookbook? Simply click on the link on the above right! Enjoy! -Caleb
On May 8, My Wife Found Me Passed Out on the Floor
"They dies everywheres," said the boy. "They dies in their lodgings... and they dies... in heaps. They dies more than they lives.” (Bleak House, Charles Dickens)
On Wednesday, May 8, 2013, my wife found me passed out on the bedroom floor. This is the story of my comeuppance.
I first felt a tickle in my throat on Sunday afternoon, May 5. By this time, my wife had been sick for nine days. A hellbent virus had swept through our extended family, toppling everyone into bed one by one. I alone was untouched -- and I had gotten cocky about it. I had been publicly evangelizing the virtues of sinus rinsing. Twice in the previous month I had given public demonstrations in classes at my home (one woman left the room and wouldn’t watch. “No extra charge for that,” I quipped when I dripped on another woman’s notes and she protested.)
My confidence was earned. Sinus rinsing had changed my life. By May 5, 2013, I had handily avoided many family illnesses by faithfully rinsing. I had every confidence that this wave of illness would be no different.
When my wife first got sick, she told me to quarantine myself by sleeping in another room of the house. I was so confident in the protective power of nasal rinsing that I dismissed the idea. After nine days of being right, sinus rinsing had become my superpower.
Then the tickle at the back of my throat.
"You had better turn him out," said Mr. Skimpole.
"What do you mean?" inquired my guardian, almost sternly.
"My dear Jarndyce," said Mr. Skimpole, "...I have a constitutional objection to this sort of thing. I always had, when I was a medical man. He's not safe, you know. There's a very bad sort of fever about him." (Bleak House, Charles Dickens)
By Wednesday, May 8, I was feverish and aggressively treating myself herbally -- using Caleb’s Blend (marshallow root, mullein tincture, yarrow flower) in tandem with peppermint compresses, rinsing my sinus with salt and sodium bicarbonate, pounding fresh yarrow leaves from my garden for anti-inflammatory tea. But I worsened.
That morning, I drove myself to the doctor. My wife’s virus had turned into infection in her ear, and I was afraid I might follow. The doctor determined there was no bacterial infestation and wrote a prescription for a lidocaine gargle to numb my throat, which by this time felt like it was bleeding.
Driving home, I began to see auras. A migraine caused by sinus swelling had set in. By early afternoon, and home alone, I was in exquisite pain. I tried to crawl from the bed to the phone to call 911. On the floor, I began to vomit so fast and hard I could not breath. Then I passed out.
At some point my wife came home and found me on the floor. Rousing me, I whispered “blessing.” She got a member of our lay Mormon clergy -- my son-in-law happened to be nearest -- who rubbed consecrated olive oil onto the crown of my head before laying his hands on me to give me a blessing by the authority of the holy Melchizedek priesthood, and in the name of Jesus Christ. I then whispered for Excedrin Migraine, a blend of Tylenol and caffeine. Immediately, I either fell asleep or passed out again.
When I woke up, I felt brand new. It did not last. The pain slowly redoubled, intensifying through the night.
At some point the next day, I doubled the recommended dose of Excedrin Migraine, on top of the Tylenol I had already taken -- a dosage I knew would begin to damage my liver. I was desperate. At some point, it became clear to me that I had about two minutes before I would lose consciousness again. I was home alone again. I had to save myself. I prayed, and saw the image of myself opening my grandmother’s fridge. When I was a boy on the farm, and I got a rare migraine, my grandmother would treat me with a cold Coke from her fridge. For decades, she kept one Coke on hand as medicine to cure her own rare headaches. I had been raised to never drink caffeinated soda because -- as my grandmother and my mother would say -- caffeine is medicine and not a recreational drug. Now, a few months past my 40th birthday, I had not had a single caffeinated anything since being treated by my grandmother decades earlier (I don’t even drink uncaffeinated soda). I crawled to the phone and dialed my wife, who immediately left her office to buy me a can of Red Bull.
Within minutes of drinking the Red Bull, I began to weep. For the first time in 30 hours, relief.
It took two more cans to stabilize the pain at a tolerable level. My wife drove me to a chiropractor, who said he could drain my sinus. He couldn’t. (He easily accepted an $80 fee, however.) Next Charmayne drove me back to the doctor, who injected me with a steroid in one hip and an anti-nausea drug in the other. Infection had now invaded both my sinus and right ear, and I was prescribed the antibiotic Cefdinir, created in a Japanese laboratory and given an oddly Celtic name.
That night was spent on the hardwood oak floor of the living room. Propped with a wadded quilt, I managed to position myself just right so I could sleep face down for a couple of hours.
The next day, I had my third migraine in three days. This time, it only took two Red Bulls to quell my misery to the point where I could open my eyes. My stepdaughter managed to get my laptop iTunes to play Alanis Morrisettes’s “Jagged Little Pill” album. I needed distraction from three days of lightning strikes to the brain. I fantasized, envisioning an awl that I would carefully insert between the top of my eye and skull, pounding with my palm until I pierced The Pain. Wiggling the wooden handle would allow a cloud of steam-pain (?) to whoosh out of my head. There was no blood in my fantasy. Just relief.
In reality, when “Jagged Little Pill” became annoying, I was too weak to reach over and shut it off.
Like the other days, I wrapped my entire head with a huge frozen gel pack. By now, my forehead and eyelids were literally burned red from peppermint compresses, which gave me a tiny palliative.
This next sentence sounds masochistic now, but you have to remember I was on my third migraine in three days. I hit myself on the head with my fist and knuckles for over an hour -- tapping and banging circles around the expanding pressure under the left side of my forehead -- until I had to stop because of the swelling.
"Charley," said I, "are you so cold?"
"I think I am, miss," she replied. "I don't know what it is. I can't hold myself still. I felt so yesterday at about this same time, miss. Don't be uneasy, I think I'm ill."
I heard Ada's voice outside, and I hurried to the door of communication between my room and our pretty sitting-room, and locked it. Just in time, for she tapped at it while my hand was yet upon the key.
Ada called to me to let her in, but I said, "Not now, my dearest. Go away. There's nothing the matter; I will come to you presently." Ah! It was a long, long time before my darling girl and I were companions again. (Bleak House, Charles Dickens)
Ah, yes. My comeuppance.
We approach sickness much more flippantly today than we did in 1853, when Bleak House -- Dickens’ best novel -- was published in 20 installments. In those days, sick people were immediately and strictly locked in a room, quarantined against infecting everyone around them. When fever took over, you became delirious and then -- if you were lucky -- you lost consciousness, sometimes for days. There were no antibiotics to save you, no Tylenol for pain, no steroid shots in the hip to drain away the inflammation in the skull. If your fever won the day, you woke up and lived. If your fever lost -- well, graveyards were busy places.
Today, we act like we have forgotten all this. Because we have.
Recently, the five-year-old living next door broke his leg at some place where parents pay to let their kids jump on a bunch of indoor trampolines. Literally the next day, our grandson Xander was begging us to go to this place. With a touch of righteous anger, my wife explained to him and me (I was standing nearby, so I was guilty) that a hundred years ago, no one would have let their child jump on a trampoline because if you broke your leg, you had a fifty-fifty chance of dying from infection. Parents took the health of their children very seriously because children routinely died. It was not uncommon for half of your children to die. Men married two and three times because their wives died in childbirth. Just this week, there was a major story in our local newspaper about a stunningly beautiful young woman who died in a neighboring town while giving birth to her sixth child. The placenta had attached to her organs and she went into cardiac arrest during a C-section. The baby lived. This happens so very rarely today that it was front-page news. In 1853, it was too common to make headlines.
“It was not until Charley was safe in bed again and placidly asleep that I began to think the contagion of her illness was upon me. I had been able easily to hide what I felt at tea-time, but I was past that already now, and I knew that I was rapidly following in Charley's steps.” (Bleak House, Charles Dickens)
If we -- my wife, me, the kids, the grandkids -- had been living in 1853 when this wretched virus mowed us down, how many of us would have lived?
The question is a trick. The answer is that our family would likely have been little scathed, because at the first sign of illness, the sick person would have been quarantined swiftly and strictly. In those days, this was the drill: One “brave” person would be placed in the quarantined room to care for the sick. The sick would become well and then take care of the caretaker, who had now succombed to the contagion. Daily food and updates were passed through an outside window. The quarantined room was eventually unlocked and -- ideally -- two people emerged. (The “brave” person assigned to care for the sick was rarely the mother. She was too important. It was usually an older sibling -- he or she only had an iffy chance of living to adulthood anyway.)
Me and my family were saved by modern medicine. But we were sickened in the first place by modern stupidity. How I wish now that I had followed my wife’s advice and slept in another room! (The only advice my own mother has given me since my wedding day: “Do what your wife says.”)
When master herbalist Kirsten Skirven taught herbal healing classes around my kitchen table, she would speak of earthquakes. If the earth moves violently, we will be on our own because hospitals will either be flattened, or swamped with critical cases. Herbal knowledge may be the only thing we have for our family (Kirsten will be busy, for sure). I would suggest that we will need to add the old art of quarantine to our efforts, if we really want to save lives.
And foolish is the person (ahem -- me) who waits until a crisis to remember the virtues of quarantine. Voluntary household quarantine should be used today -- without waiting for an earthquake or the zombie apocalypse.
We rely too much on doctors to save us. We are too casual with the health of our youngsters.
When sick, we are far too quick to go to church and school, fanning our disease across town.
We have been medically spoiled -- may our lives always be so. But a pinch of quarantine can save lives, doctor’s fees -- and easily prevent three migraines in three days.
(Postscript: The day after I wrote this, I blew my nose and immediately my sinus began to swell again. Within hours, I had my fourth migraine in five days. At publication, I am still on antibiotics. Yeesh.)
Tour of Caleb's Geothermal Greenhouse May 2013
This is the herb comfrey growing in a pot.
An Easter lily coming up
These are baby Canterbury Bells flowers that have been growing since January.
Peas! Get your pea seed at SeedRenaissance.com :)
Some of the peas are done and dried, ready to save for seed.
This is a very rare blue-purple pea from England.
Amsterdam Forcing carrots! You can get some at SeedRenaissance.com.
Mizuna in flower and forming seed pods.
My orange tree, with a rare variety of winter tomato growing at the base.
A fava bean that I am developing for alkaline soil.
These potatoes, believe it or not, are almost done! They are an extremely early variety.
A bunch of different varieties of tomatoes in a trial. Gee, can you tell which are winning? :)
On the right is Grand Rapids lettuce. On the left is a bunch of different varieties, some rare. This was part of a cold soil tolerance test.
Parisienne carrots.
Vernal Broad Windsor Fava beans from SeedRenaissance.com
This is a peach tree started from a pit in my greenhouse -- almost time to move outside.
HUGE Mammoth Melting Sugar peas.
Enormous Golden Sweet Snow peas -- so tasty!
Wild spinach, which I grow in my greenhouse for early harvesting.
And this is one day's worth of eggs!!! We have too many chickens!!
An excerpt from our new novel, "Trouble's On the Menu: A Tippy Canoe Romp -- with Recipes!"
Trouble’s on the Menu: A Tippy Canoe Romp -- With Recipes!
Caleb Warnock & Betsy Schow
Chapter One
Thud.
Hallie Stone’s foot held the brake pedal all the way to the floor well after the car skidded to a stop. Forcing herself out of the rented Yukon Denali, she fought her way through the biting snow to see what she’d just hit. Her designer heels slid on the slick road. A blast of Montana wind nearly sent her to her knees.
Maybe the blizzard was playing tricks on her eyes. Maybe it wasn’t a scooter she had seen, sliding towards the SUV. Maybe it had only been an animal. She’d been warned that moose roamed free up here, as numerous as stray cats. But the blur was too small for a moose and too large for a cat. The best she could hope for was a deer.
Please be Bambi. Please be Bambi.
The headlights showed something sprawled on the snow-packed highway. Clutching her puffy jacket – the one practical thing she’d thought to bring from California to Montana – she stared down and saw…
A woman.
An expletive popped out of Hallie’s mouth -- worth at least a dollar to the swear jar back home.
The woman on the ground was making high pitched keening sounds. An awful grating noise, but at least that meant she wasn’t dead, whoever she was. Thank all goodness..
The woman on the ground was making high pitched keening sounds. An awful grating noise, but at least that meant she wasn’t dead, whoever she was. Thank all goodness..
Bracing in her snow-filled shoes, Hallie stepped toward the woman lying askew on the road. A crushed motor scooter straddled the woman’s leg.
“Are you okay?” Hallie blurted. The question was ridiculous.
Fumbling with icy fingers, she tried to find her cell phone in her coat. She had to get help. A man sprinted out of the darkness and onto the road in the middle of her pushing the 9 and the 1.
Hallie wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or reach for her pepper spray.
“I’ve called Tug and Jim,” he said, kneeling by the injured woman. “Where are you hurt?”
The woman groaned. “My daughter. She's home.” She strained to speak. “Mayor, tell her... not to worry.”
“As soon as I get back to the house, I'll call her,” he said. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
Mayor? Hallie looked at the man who couldn’t be more than a few years older than herself. Very young to be mayor.
“I’m so sorry...” Hallie wanted to explain how wrong her whole day had been -- missed flight, lost luggage, this behemoth of a rental car that was so different from her sporty Mustang. But the cold was freezing her brain, making her thoughts sluggish and foggy. She wanted to jump back into the Denali and drive home to her Malibu art studio. Or at least back to the airport.
Cutting through the void of the snowstorm, a siren’s wail announced the arrival of an ambulance. Slush sprayed all directions from approaching tires, soaking Hallie’s trousers. Seconds after the ambulance slid to a stop, two paramedics jumped out.
“If I had a nickel for every idiot driver in the world,” spat the ambulance driver.
“Oh Tug,” the injured woman moaned weakly. “My leg.”
“I’m so sorry...” Hallie wanted to explain how wrong her whole day had been -- missed flight, lost luggage, this behemoth of a rental car that was so different from her sporty Mustang. But the cold was freezing her brain, making her thoughts sluggish and foggy. She wanted to jump back into the Denali and drive home to her Malibu art studio. Or at least back to the airport.
Cutting through the void of the snowstorm, a siren’s wail announced the arrival of an ambulance. Slush sprayed all directions from approaching tires, soaking Hallie’s trousers. Seconds after the ambulance slid to a stop, two paramedics jumped out.
“If I had a nickel for every idiot driver in the world,” spat the ambulance driver.
“Oh Tug,” the injured woman moaned weakly. “My leg.”
“Probably broken,” the ambulance driver said gruffly. “Do I even need to ask what happened?”
"She ran me over!" the woman on the ground cried out with a burst of strength. "I could be dying. I think I see a bright light." She groaned dramatically.
"She ran me over!" the woman on the ground cried out with a burst of strength. "I could be dying. I think I see a bright light." She groaned dramatically.
Hallie probably turned a few shades whiter than the fresh powder.
“Naw, just the headlights on the snow,” the ambulance driver said matter-of-factly. “Don’t worry, Andrea. We’ll take care of you.”
“Naw, just the headlights on the snow,” the ambulance driver said matter-of-factly. “Don’t worry, Andrea. We’ll take care of you.”
The paramedics examined the woman and swiftly loaded her into the ambulance. As they drove down the lane, the swirling red lights danced away on the snowy drifts to music of the wailing siren.
Hallie was mesmerized by the light show and lost in her thoughts. On one hand she was really worried about the women’s health; on the other, she was really worried about her own. They didn’t throw people in jail for a car accident, right? Although, she was an outsider who had just squished someone’s mother.
I am in so much trouble.
The mayor turned to Hallie. “Maybe you should jump back into your vehicle before you freeze yourself to death.”
“She ran into me,” Hallie blurted, going on the defensive. "It wasn't my fault.”
"I know," the mayor said calmly. "I saw what happened. “
“No, you don’t understand! I was going slowly, trying to find my hotel. I was afraid someone might hit me from behind, I was going so slow." Hallie worked to control the fine quiver in her voice. She was tired, overwhelmed, and pretty sure the wet pants were starting to freeze to her legs. “And... and...what kind of idiot drives a scooter in the middle of a snowstorm?” she said, throwing her hands up into the air and losing her footing.
The mayor firmly grasped her arm to keep her from going down. "I’m sure it looked a lot worse than it actually was. Andrea's just shook up, that's all."
She’s not the only one, Hallie wanted to say, rubbing the spot on her forearm, warm from the man’s hand. But she decided not to say anything. She just wanted to find her hotel and get this day over with. She bent to examine the Denali. There was a dent in the bumper. A very little dent. “That’s it?” Still, the fist sized imprint would not make the rental car company happy.
“This thing’s practically indestructible,” he said, running a hand along the front of the SUV. “Hitting a scooter with this is like chucking an apple at a concrete wall.” He paused and opened the door for her.
Climbing into the vehicle, Hallie cranked the heat up to its highest setting, then reluctantly rolled down her window, allowing the cold to seep back in. “Are the police on their way? Do you think I should go to the station and make a statement?”
“There’s no one on duty tonight,” the mayor said. “We have two deputies out here, 30 hours a week. They mostly deal with warrants and cattle in the road. We’re usually a quiet place -- not much trouble, and not much in the way of a city budget. We can’t afford to have deputies 24 hours a day.”
She’s not the only one, Hallie wanted to say, rubbing the spot on her forearm, warm from the man’s hand. But she decided not to say anything. She just wanted to find her hotel and get this day over with. She bent to examine the Denali. There was a dent in the bumper. A very little dent. “That’s it?” Still, the fist sized imprint would not make the rental car company happy.
“This thing’s practically indestructible,” he said, running a hand along the front of the SUV. “Hitting a scooter with this is like chucking an apple at a concrete wall.” He paused and opened the door for her.
Climbing into the vehicle, Hallie cranked the heat up to its highest setting, then reluctantly rolled down her window, allowing the cold to seep back in. “Are the police on their way? Do you think I should go to the station and make a statement?”
“There’s no one on duty tonight,” the mayor said. “We have two deputies out here, 30 hours a week. They mostly deal with warrants and cattle in the road. We’re usually a quiet place -- not much trouble, and not much in the way of a city budget. We can’t afford to have deputies 24 hours a day.”
Hallie gave the man a quick once over. His smile seemed genuine. Not like the snake oil grin most politicians wore. Snowflakes began to gather on his eyelashes. He had to be cold. She considered inviting him into her car but then reminded herself that he was a stranger.
A good-looking stranger -- the most dangerous kind.
He offered his hand for her to shake. “My name is Marc Greathouse, and I’m the mayor here in Tippy Canoe. And you... you must be here to see our cave.”
“Cave?” Hallie had no idea what he was talking about. Nor did she have the brain power to devote to figuring it out. She was still a little preoccupied with the thought of being charged with vehicular manslaughter. “That lady -- you must know her. The woman I, uh, collided with.”
“You mean Andrea? She owns the weekly newspaper. Everyone knows Andrea -- kind of our local celebrity. She’s even interviewed the governor a time or two.”
“Cave?” Hallie had no idea what he was talking about. Nor did she have the brain power to devote to figuring it out. She was still a little preoccupied with the thought of being charged with vehicular manslaughter. “That lady -- you must know her. The woman I, uh, collided with.”
“You mean Andrea? She owns the weekly newspaper. Everyone knows Andrea -- kind of our local celebrity. She’s even interviewed the governor a time or two.”
Owner of the local paper? Hallie drew a long breath. She’d been in her new “hometown” for less than 60 seconds before she ran over the town’s best-loved resident. And the mayor had witnessed the whole catastrophic incident.
Not the low-key introduction to this town she’d planned.
Hallie gave the mayor all her contact numbers, as well as her insurance information to pass along the proper channels. Even though he kept assuring her that everything would be alright, she was still worried. But at least she was no longer afraid of being hauled off to jail.
By the time she left and found the Hotel Speleo, snow was coming down in thick, wet flakes and the wind had died away. She parked and walked into a warm, upscale-rustic lobby with giant timber beams and cozy conversation nooks. A bright blaze in the fireplace cast a flickering light across the room.
Now that some of the shock and adrenaline had faded, Hallie was exhausted... and starving “Do you have a room service menu?” she asked the check-in clerk after receiving her key. “I’d like to have something sent up to my room.”
“Sorry,” the clerk answered without bothering to look up. “This is the cave’s slow season. Room service isn’t available past 10 o’clock. About the only thing open in town is Plum’s Pantry.”
The need for sustenance warred with the need to crawl under the covers. As usual, food won out. After a quick change of clothes, Hallie ventured out onto the wintery roads once more. Several blocks from the hotel, she found the restaurant snuggled in the tiny town’s main shopping district.
Inside, there were no other customers. A whiteboard sign at the entrance over Plum’s Pantry said “Now Serving Our Seasonal, Fresh Winter Garden Menu.”
Hallie wondered suspiciously what a “seasonal, fresh winter garden” menu could possibly mean in this frozen, snowed-in berg. Snow Peas? Iceberg lettuce? She chuckled at her own lackluster attempt at levity. The cold and the late hour were definitely affecting the performance of her brain.
Hallie wondered suspiciously what a “seasonal, fresh winter garden” menu could possibly mean in this frozen, snowed-in berg. Snow Peas? Iceberg lettuce? She chuckled at her own lackluster attempt at levity. The cold and the late hour were definitely affecting the performance of her brain.
A hunched woman wearing an old-fashioned hair net and green visor slowly wiped tables and straightened condiments. No other employees were in sight. She looked sidelong at Hallie, appearing none-too-pleased to see a late-arriving customer. For several long minutes, she ignored Hallie, making an obvious display of readying the restaurant to close. Probably hoping the newcomer would get the message and go away.
Approaching at last, the waitress asked in a flat voice, “What’ll you have?” Her name tag said “Barb.”
Hallie smiled, hoping to thaw the woman’s cold exterior. “I’d like one egg over-hard, and buttered toast, please.” The impromptu order was something simple and fast -- good for both her and the waitress, who obviously wanted her shift to end. Hallie belatedly realized an egg wasn’t going to cut it.
Hallie smiled, hoping to thaw the woman’s cold exterior. “I’d like one egg over-hard, and buttered toast, please.” The impromptu order was something simple and fast -- good for both her and the waitress, who obviously wanted her shift to end. Hallie belatedly realized an egg wasn’t going to cut it.
After the all the food from the recent holiday, she’d been trying to eat lightly. However, given the kind of day she’d had, surely the Diet Gods would forgive her. “And a slice of the chocolate pie,” Hallie added, looking at the white board advertising the specials. “And I’ll start with the pie.”
Barb brought her the plastic-wrapped dessert on a chilled white plate, and plopped down a fork next to it. Moving to a small grill set against the wall behind the counter, Barb cracked an egg with one hand.
Hallie took a deep breath. The egg cracking reminded her of the accident. Now she couldn’t stop hearing the awful crunching sound the scooter had made.
Hallie took a deep breath. The egg cracking reminded her of the accident. Now she couldn’t stop hearing the awful crunching sound the scooter had made.
Suddenly, she wasn’t quite so hungry. She forced herself to take a forkful of the pie anyways. It wasn’t bad, actually. Certainly well above standard greasy spoon fare. Her nerves settled more with each bite.
Chocolate has amazing restorative qualities.
To break the silence and keep her thoughts off of the accident, Hallie decided to focus on the business that had brought her to this half horse town..
“So, do you know where I could find Kobold’s Trading Company?” she asked the cook. When “Barb” didn’t reply Hallie felt compelled to go on. “I ask because I’m Phineus Kobold’s…” She stopped mid-sentence, unable to say the word “wife”
“So, do you know where I could find Kobold’s Trading Company?” she asked the cook. When “Barb” didn’t reply Hallie felt compelled to go on. “I ask because I’m Phineus Kobold’s…” She stopped mid-sentence, unable to say the word “wife”
Taking a deep breath, Hallie started again. “I’m in town to settle Finn Kobold’s estate. I guess he left me his shop – Kobold’s Trading Company. Since I’ll be here a week or two, I might get to know the menu here pretty well.”
She tried to sound cheerful despite the weariness settling into her muscles. After the flight from Los Angeles, the blizzardy drive from Bozeman airport to Tippy Canoe, the accident, and now this woman’s cold shoulder, Hallie was looking forward to crawling into bed. But for now she would settle for at least a friendly response.
At the grill, Barb stopped and slowly turned toward Hallie. “You’re here about Finn?” Hesitation marked her voice.
Hallie nodded.
“You’re a real estate agent?” she said with a pinched look. Clearly that would not be a good thing in the cook’s eyes.
“No. I’m here… I’m his… We were… married. Many years ago.”
Barb’s eyes widened. “A pillar of this town, that’s what Finn was. Too bad about his passing.”
Hallie wasn’t sure how to respond to that. An uncomfortable emptiness filled the air. Apropos of nothing, she heard herself say, “This is my first trip to Montana."
Turning back to the grill, the woman ignored her again.
Hallie nodded.
“You’re a real estate agent?” she said with a pinched look. Clearly that would not be a good thing in the cook’s eyes.
“No. I’m here… I’m his… We were… married. Many years ago.”
Barb’s eyes widened. “A pillar of this town, that’s what Finn was. Too bad about his passing.”
Hallie wasn’t sure how to respond to that. An uncomfortable emptiness filled the air. Apropos of nothing, she heard herself say, “This is my first trip to Montana."
Turning back to the grill, the woman ignored her again.
“I've never driven in snow.” Hallie kept going, unable to leave the silence alone. She had a bad habit of rambling when she felt uneasy. “On my way into town just now, I’m afraid I was involved in a fender bender with one of the locals.”
Now she had Barb’s full attention. “Who?”
“Andrea, I think was the woman’s name. There was someone named Tug driving the ambulance, and he called her Andr-“
“Tug took Andrea in the ambulance? Andrea Linford?”
“She owns the weekly paper?”
The woman gasped. “Is she hurt? Did you hurt her?”
“Her leg was, er, broken.”
Barb dropped the metal spatula in her hand. “Out,” she commanded, removing her apron and spinning the gas grill dial to off. “The restaurant is closed. I’ve got to find Megan and drive her to the hospital.”
“Andrea, I think was the woman’s name. There was someone named Tug driving the ambulance, and he called her Andr-“
“Tug took Andrea in the ambulance? Andrea Linford?”
“She owns the weekly paper?”
The woman gasped. “Is she hurt? Did you hurt her?”
“Her leg was, er, broken.”
Barb dropped the metal spatula in her hand. “Out,” she commanded, removing her apron and spinning the gas grill dial to off. “The restaurant is closed. I’ve got to find Megan and drive her to the hospital.”
Hallie sat motionless in stunned silence, so Barb started shooing her forcefully with the cast off apron. “Out! You have to leave, now!”
“But-”
The expression on Barb’s face left no mistake; any further conversation as well as the egg and toast were now out of the question. Hallie debated whether or not to swipe the pie she’d already begun eating. With a tired sigh, she gathered her purse and coat and walked out into the snow.
Great. In the two hours since arriving, she had already: hit Tippy Canoe’s sweetheart, dented her rental car, and gotten herself kicked out of the late night diner.
“But-”
The expression on Barb’s face left no mistake; any further conversation as well as the egg and toast were now out of the question. Hallie debated whether or not to swipe the pie she’d already begun eating. With a tired sigh, she gathered her purse and coat and walked out into the snow.
Great. In the two hours since arriving, she had already: hit Tippy Canoe’s sweetheart, dented her rental car, and gotten herself kicked out of the late night diner.
Let’s see what kind of damage I can do tomorrow.
Chapter Two
The next morning, Hallie asked the hotel clerk to point her toward the local grocery store, so she could pick up some breakfast. Best to avoid the restaurant after last night’s unpleasant confrontation. She was still a little unsure whether or not she was kicked out just so the woman could close, or kicked out as in banned for life. But that didn’t really matter. She had bigger pots to paint. Get in, get out, get home. That was the plan.
In the daylight, Tippy Canoe was even smaller than she first thought. It was much easier to find where she was going without the snowstorm. She tracked down the address on her late husband’s estate papers.
The next morning, Hallie asked the hotel clerk to point her toward the local grocery store, so she could pick up some breakfast. Best to avoid the restaurant after last night’s unpleasant confrontation. She was still a little unsure whether or not she was kicked out just so the woman could close, or kicked out as in banned for life. But that didn’t really matter. She had bigger pots to paint. Get in, get out, get home. That was the plan.
In the daylight, Tippy Canoe was even smaller than she first thought. It was much easier to find where she was going without the snowstorm. She tracked down the address on her late husband’s estate papers.
Thinking of him that way threw her through a loop. She hadn’t thought of him as her husband in years, and now she had to add a late in front.
Finn had left her almost seven years ago now, and both he and Hallie had moved on and done their own things. After they separated, he came to Montana and made a new life for himself, giving up his art to take over his father’s small business. She continued to build her own art career at her studio in Malibu.
Neither one of them had bothered going through all the hassle and paperwork to make the split official. Hallie was a terrible procrastinator, and because they had no children or joint property... well it was easy to keep putting it off and forgetting about it. Since she hadn’t had any desire to remarry, it hadn’t mattered.
Well it mattered now.
Finn died of a heart attack last month and it took his estate lawyer until after the funeral to track her down and inform her she was still listed as the beneficiary of her estranged husband’s will. She wasn’t sure how to feel about this unexpected twist of fate.
One thing’s for sure, she never expected to find herself in Montana. Cold, blizzard-y, afraid-I’ll-run-into-a-moose-at-any-moment, Montana.
Breaking her reverie, Hallie was alarmed to see the driver of a passing car gesturing to her. Probably nothing, she thought, chalking it up to an active imagination. But then another driver did the same, and then another.
Were they angry? Was she breaking some local traffic law? Had someone put out an APB on her rental car after last night’s “incident”?
As other cars passed doing the same thing, Hallie realized they weren’t gesturing -- at least not in the California sense. The drivers were greeting her with a wave or a nod. Using all five fingers instead of just one.
Who knew people really did that? She always assumed those small towns you saw on TV were merely inventions of the state tourism boards, trying to collect more revenue.
When the next driver passed by with a friendly wave, Hallie raised her hand in a self-conscious response. Waving to strangers was unnatural to her and would take some getting used to. Even the people on the sidewalks seemed to nod to her as she passed. Which was pretty impressive considering they should be too busy shivering, walking in the bitter cold.
She had to admit the village was picturesque. Her artist’s eye was keen to pick up all the details. Knotted timber planks had been used on many of the stores to create traditional facades, giving the shopping district an upscale and yet Old West charm. Classic shepherd’s crook cast-iron lampposts lined the streets, and some of the newer-looking stores boasted rustic boardwalks rather than sidewalk.
Then she saw it: Kobold’s Trading Company, the name spelled out on a large neo-rustic painted sign over the door. Her first chance to glimpse at what she now owned.
Then she saw it: Kobold’s Trading Company, the name spelled out on a large neo-rustic painted sign over the door. Her first chance to glimpse at what she now owned.
And what she was here to get rid of.
Exiting the Yukon Denali, she stepped onto the snowy street, reminding herself to buy the first sensible shoes she found. Heels had clearly not been designed with Montana snow in mind. At least yesterday's blizzard had passed, leaving blue skies, even if the temperatures were still miserable.
Inching across the ice and snow from the SUV to the sidewalk, she made her way to where she could peek through the huge pane-glass windows of the storefront. Baseball caps, souvenir key chains, t-shirts with variations on a cave theme, soda pop and snacks, postcards – the usual hodge-podge that tourists stop to loiter over on their way out of town. Squinting to see deeper into the store, she could just make out a shirt that said Go Barefoot in Montana, with a large footprint in the middle.
Inching across the ice and snow from the SUV to the sidewalk, she made her way to where she could peek through the huge pane-glass windows of the storefront. Baseball caps, souvenir key chains, t-shirts with variations on a cave theme, soda pop and snacks, postcards – the usual hodge-podge that tourists stop to loiter over on their way out of town. Squinting to see deeper into the store, she could just make out a shirt that said Go Barefoot in Montana, with a large footprint in the middle.
What a crazy shirt. Why on earth would anyone want to go barefoot in the snow?
The shop was locked, just like the attorney said it would be. Shoot. She had kinda been hoping to look around without someone peeking over her shoulder.
Since she lacked any lock-picking skills, she went next door to “Cracked Rock, Gems & Minerals” where she’d been told she could pick up a key. A tiny chime sounded as she entered. Behind the counter stood a slender younger woman wearing a green turtleneck and ginormous dangling agate earrings.
"Hello, my name is Hallie Stone and I’m apparently the new owner of the shop next door. I was told I could get the key from you."
“Honey, the new landlord is here,” hollered the woman behind the counter.
“Honey, the new landlord is here,” hollered the woman behind the counter.
Hallie resisted the urge to cover her ears.
The rock lady turned back to Hallie. “Welcome to town! I’m Melora Post. My husband, David, will be right-“
“I’m sorry,” interrupted Hallie. “You must have misheard me. Not the landlord. I just inherited the shop next door, the trading post. Or trading company. Whatever it’s called. Finn Kobold’s business.”
The woman looked confused. “David!” she called, even louder this time. “Missus Kobold is here about the key to Finn’s place.”
“Stone, actually,” she corrected. “Hallie Stone.” Though when she said it that way it sounded silly like Bond... James Bond.
“That’s right. My mistake. I forgot you and Finn were long-separated,” the woman said, nodding. “Finn told us all ‘bout that.”
The smallish woman with the huge rocks in her ears made the story sound sordid -- like something you’d see on a morning soap. Hallie wondered exactly what Finn had said. She doubted he would have told her version of the story – that he hadn’t been able to swallow his pride when her art career took off while his fizzled. That as she had begun to make a name for herself in the world of fine art the more Finn pulled away. For months she watched him become moody and depressed, even more than the normal artist’s temperament. He tuned her out, listening only to the demon that whispers in the ear of every struggling artist. The dark voice murmuring that the work is no good and the muse has fled, never to return. In the end, it was Finn that fled.
Absorbed in her own memories, Hallie hadn’t realized that a bear of a man had come to the counter and started speaking to her. And there was something about the words he was saying that Hallie did not like. Giving him her full attention now, she focused and repeated the words he’d just said.
“I’m sorry,” interrupted Hallie. “You must have misheard me. Not the landlord. I just inherited the shop next door, the trading post. Or trading company. Whatever it’s called. Finn Kobold’s business.”
The woman looked confused. “David!” she called, even louder this time. “Missus Kobold is here about the key to Finn’s place.”
“Stone, actually,” she corrected. “Hallie Stone.” Though when she said it that way it sounded silly like Bond... James Bond.
“That’s right. My mistake. I forgot you and Finn were long-separated,” the woman said, nodding. “Finn told us all ‘bout that.”
The smallish woman with the huge rocks in her ears made the story sound sordid -- like something you’d see on a morning soap. Hallie wondered exactly what Finn had said. She doubted he would have told her version of the story – that he hadn’t been able to swallow his pride when her art career took off while his fizzled. That as she had begun to make a name for herself in the world of fine art the more Finn pulled away. For months she watched him become moody and depressed, even more than the normal artist’s temperament. He tuned her out, listening only to the demon that whispers in the ear of every struggling artist. The dark voice murmuring that the work is no good and the muse has fled, never to return. In the end, it was Finn that fled.
Absorbed in her own memories, Hallie hadn’t realized that a bear of a man had come to the counter and started speaking to her. And there was something about the words he was saying that Hallie did not like. Giving him her full attention now, she focused and repeated the words he’d just said.
The woman who ran over Andrea last night. That’s what he’d just called her.
Erg... Apparently, news travels directly in proportion to the size of the town. So given the size of Tippy Canoe, everybody had to know by now.
"I did not run over her," Hallie said, trying for a friendly tone, but it came out a little clipped between clenched teeth. "Her motor scooter skidded into me. With the icy roads and all, must be hard to get any kind of traction on those little tires."
“We meant no offense,” Melora said quickly. “We just heard about the accident this morning. Poor Andrea, after all she’s been through. Hallie right? Can I get you some coffee? Or hot cider?” She didn’t wait for an answer and brought back a steaming cup of something from the back.
The husband moved around the counter to stand next to Hallie and engaged her with a friendly nod. “With the run of bad luck Andrea’s had, this is just another kick in the head. It’s one thing after another with her." He smiled at Hallie as if prompting a response.
Uh oh. She could see where this was going. They were settling in to tell her all about Andrea’s bad luck. If she didn’t stop them now, they might launch into a history of Tippy Canoe that could eat away the whole morning. She had only come to Montana to sell Finn’s business – not to familiarize herself with the local drama.
“We meant no offense,” Melora said quickly. “We just heard about the accident this morning. Poor Andrea, after all she’s been through. Hallie right? Can I get you some coffee? Or hot cider?” She didn’t wait for an answer and brought back a steaming cup of something from the back.
The husband moved around the counter to stand next to Hallie and engaged her with a friendly nod. “With the run of bad luck Andrea’s had, this is just another kick in the head. It’s one thing after another with her." He smiled at Hallie as if prompting a response.
Uh oh. She could see where this was going. They were settling in to tell her all about Andrea’s bad luck. If she didn’t stop them now, they might launch into a history of Tippy Canoe that could eat away the whole morning. She had only come to Montana to sell Finn’s business – not to familiarize herself with the local drama.
Hallie withheld a long suffering sigh. She did not want a beverage. Nor did she want to sit around and gab. All she wanted was the key, and she was not above playing up her own drama to avoid hearing about everyone else’s.
"I completely understand how that feels. That’s why I really want to get into the shop so I can handle all of my late husband’s affairs. Find some closure.”
Looking into the faces of the couple at the counter, it was clear to Hallie that they were disappointed in her unwillingness to mull over the details. She felt guilty about playing the dead husband card, but she was determined to deal with the estate, as quickly as possible, and then go back to her brushes and her paints in Malibu and put Finn behind her. The contradiction of trying to do in one week what she hadn’t managed to do in seven years was not lost on Hallie.
Melora finally gave a sympathetic nod and retrieved a single key, which was attached by a leather tog to a piece of antler at least as long as Hallie’s forearm. The words “Kobold’s Trading Company” had been artfully painted in what Hallie recognized, after all these years, as Phineus’ chunky handwriting. An unexpected sadness welled up in her.
"I completely understand how that feels. That’s why I really want to get into the shop so I can handle all of my late husband’s affairs. Find some closure.”
Looking into the faces of the couple at the counter, it was clear to Hallie that they were disappointed in her unwillingness to mull over the details. She felt guilty about playing the dead husband card, but she was determined to deal with the estate, as quickly as possible, and then go back to her brushes and her paints in Malibu and put Finn behind her. The contradiction of trying to do in one week what she hadn’t managed to do in seven years was not lost on Hallie.
Melora finally gave a sympathetic nod and retrieved a single key, which was attached by a leather tog to a piece of antler at least as long as Hallie’s forearm. The words “Kobold’s Trading Company” had been artfully painted in what Hallie recognized, after all these years, as Phineus’ chunky handwriting. An unexpected sadness welled up in her.
Where had that come from? It was time to do what she’d always done, box up the feelings and store them to release into her art later. Thinking about this now would do no good. And besides, big girls don’t cry-- especially in front of strangers. She coughed away the emotions that were choking her and stood up to leave.
“I’ll run next door with you and introduce you to your tenants in the other two stores,” Melora.said.
Did this woman have rocks in her ears as well as hanging off of them?
“I don’t think you understand,” Hallie said, speaking slowly out of sheer exasperation. “I’m not the new landlord. I only own what Finn owned. The store next door.”
“Finn owned Christiansen’s,” Melora gently corrected, also speaking slowly as if Hallie was too dense to understand what was being said. “That's the building we're standing in. Way back, this building used to be Christiansen's Department Store, where everyone came to order-in their clothes and appliances from the Sears Roebuck catalog.”
“Back in the day, Finn’s father subdivided the place into four smaller storefronts,” David added. “Everyone in town still calls it Christiansen’s. Except the tourists. They don’t know any better.”
A dim lightbulb in the back of Hallie’s mind started to brighten. The name, Christiansen’s, sounded awfully familiar. It might have been mentioned by the attorney who had spoken to her over the phone. Between shock and bad cell phone reception, the conversation had been spotty. A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach said she was about to learn her responsibility here was much larger than she’d understood.
“Finn kept one store for himself, and rented out the other three,” Melora said. “Besides our rock and mineral shop, there’s Tumpi’s Pizzeria, two doors down, and The Frost Shoppe, next door. Just so you know, ours is the smallest of the four.”
Hallie wasn’t sure why it had been important to mention the size of the rock shop, but she had a sneaking suspicion that the logic linked somehow to the rent payment.
Did this woman have rocks in her ears as well as hanging off of them?
“I don’t think you understand,” Hallie said, speaking slowly out of sheer exasperation. “I’m not the new landlord. I only own what Finn owned. The store next door.”
“Finn owned Christiansen’s,” Melora gently corrected, also speaking slowly as if Hallie was too dense to understand what was being said. “That's the building we're standing in. Way back, this building used to be Christiansen's Department Store, where everyone came to order-in their clothes and appliances from the Sears Roebuck catalog.”
“Back in the day, Finn’s father subdivided the place into four smaller storefronts,” David added. “Everyone in town still calls it Christiansen’s. Except the tourists. They don’t know any better.”
A dim lightbulb in the back of Hallie’s mind started to brighten. The name, Christiansen’s, sounded awfully familiar. It might have been mentioned by the attorney who had spoken to her over the phone. Between shock and bad cell phone reception, the conversation had been spotty. A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach said she was about to learn her responsibility here was much larger than she’d understood.
“Finn kept one store for himself, and rented out the other three,” Melora said. “Besides our rock and mineral shop, there’s Tumpi’s Pizzeria, two doors down, and The Frost Shoppe, next door. Just so you know, ours is the smallest of the four.”
Hallie wasn’t sure why it had been important to mention the size of the rock shop, but she had a sneaking suspicion that the logic linked somehow to the rent payment.
“The key you're holding was Finn’s master key for all four storefronts,” David said.
“So you see, you are the new landlord. Or landlady, if you’d prefer,” Melora said cheerily.
Not for the first time since arriving in town, Hallie found herself needing to sit down to stop the room from spinning.
Not for the first time since arriving in town, Hallie found herself needing to sit down to stop the room from spinning.
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