The Mutant Corn That Ate Grand Rapids

Here's a picture of the corn I planted back in May...I swear it's about 10 feet tall! This is no ordinary corn -- it's MUTANT CORN! There's no ears to be had although four plants have tassels. Even though it won't produce, at least it's cool to look at, and it makes a great privacy fence. This corn is the only crop I've planted in the last eleven years that's actually grown well, and since I've done nothing but kill the lawn (I do have a fine selection of Native Michigan Species, aka weeds) I think next summer I'm going to plant the entire plot of land with nothing but MUTANT CORN and sit back, relax, and just watch it grow!

To Filet A Fish

Having recovered sufficintly from my fishing expedition and having slept in until ten in the morning, I knew that my adventure wasn't about to end - I had utilize what I'd learned during Stan's final lesson and filet my fish! I put on an apron, grabbed a cutting board, newspapers, a bowl, some knives, retreived the fish from the fridge, and headed outside.

I dragged an old table into the shade of my backyard tree and set up all my stuff so I could get to work. I extracted the first fish from the plastic bag, and, instead of the fantastic creature from the lake of the day before, what greeted me was a picky and slimey dead creature from the lake one day later. But, mom can't be squeamish, you know, so she got to work, chopping off the heads and gutting the fish.

As I chopped I sang a little ditty: "Fish heads, fish heads, lovely, lovely fish heads!" to the first head whose cloudy eye stared skyward from the edge of the newspaper. The flies loved me! It wasn't so bad, I supposed. I figured out how to take off the head and a set of fins with one chop, all the while thinking about the fishmonger's wife, whomever she is. Next I figured out how to make two cuts along the stomach to remove the fins there so I could scoop out the guts. If you've never done this before, you haven't yet lived.

Now, as Stan told me not to try to filet without a filet knife because I would end up wasting the flesh and chopping my fingers off, I opted to descale them. It's not too bad, but the scales fly all over the place. In my hair, down my shirt, and onto my bare toes. I made the best of it, hosing myself, the cleaned fish, and the table down when I was all finished.

I wondered if I would have the stomach to eat the fish once I had cleaned them. I decided the best thing to do was not to think about how gross it had been, but to concentrate on the best way to cook these fish. I had always seen my mother pan fry them. I salted and peppered the fish and melted a stick of butter in a non-stick pan. Bluegill fry up quickly, about five minutes per side, I turned them only once and after the skins were golden brown. Of course, the kids wouldn't touch the fish, I'm not sure if any kid likes fish except for the ones who come in the unrecognizable forms of stick or patty, but I did. It's a little trouble eating them, watching out for the bones, but they were so fresh and so tasty! And despite the work of cleaning them, nothing beats the flavor of the fish you catch yourself.

Fishing 101

I hadn't been fishing for a coon's age (as they say in these here parts) and was fortunate to have the opportunity to do so when some friends of mine invited me and the kids up to their place. They recently bought a house on a small lake out in the country and invited us for an afternoon cookout followed by a fishing expedition on their boat.

I had all the necessary gear - poles and tackle box - which I threw into the van, along with the bug spray, hats, and life jackets, and, on the way up north, I stopped to buy a new fishing license and pick up my free fishing guides, courtesy of the DNR.

We drove through the "country" (still populated, but not like the city), taking in the view, driving past horses and cows and a Christmas Tree farm until we reached my friends' new place. They have a beautiful home, the perfect combination of modern convenience mixed with country living. They have a semi-wooded lot, which has lake frontage. Can't beat that! There's loads of deer, rabbits, all types of wild birds, and, much to my kids' delight, lots of frogs and toads hopping about.

We dug for worms utilizing my son's science experiment - worms can be charmed out of the ground by sprinkling water on the ground. I have to say, I think it might work. The kids had a good time with this, but wouldn't pick up the worms. (Imagine that.) It's a good thing mom's not too squeemish, so I did it for them. Then we spied a toad hopping through the fallen leaves, and, yes, mom was the one who scooped it up to show the kids. The toad peed on my hand - they always do, it's a defense mechanism - and I thanked my kids for letting me get the warts instead of them. (Hey, the perpetuation of old wives' tales never hurt anyone.)

After that excitement, I had to fix up the fishing poles. Thankfully my friend's step-dad was there. Stan's up in his eighties and an old fishing pro. He helped me to detangle the lines, tie on the hooks, and put on new bobbers and sinkers. All in all, he gave me a refresher course on Fishing 101, and there's no better way than hands-on.

We had a great cook-out. The whole time the kids were wound-up, dying to go fishing and we managed to finish dessert and coffee and walk over to the lake before they did.

I went out on a small boat, powered by an electric motor, with my Stan at the stern and my son at the bow. (Let me say right now that if you've never gone fishing with a seven-year-old, you should try it. It ranks right up there with a visit to the dentist, necessary, but uncomfortable. Either way, you're going to get poked.) But, seriously, it was fun. My son got a bit discouraged because he didn't have the patience to wait and catch a fish. He expected instant results. Now, my Stan did have instant results, and was the first to land a fish (even a small bass, which he released). I didn't get discouraged though, and pretty soon, I landed one too. A beautiful bluegill and good sized.

The lake is stocked with bass, bluegill, crappies, and sunfish, and because we were out fishing in the early evening hours, they were biting! We caught about twenty or so, tossing them in a bucket in the bottom of the boat. When the bucket was full and the fish were ready to flip out, we came in. It was a fun time, even though my son was upset that he hadn't gotten a fish, but I did let him help me by dropping the fish into his toy net that I had thrown into the car as an afterthought and, of course, I promised him that we would go fishing again soon.

We divided up the fish - some for me, for Stan, and some for my friends, and to conclude Fishing 101, Stan gave us all a refresher course on how to filet, too. Darkness was settling upon us and, fish in hand, we headed home. Food, friends, and fishing, three things that add up to create a pleasant summer afternoon.

Ah, The Sweet Smell of Summer!

I remember summer! Everything fresh and green. Sun-filled days, stretching into infinity. Lazy, lazy time-on-your-hands summer, when skool seemed miles away from reality and I wondered what to do with each "empty" day. Sleeping-in. Staying up late. Bike-riding, swimming. Cook-outs. Fourth of July Fireworks. Camping. Fireflies. Oh, the possibilities!

When I was a kid, summer seemed like all this, and more. It was a time to take a break from studying and getting up early, with nothing to do but simply exist. Summer vacation meant nearly three whole months of freedom! Why did it have to end!?

Ruminating on all this makes me ask myself, What does Summer mean to you now that you're All Grown Up? I guess, in a way, Summer still means the same things, but now I'm the parent and no longer the carefree child. And despite all the "freedom" that summer implies, I still have to follow routines of cooking, cleaning, supervising, and coordinating my children's days so that they can enjoy their time off just like I did when I was their age.

As I sit here and blog, full sun shining in at the window, hearing a robin singing his little heart out in the neighbor's backyard tree, I think about all the other things I should be doing today: paint the fence, weed, plant some chili peppers, make the beds, organize the silverware drawer, finish the laundry -- but I really don't want to. What I really want to do is find a good book and curl up and read, go to the beach for the whole day, jump into the van and take a road-trip, go swimming, or take a bike ride. Anything and everything that doesn't have to do with being inside or being responsible. Even though I'm a "grown-up" now, I'd still like to relive those hazy days of the summers of my youth, when I didn't have to do anything unless, of course, I was told to and had all the time in the world to do it. Who wouldn't?

Instead, as Raaf snores contentedly from underneath my chair while I try to decide in which direction the content of this post is destined and realize that I have to start conjuring up something to eat for that dreaded six-letter familiy ritual (aka, DINNER), I realize that, alas!, I'm no longer a child and, better than becoming nostalgic on the days of Summers Past, that I had best make the most of the days that I have left -- of Summer Now. Like it or not!