Un-duh Press-shuh

T-minus 5 days until the start of the big move. I am oscillating between hummingbird-like packing frenzies and shut-out-the world napping sprees. I AM NEVER MOVING AGAIN.

In the midst of all of the crazy, we've all been managing to distract ourselves quite nicely from that whole cleaning/packing/sign-you-life-away-on-the-dotted-line thing. Bill and his Grandpa went fishing up in Alaska for a week. Together, they came home with over 80 pounds of salmon and halibut - that's the filleted weight!


Those handsome Jackson boys and their fishies

The girls and I have been crazy busy with camping, berry picking, county fairs and walks on the beach. The county fair may have been a mistake. My cousins' girls were there showing everything from chickens to pigs, and I think that a pair of 4-H maniacs have been born. Here we go again. Liv is already ogling the model chickens in her backyard poultry magazine, and lobbying for a pond so that we might raise her beloved Cayuga ducks. My head is spinning with the possibilities and the more pressing matters of actually getting the real estate stuff wrapped up. I need another nap.

When I resurface, I'll be whipping up a batch of Oregon Grape Jam, showing off my British Columbian foodie prize package (thanks again, Meghan!) and hosting my own pay-it-forward foodie package giveaway.

Where I've been and a lil' sumthin'-sumthin' for my peeps

The girls have been out of school for two weeks, as of tomorrow, but let me assure you, that it feels like much longer already. Just another 8 weeks to go! Oy...

So, as is my habit during the summertime, or any extended break from school, I try to keep the girls moving and entertained, lest they should drive me bat-poo crazy with their clinging and whining. So far we've gone to the drive-in movies, swam at the Y, played at the park, gone to the beach, the library, etc. We just got back from spending 6 days up north at Cama Beach State Park, on Camano Island, and since coming home, I haven't had two free seconds to myself to do much of anything, let alone catch up on reading and writing. I've missed you all and in case you've missed me too, here are some pics of what I've been up to with the fam.

Here we are at Cama-


In front of our little cabin


Hanging at the beach


Catching little shore crabs by the dozen


And dungeness crabs by the half-dozen


Just grill and add butter - YUM!

While the hubby and kids pursued crustaceans and played cut-throat games of Sorry! and go-fish, I preferred to partake of the simple pleasures of knitting in the sun and drinking shocking amounts of sangria. Ah, the good life...

Anyhoo - I so enjoyed my semi-drunken knitting that I decided to make a lovely assortment of cotton dishcloths for one lucky reader to enjoy. Oh I know - just what every woman wants, new dishcloths! But you must admit that these are pretty darn cute -



In addition to the dishcloths, I'll also include a few coordinating kitchen towels that I had no part in making, but scored for a steal at Le Costco. You don't need to do anything fancy to enter to win, just leave me a comment expressing your interest in showering yourself in dish washing accoutrements, and bingo, you're in.

If I can overcome my innate laziness, I may eventually post the patterns that I improvised for these dishcloths, if anyone is interested.

Thanks again for reading and good luck! :)

Walter, the $170 clam

Say hello to Walter.



Walter and his elusive brethren, the pacific razor clam, once again lured our family out to the wind-whipped Washington coast for a nighttime dig in the dead of winter. The siren song of a fresh, hot bowl of razor clam chowder had even the littlest members of our family suited up and ready for a freezing, wet battle on the beach.

An hour and a half's driving, a spendy-ish hotel stay, a decent case of clam-gunner's bursitis and a touch of windburn (for good measure) yielded us naught but a lone clam. Such are the risks taken by a modern-day forager. A whole lot of planning, driving and specialized gear guarantee you exactly nothing. We weren't the only folks striking out though, and something about failure on a large scale lessens the sting of being outwitted by a 4 inch bivalve.

And so, our proposed dinner of razor clam chowder was instead, demoted to potato soup. Walter alone was sauteed and eaten by Billy, our resident shellfish stalker.



He was reportedly "clamtastic".