Granola

Here's our favorite granola recipe, a "never out" item at our house.  It's easy to make, and it's not as sweet as the commercial varieties.  Honey may be substituted for the sugar, if you prefer, and if you like dried fruit with your granola, add it to suit your taste after the mix has cooled.  I'm making some tonight, and I hope you like it as much as we do. 


Heat together until melted:
     1/4 cup olive or canola oil
     3/4 cup water
     1/2 cup brown sugar
     3/4 teaspoon salt
     1 tablespoon cinnamon


Remove from heat and add 1 tablespoon vanilla.
In a large baking pan, mix liquid mixture with:
     6 cups Quaker Oats old fashioned oatmeal
     1/2 cup wheat germ
     1 cup chopped pecans
     1/2 cup slivered almonds


Bake at 300 degrees for 70 minutes.  Stir.  Turn oven off, and leave granola in oven until oven is cool.

Animation

At first light this morning, two small Goldfinch peck at an icy birdbath, reminding me to take out some hot water.  The water I pour from the coffeepot melts enough ice to give me a hand hold, and I loosen some chunks, splashing cold water on my jeans.  The sun will have to melt the rest.  I go inside, and birds return quickly, rewarding my efforts. I mix up my customary breakfast of Grapenuts, granola and fruit, and add the soy milk, picking up the binoculars to study the birds while the milk soaks in.  Three bluebirds perch on the edge of the birdbath, drinking deeply, lifting their heads in praise with each swallow.  They are replaced by a young squirrel who shakes off its paw like a cat when it touches the water.  From my vantage point at the kitchen sink, the water in the birdbath reflects the sky, and the treetops, motionless in the morning air. Birds animate the scene, flying, hopping, and drinking their fill.

This is pure speculation, but in the Genesis account of creation, I envision the landscape as being somewhat still on the first four days.  I'm sure the water moved, and the sun and moon, but possibly nothing so dramatic as the 5th day, when

God spoke: "Swarm, Ocean, with fish and all sea life!
      Birds, fly through the sky over Earth!"
   God created the huge whales,
      all the swarm of life in the waters,
   And every kind and species of flying birds.
      God saw that it was good. 

I glance back at the birdbath, where a flicker has landed, wearing it's black breakfast bib. It drinks its fill before flying away with strong, undulating strokes.  The words of our Maker are confirmed in my heart; it is very good.

A Dog and a Deer

It's the opening day of the firearms deer season, and Don is out long before I get up. Light comes late under a cloud filled sky; there's not glimpse of the sun, and the wind here is biting and cold.  Twenty feet up in an old Oak tree, waiting for first light and, of course, a big buck, Don must think he took the wrong trail and ended up at the North Pole.  

Before dawn, I pull my exercise mat out from under the bed to do stretches.  Barley pads in from the living room, bone in his mouth, and lays down, half on my mat, offering to help.  He leans hard against me, tail thumping the floor, paw waving the air, a request for all of my attention.  His cold nose burrows under my hand and pushes it up as an invitation to pet him.  It works, and we lay there for a few minutes, enjoying the morning and each other's company.  When I get up, he rolls on his back and smiles.

Late in the afternoon, the sun, finally freed from the clouds, lights the trees and defines the shadows, bringing dimension to the landscape.  We walk, Barley and I, enjoying the crisp air and white puffy clouds.  

Then, at last light, there is a deer to help skin, a nice 8 point buck.  The carcass warms our hands as we work.  We leave it hanging overnight in the cold air, grateful to have meat for the upcoming winter.

Colorado

Recently I visited my sister, brother, and his wife in Estes Park, Colorado. There's something lovely about being with siblings when you aren't squabbling anymore like you did when you were kids. You don't have to start at square one; many of the blanks are already filled in. In the days of our visit, we filled in some of the remaining blanks with wonder as we recounted God's goodness in our lives.

In the evenings, we played games, Bananagrams and Rook, accompanied by side-splitting laughter. Mom and Dad, no longer with us, were often present in our thoughts and conversations.

We spent some time in the Rocky Mountain National Park, breathing in the beauty. Aspens, bare of leaves, stood shoulder to shoulder, their fingers reaching the sky. Nearby, elk dotted the countryside at the foot of the mountains, some grazing, some bedded down, others jostling for position. We hiked around ice-edged lakes and frozen waterfalls bundled against the chill. 

Later, in town, my sister-in-law and I lined up behind a fence with other visitors to watch elk quite close on the golf course. I'm sure I could have hit one with a 9 iron if I was a golfer. 

One afternoon, I drove to Fort Collins. The beginning of the road followed a stream, winding through the mountains. Then, it dropped into the flat country, where amazing clouds feathered toward the ground. At every turn and stretch of the road, I was tempted to stop and take pictures, but I was on a schedule. I was going to meet a woman I'd worked with for 20 years and never met in person. It was an excellent meeting, adding a new dimension to our friendship. Her voice was so familiar, her face not yet so. "Every time I hear your voice," she said, "I feel like I'm on the phone." We sat in the bone-numbing cold in the bleachers of a hockey rink with one of her sons as we watched another son score a goal and lead his team to victory, 3 to 2. It was hard to leave.

Home again. Don's welcoming arms wrap around me as Barley circles around, wagging his tail. The evening is mild; a crescent moon hangs low over the lake, and tree frogs sing from the pond. It's good to be back.