My Nana's Vintage Wagner Skillet vs A 1960s Lodge Skillet - Cast Iron Wars!

Three years ago I "rescued" an eight-inch (approximately) cast iron skillet from my grandmother Robinson's collection.  It was at the family's lake cabin in Vermont, stored under the kitchen cupboards, and starting to rust, just like Nana's Cast Iron Dutch Oven.  It quickly became one of my favorite pieces ... the perfect size to sauté onions, mushrooms, peppers, or any combination thereof!  A single steak or burger fits perfectly in the skillet ... and it is one of my most "nonstick" pieces of cast iron cookware. 

It is an unmarked (unbranded) piece manufactured by Wagner sometime shortly after 1960, based on the "Made in USA" verbiage on the bottom.  It has the typical Wagner physical characteristics ... a smooth interior along with a triangular shaped flat spot underneath the handle where it attaches to the body of the skillet.  Also, notice the number 5 on the handle, another common Wagner characteristic.

Earlier this month, I picked up a piece that I first saw at a local antique shop about a year ago and passed it up.  It was dirty and sort of rusty looking, and I wasn't sure if it was worth its asking price of $12.50.  Kind of "cruddy" and unloved, it spoke to me again this year when I was browsing the same shop, looking for good buys on cast iron.  There it was in all its glory ... a post-1960 three-notch Lodge 5 SK skillet!

Well, a little bit of clean up work and re-seasoning left it looking so much better!  It was not as hard to clean up as I thought it would be!  I felt very lucky to have passed it up a year ago and it was still there for me to love this year!  It was destined to be mine!

It has the typical Lodge "rough" interior and hefty feel.  After using it for some light sauté work, I wondered how it would compare with my trusty Wagner for some serious cooking ... so I decided to put it to the test!

A steak cook-off starring one of the tastiest pieces of beef ever known to mankind ...

... Rib Eye Steak!  Lightly seasoned with salt and pepper, it is well noted for being flavorful, tender, and predictably easy to cook to your favorite level of doneness.  A simple probe with a meat thermometer and you can't go wrong!

I put on the skillets, added a little oil, and fired Mindy's steak first in the Lodge.  She likes her steak medium-well to well-done, so it went first.  

I wondered if the extra weight of the Lodge might overcook the steak ... well, she wouldn't notice, would she?  After all, she likes hers well-done!

Mindy's steak is coming along quite nicely, after being turned over.  I'm drooling already!

I fired my steak at the appropriate time to produce a medium temp along with a nice looking sear, but it was not as nice looking as Mindy's steak in the Lodge on the right, due to its shorter cooking time.

My steak, along with a stuffed portabella mushroom.  Nicely medium, with a juicy texture and lots of flavor.  Looks and tastes great!

Mindy's Steak: (with a little added butter on top!)  

Notice that even with the darker sear, she still has yummy steak juices on her plate!  Looks like the Lodge may have outperformed the Wagner!

So what was the final result?  Well, they were both good, but the Lodge did edge out the Wagner in presentation and taste!

Mindy's steak, cooked in the Lodge, had a deeper sear.  She said it was a little under-done (admittedly cooked slightly to the medium side of medium-well) but was still acceptable to her.  The taste was top-notch, with the surface sear adding a great Maillard-effect yumminess that made her day! 

The Wagner produced a perfectly medium outcome.  Nothing came close to sticking ... and it was its usual "easy cook" Wagner experience.  But, the sear did not compare to Mindy's steak cooked in the Lodge.  At the first turn of her steak I could see a good outcome in the works!

Both skillets cleaned up with equal ease.  Hot water, with a soft scour sponge to loosen the few "sticky bits" on both skillets and they just needed a quick wipe with a 100% cotton dish towel to look good as new.

So, the Wagner has asked for a rematch ... I will perform the same test but next time, I'll cook Mindy's steak in the Wagner (where its longer cook time should still produce an acceptable sear) and cook mine in the Lodge.  My expectation is that the Lodge will produce a great sear in a shorter cook time on a medium steak, while the Wagner will nicely sear a medium well steak without drying it out to the point of well-doneness-steak-hell!  We should experience the best of both worlds!

Stay tuned for the rematch ... sort of like Ali and Frazier, only different!

Butter, Rice, Pancakes, Syrup, and the End of Icons

Reading recent news articles earlier this year has left me astounded, confused, and sad.  I learned that some of my favorite people, Aunt Jemima, Uncle Ben, and Mrs. Buttersworth are soon to be no more.

Icons of my life are being "cancelled" and "removed" from my consciousness due to some perceived racial and cultural hatred.  I say "perceived" because I myself don't hate anyone ... regardless of race (the people you come from) or creed (the things you believe in) or national origin (what country you come from) or political affiliation (the party you belong to.)  According to some, removing these items from our collective consciousness will somehow cause us to be "woke" and will atone for all the past social injustices we are irrationally being held responsible for.

Earlier this year, I read an article that indicated that Land O' Lakes (the butter company) was removing the female Native American image (I can't say "picture of Indian maiden", can I?) from my familiar package of butter ...

Almost 100 years ago (1921) over 300 dairy farmers started a creamery company in St. Paul, Minnesota, known as the Minnesota Cooperative Creameries Association.

Although marketing in those days was not as complex as it is today, with radio in its infancy and television not yet invented, printed ads and package graphics was about all that was available to advertise and market products with.  It didn't take a real marketing genius to decide that "Minnesota Cooperative Creameries Association" was never going to be a best-selling brand name!

The MCCA put their collective heads together, and decided that some sort of regional-themed brand name was in order.  With Minnesota known as the "Land of 10,000 Lakes" (well that won't fit on the box, will it?) they finally settled on "Land O' Lakes" and the rest is history.  In keeping with their Minnesota branding, they also featured other aspects of that fair land, such as clean blue water, lush green grass, beautiful pine trees, and a horizon filled with golden sun.  Oh, by the way, there was this Indian maiden featured as well.  Her name is Mia, and she was stylized as the stereotypical Native maiden.

Hit the brakes!  Stop the presses!  Didn't anybody ever tell you that the native peoples of North America historically did not consume dairy products?  Don't you know that people of that genetic background are very lactose intolerant?  Why would Mia give me something to eat that she herself would never consider eatable?

I've got to hand it to Land O' Lakes ... they came to the realization earlier this year that their association of Native American imagery and dairy products didn't quite add up.  I might note that there was nobody protesting about or failing to purchase their product when they made this decision.  They just up and decided that Mia on the package didn't fit their future branding strategies.  Good for them!  I can't disagree ... after all, it is their company, and their brand!  And, by the way, I will continue to purchase their fine, rich, golden, buttery-tasting product!

I can honestly say that purchasing a pound of butter with Mia's likeness on it never caused me to feel superior to or hate Native Americans.  Likewise, using Aunt Jemima pancake products or cooking Uncle Ben's rice never invoked feelings of white supremacy within my soul.  I like Cream of Wheat, too, and the picture of Rastus on the box had no influence on my enjoyment of the product one way or the other.

If you look back at earlier packaging for these products, or at their early advertising images, the characterizations and presentations of these icons was undeniably racist.  While unacceptable today, it was de rigueur in those times.  We have no right (or reason) to judge past people long since dead by modern-day standards!

Very few Americans alive today ever bought Aunt Jemima pancake mix with Aunt Jemima depicted as a "mammy" stereotype, or Cream of Wheat with Rastus as an illiterate "step-and-fetch-it" stereotype.

As our American culture changed, these marketing icons kept pace with changing social sensibilities.  Uncle Ben's image evolved over the years into that of a well-to-do older black man.  Aunt Jemima is an attractive woman and no longer a plump, gap-toothed smiling "mammy". Rastus for years has been depicted as a chef and not a laborer.

So what gives with Mrs. Buttersworth?  Are British-American citizens protesting over her image as a plump white grandmother?  (The bottle is brown to keep light out ... Mrs. Buttersworth is undeniably white!)

As innocent images of our youth fall under the wrecking ball of political correctness and becoming woke ... let's close our eyes and remember the song from the syrup advertisements of a bygone era ...

... Aunt Jemima waffles ... without her syrup
... Is like the spring ... without the fall

... There's only one thing worse ... in this whole universe

... And that's no Aunt Jemima at all! 

Rest in peace, icons.  Rest in peace!

Another Use For Leftover Chicken!

During our COVID-19 pandemic lockdown many of us have turned to food as a source of comfort during these difficult times.  Mindy and I are both experiencing work cutbacks ... the northern New Hampshire weather has been disagreeable (even for May) and we are beginning to feel the effects of "cabin fever!"  So, as I have been doing quite often lately, I decided to cook something entirely different for supper.

I also like the challenge of turning leftover items into something that looks and tastes like it was never a leftover.

While I was in the middle of cooking, Mindy came into the kitchen with her phone to her ear, in deep conversation with my mother-in-law.  "Mom," she said, "I wish you could smell this through the phone!  This is going to be deeeeeelicious!"  It was.

This is so different I don't think you will find a recipe anywhere but here.  Introducing Pollo Latino de Brad (Brad's Latin-style Chicken.)

Ingredients:

• 3 Pre-cooked boneless chicken breasts
• Light Olive Oil or other mild vegetable oil.  (Don't use EVOO!)
• 1 medium yellow onion, slivered
• diced sweet peppers (I prepare a mixture of green, yellow, and red peppers)
• 1 pkg Vigo Yellow Rice (Arroz Amarillo)
• Badia Sazon Completa
• Goya (or Badia) Adobo seasoning
• 1 can Goya Gandules Verdes (Pigeon Peas)
• Lime juice
• Kosher Salt and Ground Black Pepper

Prepare Vigo Yellow Rice according to package directions.  It takes about 20 minutes to cook.  Empty the can of gandules into a small saucepan along with liquid and warm gently.  Do not boil the gandules!

In a 10" skillet heat about 3 Tbsp oil and add onions and peppers.  

 Saute over medium heat until vegetables start to carmelize.

Keep the veg moving around in the skillet.  We want flavor and color to develop, without burning!  Add a little more oil if needed.

For the chicken, I used three leftover lemon pepper breasts that I cooked on the grill for Mindy's Mother's Day dinner.  Any cooked, skinned, and deboned chicken meat can be used, however.

I sliced the chicken into medallions.  If using leg or thigh meat, simply cut into bite-sized pieces.

Add chicken to skillet mixture.  Reduce heat to medium and arrange chicken so the medallions are touching the surface of the skillet.  Allow them to gently brown, turning as needed.

Season to taste with Sazon, Adobo,  and pepper.  I used about 2 Tbsp Sazon, 1 Tbsp Adobo, 1 tsp pepper.

Sazon has become one of my go-to seasonings over the years.  It is a blend of salt, cumin, and other seasonings that define the flavor of Puerto Rican, Dominican, and Cuban cuisine.  Adobo is another latino seasoning, consisting of salt, garlic, pepper, and ground oregano.  Be careful of the salt content and season lightly at first.  You can always add more later!

Now that your kitchen is filled with the aroma of Latino soul food ... the rice is about ready and the gandules are warmed thoroughly ... add the ingredient that makes the flavor explode:

Lime Juice!  (About 1/8 cup)  Deglaze the pan and loosen all the sticky bits of flavor from the bottom!  Turn the heat down a little, and allow the sauce to reduce.  Taste!  If the lime flavor is a bit too strong for your taste, add a couple tablespoons of water.  Or, if you prefer, a little more lime juice!

Add additional seasoning to taste.  If the sazon is strong enough but the dish needs salt, simply add a little kosher salt.

Serve over rice with a side of gandules.  ¡Provecho!  (Bon Appetit!)

Rabbit Hash ... my love of soup ... and a small town in Kentucky!

As many of you know, I come from a rather eclectic combination of family heritage.  My mother was born and raised in Coos County, New Hampshire.  When she was commissioned as a Lieutenant (in the Salvation Army Nurses Corps) and working at a Salvation Army hospital in Cincinnati, Ohio, she was introduced to my father ... a brother of my mother's co-worker and the son of a poor truck driver who grew up during the Depression in Boone County, Kentucky.  The rest, as they say, is history.

As a classic "Boomer", I grew up with the knowledge of how hard my parents had it when they grew up during the Great Depression.  I understood that everything was scarce when they were young ... that my generation had it much better ... and it seemed like I was reminded of that fact nearly every day!  Just when things were getting better for them, along came World War II and everything was scarce again!

In our modern time (2020) and experiencing the COVID-19 pandemic first-hand, I feel fortunate that I can relate to the stories I heard from my youth of how they grew up and withstood the impact of those two major life-altering events.  If they could endure, so can I!

While growing up, we would often eat a simple soup made with whatever leftover meat we had on hand and a few fresh vegetables (usually onion, celery, potato, and carrots) mixed with whatever else was available (leftover gravy) to fortify and flavor the mixture.  Pappy always called it "Rabbit Hash" and I came to realize that this was one of the meals (along with soup-beans and cornbread) that helped sustain my ancestors during those difficult times.  I grew to appreciate not only the flavors but the God-given sustenance that those meals provided!

Rabbit Hash is also the name of a small town in Boone County, Kentucky, just a few miles south of the county seat, Burlington.  Rabbit Hash sits right along side the Ohio River, directly across from the town of Rising Sun, Indiana.  For many years, a ferry connected the two towns to the point where they became as one community.  In fact, in the mid 1800s, Rising Sun had a post office that served that region of Boone County.  Rising Sun was closer to the railroad, and they sent the mail by ferry to Rabbit Hash.

Now, how does a town come to be named "Rabbit Hash" anyway?  It seems that around the spring of 1847, when the Ohio River was running over its banks, a flood caused a quantity of small game (including rabbits) to run toward higher ground.  Local residents, hanging out at the store, began to worry about what they might be able to cook for dinner if the waters raised much higher.  One local fellow, observing the rabbits running uphill, said "we can always have rabbit hash!"

The Rabbit Hash General Store, right in the middle of the village of Rabbit Hash, was the center of that small community.

My Great-Great-Great Grandfather, Ambrose Bradford, lived in the Carleton District of Boone County back in those days.  The Carleton magisterial district of Boone County extended from the river all the way up toward Burlington.  Ambrose lived at the end of Locust Grove Road (off of East Bend Road) and his property extended down over the hill to the east to Gunpowder Creek.  He and his family were living about halfway between Burlington and Rabbit Hash, and according to Census records, were receiving their mail from Rising Sun.

Fast-forward to 2020.  This evening, I turned to my ancestral roots and once again produced a rabbit hash.  My lovely bride, Mindy, is not a big fan of soups in general, although she does admit that when I make my "stuff" it is somewhat edible!  When she got called in to work unexpectedly this evening, I took the opportunity to make one of my life-long favorites ... and it was good!

A couple of nights ago we cooked some pork loin rib-eye steaks, and had some of the pork leftover.  We also had some leftover kale, along with some rice from that dinner.  I chopped a little onion and celery ... sauteed that with some vegetable oil, and added some diced pork.  I seasoned it with a little kosher salt, pepper, and thyme.  I added a cup and a half of water, along with a cup and a half of Clamato juice.  I chopped up the kale and added it to the mixture along with some halved grape tomatoes.  I let it simmer for 45 minutes, then added the cooked rice.  Another 15 minutes or so, and it was ready to serve with some shredded parmesan cheese and a little parsley.

Yep ... pretty darned good if I say so myself!  I'm sure my Pappy would like it ... and I wouldn't be ashamed to serve it to Grandpa Ambrose either!  Try it sometime ... you may come to love Rabbit Hash ... either the leftovers or the village!

I'll never run out of toilet paper ... EVER!

Over the years, I have grown so accustomed to the media (usually The Weather Channel) creating mass panic whenever a usually expected weather event is arriving.  Having lived in northern New England for my entire adult life, I am used to the onslaught of winter storms that will dump any measure of snow on us anytime from November to April ... with occasional dustings from early October to mid May!  But, if you listen to the reports ...

"Oh my God ... a winter storm is coming ... go to the grocery store and buy every gallon of bottled water and every loaf of bread ... we can't possibly use it all ... but if we don't empty the shelves, we're all gonna die!!!"

In northern New England, we always have storms in the winter.  Usually one right after the other.  Snow falls, we shovel it, and it falls again.  After a lifetime of that, we made the decision to start wintering in Florida where it doesn't snow!  My bones don't ache, the sun shines daily, and life is quite nice!

I generally ignore the "Chicken Little the sky is falling" stuff, so imagine my dismay when I discovered we actually couldn't buy any toilet paper once the "news" announced that we were all going to be locked down due to the novel coronavirus pandemic.

Sure as "shit" ... we went to our favorite Winn-Dixie store on Seminole Boulevard ... and there was none  to be found!  We went to Publix ... Walmart ... Neighborhood Market ... Dollar General ... Family Dollar ... not a single roll ... anywhere!  We started going at odd times, and finally found some early one morning at good-old Winn-Dixie!

The media had induced a panic-buying situation that completely decimated the supply chain ... and made it impossible for anyone who had not preemptively purchased a year's supply of bathroom tissue to find a single roll.  What if we could never buy TP again?

But then ... I remembered!

My maternal grandfather ... Clarence A. Robinson ... worked in a paper mill in Gorham, NH.  Many years ago, just prior to his retirement in the early 1960's he was involved in the installation of a new tissue machine at the Brown Company Cascade Mill.

At our family lake cottage, in Maidstone, Vermont, there is a roll of toilet paper in a plain paper wrapper.  Written on the wrapper in pencil is my grandfather's handwriting ... "from first good reel of paper made on new Tissue Machine Cascade Mill May 7, 1962."

This roll of TP has been safely tucked away since 1962 ... maybe Gramps knew something we didn't about the Great Shortage of 2020 that would come to pass 58 years in the future!

Paper mills used to be scattered throughout northern New England, located alongside powerful rivers that provided not only a source of power, but a means of getting the raw material (trees) to the pulp mills.  For the most part they are now gone ... a victim of a changing paper demand and higher transportation costs that makes it much less costly to manufacture low-quality softwood paper (like tissue) in other parts of the country.  One mill in New Hampshire is still producing tissue ... the former Brown Company mill at Cascade ... on the same machine that produced our heirloom roll.

Paper machines operate on a 24 hour schedule, shutting down only for repairs or scheduled maintenance.  They can only produce so much paper each day.  There is very little excess capacity within that industry.  Once the supply chain has been wiped out by panic and hoarding it will take some time for it to recover.  Good luck to us all!

We used to have a supply of low quality paper delivered to our homes several times a year in the form of the "Sears, Roebuck & Company" catalogs.  It made for a good emergency supply ... like if we ever got snowed in for a week and couldn't make it to the store!

Of course, the Sears catalog has gone the way of the buggy whip ... obsolete and no longer manufactured.  Replacing it, of course is Amazon and Internet shopping ... and no matter how hard you try or how desperate you become, you can't wipe your butt with a web page!

Of People and Possums - Part Two

If you haven't had a chance yet, please read part one of this tale about our recent departure from our winter paradise in Florida!

We departed from Largo, Florida at 4:30 AM on Saturday morning.  Traffic was almost non-existent.  We made every traffic light green on Ulmerton Road except one.  We crossed the Howard Frankland Bridge on I-275 into downtown Tampa ... we merged onto I-75 at the Pasco County line exactly one hour after we left "home."

Wait a minute ... I'm sounding exactly like Sergeant Joe Friday from Dragnet ... just the facts, ma'am!

By 8:30, we had crossed the state line into Georgia.  Our bladders were full, my coffee was empty, and our gas needed replenishment according to the fuel gauge and my anal retentive travel habits.  The sun was up, the air pleasant, and Georgia welcomed us at Exit 1 on I-95.  A half hour later, we were back on the road with empty bladders, washed hands, and a full tank of gas.  While I was filling up the tank, co-pilot Mindy ran into the Pilot truck stop and bought me a bottle of Dunkin' Mocha iced coffee.  We were ready to go!

Along the way north on I-95, we found gas to be cheap, restaurants to be closed, and traffic to be light.  The container of chicken salad that Mindy made before we left served us well as we broke open our cooler to have lunch at the I-95 rest area by Lake Marion in South Carolina.  The bottle of Stok un-sweetened iced coffee in the cooler was a great substitute for the usual cups of hot black mud formerly purchased at the Pilot truck stops that generally kept me going through the day.

Rest areas were unusually empty and extraordinarily clean.   Mindy mentioned how "spooky" they felt, being so empty, compared to usual.  As we progressed northward, each state featured highway advisory signs that carried a unified message.

"Stay Safe" ... "Stay Home" ... "Practice social distancing: ... "for COVID-19 info visit www.<insert state-specific website here>.com." The general feeling was thus:  If you are reading this sign ... what the hell are you doing here?

We arrived in Ashland, Virginia before dark, and as usual, pulled up for the night.  Our room at the local Red Roof Inn was clean ... with the distinctive aroma of disinfectant cleaners lighting up our nostrils as we entered the room.  A bent shower curtain rod and missing towel rack were the only things that made our stay less than perfect.  We ate more chicken salad sandwiches, and used the microwave to cook some Yakisoba noodles to allow the driver to satisfy his carbohydrate cravings.

As soon as it was dark under the table, we tucked ourselves into bed.  Alarm clocks set for 3AM, we got up as planned, showered, and hit the road once again.  A quick stop to fill up with gas in Ruther Glen, VA at Mr. Fuel ... no hot coffee available (but thank God for Stok) ... Mindy bought a carton of Virginia state low-priced Marlboro cigarettes ... and we were on the road once again!  Clear road, clear skies, and clearly, we were on our way north!

Outside Fredricksburg, VA, we took US 17 north towards the city of Winchester, and the junction with I-81.  US 17 leaves Fredricksburg as a four-lane highway gradually climbing upward through the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains toward the Shenandoah River.  About 10 miles from Fredricksburg it crosses the Fauquier County line.  Fauquier County is my Bradford family ancestral homeland, and as such is a place near and dear to my heart.  US 17, bypassing the town of Warrenton, runs just a few miles from the place where one of my Bradford forebears, George Nevill, operated an "Ordinary" (otherwise known as an inn) near Auburn, VA.  Nevill's Ordinary is a place among many that has the distinction of having George Washington as a regular guest, while young Washington was working as a surveyor in the area under the employ of the area's major land owner, Lord Fairfax.

As we climbed higher into the foothills of the Blue Ridge, the vision ahead grew more foggy.  I slowed down, and let my low-beam headlights light the way using the right-side white line to guide us.  Mindy, thankfully, was asleep, as she gets quite nervous under these driving conditions!

Just north of Delaplane, VA, US 17 turns into a two-lane road with a strictly-enforced 45 MPH speed limit.  Radar-equipped speed warning signs appear every two or three miles along this stretch, flashing brightly if you are exceeding the posted maximum.  Having traversed this 10-mile stretch of speed-controlled road before, I could only remember fondly how beautiful it is during sunny daylight hours, and I slowed down to the speed limit to avoid being caught in this pre-dawn speed trap.  The last thing I wanted was was a local Sheriff's Deputy telling me "you in a heap of trouble, boy" at 5:30 on a foggy Virginia morning!

The fog made it much more attractive to slow down ... low beams ... slow go!  Behind me was a pickup truck ... riding high, with his headlights glaring into my rear-view mirrors.  He was clearly annoyed that I was following the speed limit ... I could barely see ... and we were in a well-known speed trap!  There were no shoulders on this stretch of road, and I could see no place to pull over so he could pass.  I wished like hell he would pass me and get it over with!  He couldn't be more than half a car-length behind my rear bumper!  I prayed for God to have him back off and slow down!

Right after I crossed a railroad crossing and started down into the valley ahead, I noticed movement on the right-hand shoulder of the road.  "Oh oh," I said to myself, "something is crossing in front of us."  I immediately recognized the shuffle of a possum crossing in front of me.  Narrow two-lane road.  Dark.  Foggy.  Pickup truck just inches from my rear bumper.  I couldn't swerve right, no shoulder.  I couldn't hit my brakes or risk being struck hard by the truck behind us.  I thought about swerving left, but saw headlights approaching from the north.  Nowhere to go but straight ahead.

As I got closer to the possum, he kept crossing at the same pace.  Suddenly, he looked up, and saw my approach.  He then did what possums do best ... he played possum!  He hunkered down, belly flat on the road with his eyes opened real wide and glassy looking.  He opened his mouth, and stuck his tongue out.  That was the last I saw of him.

Thunk.  (Front cross-member possum hit number one.)

Twang.  (Bounced off the exhaust system somewhere behind the catalytic converter, hit number two.)

KERTHUNKKKK!  (Hit the trailer hitch receiver, just inches from the ground due to the heavy load of northbound stuff we were carrying, massive hit number three.)

"What was that?" Mindy hollered as she woke up from her slumber.  "Nothing" I said.  "Just ran over a possum.  We're all right."

"Ok," she said, and went back to sleep.

The pickup truck quickly backed off.  I'm fairly certain my trailer hitch receiver, on that final "Kerthunk" may have flung some possum meat up into his windshield ... but either way, he did back off until we arrived at the intersection with US 50.  As I stopped at the red light, I couldn't help but notice a real funky odor coming up through the cockpit as we waited for the light to turn green.  Mindy, thankfully, was asleep.  At the first opportunity, once we turned left onto US 50, the pickup passed us and I never saw him again.

The remainder of our trip was somewhat uneventful.  More chicken salad sandwiches, Stok coffee, and some beef jerky and honey buns for good measure.  More fog in Pennsylvania ... no traffic in Hartford.  Every once in a while Mindy would ask "What's that smell?"

Later, while traveling through Massachusetts, the electronic signs were different.  They spoke of a 14-day quarantine for everyone arriving in the Bay State.  Now my general feeling was that of Dante's Inferno ... and the sign on the gates of Hell ... "Abandon all hope, all ye who enter here!"

Our stop at the Vermont Welcome Center on I-91 was different from our usual pleasure.  The main building (and its restrooms) was closed.  It felt so good to stretch my legs and breathe northern New England air ... but my bladder was telling me "you gotta go, dude!"

There were porta-potties set up at the edge of the parking lot.  Mindy "suggested" that I glove-up before I went in there ... so, being the good husband that I am, I grabbed a pair of our "gas station vinyls" and stretched them over my hands.  I was pleasantly surprised by the cleanliness of the outhouse ... locked the door, did my business, unlocked the door, and de-gloved before pushing the door open with my elbow.  My eye caught a wall-mounted hand sanitizer dispenser, so I glopped a handful of alcohol-based lifesaver and rubbed my hands together with a smile on my face!

We got back home to New Hampshire around 5 PM.  Thankful to be back in our own house, we unloaded our house plants and other items that we didn't want to leave in the cold overnight.  We warmed up some canned supper and turned in for the evening.  Our son left us with about 30 gallons of water to flush with until the town could come in the morning and turn our water back on.  Life was good, and we were home!

Later, as I crawled into bed, I took my usual time at the end of the day for devotions and prayers to my maker ...

Dear Lord ... I thank you for the safe travel back from Florida.  I'm so sorry I killed your possum in Virginia this morning ... but oh, sweet Jesus ... I am ever so thankful you sent a possum to slow that pickup truck down instead of a moose!

Amen!

Of People and Possums - Part One

My lovely bride, Miss Mindy, and I recently returned home to New Hampshire from our winter stay in warm and sunny Florida.  We cut our planned visit short by two weeks due to the spread of the novel Coronavirus, amid the general uncertainty of exactly where the safest place to be on earth presently is.

Many of our "snowbird" neighbors in Florida are Canadian.  With the spread of the COVID-19 pandemic to North America many of us were waiting, watching, and wondering if we were safer there or "back home" in our northern states or Canada.  I, like many, did not want to leave the warmth and enjoyment that we have in wintertime Florida.  There were still many activities planned at the clubhouse that everyone likes to participate in.  The days were getting warmer, and the pool invited us all with the promise of its comfortable relaxation.  We were making regular trips to a mangrove beach on Tampa Bay, where we could enjoy the warm bay water, Mindy lounging in the sun and me reading a book in the shade of a mangrove tree while sipping on iced tea and eating sushi from our local Publix store.  Life, as we were living it, was quite relaxing to say the least!


Now, the opossum is a very interesting and somewhat misunderstood animal.  The predominant "possum" in North America is the Virginia Opossum, which ranges east of the Rocky Mountains from southern Canada to northern Costa Rica.  Possums play a vital role in our ecosystem as they eat a variety of yucky things, such as rats, mice, slugs, cockroaches, ticks, carrion, rotted fruit, and human garbage.  I suppose you could call them the garbage truck of the animal kingdom!  They are the only marsupial found in North America, with the female giving birth after a very short gestation period and carrying the babies in her pouch, each one having attached itself to one of her 13 teats until mature enough to leave the pouch.

Possums are known to have an amazing immune system, do not get rabies, aren't bothered by poisons that would kill most other animals, and are immune to snake venom.  About the size of a house cat, the possum has very little to defend himself with, except his appearance.  With 50 razor-sharp teeth, a possum with mouth wide open, hissing, drooling, and blowing snot bubbles out of his nose is an imposing sight to some smaller predators.

To protect itself against larger, more aggressive predators, the possum will actually fake his own death.  He hunkers down, opens his mouth, sticks out his tongue, and goes into a mild coma.  He also releases a noxious green fluid from glands located around his anus.  No self-respecting carnivore would ever eat something that grotesque and stinky!  The action that we call "playing possum" is an involuntary process that evolved to protect the possum from becoming someone's lunch.

People sometimes "play possum" too, when they are faced with a crisis or situation that frightens them and don't know what to do.  Thankfully, we don't actually lay down, stick out our tongue, and stink to high heaven.  But we do stop whatever is going on and involuntarily do nothing until we figure out what it is that we need to do.

And so it was in beautiful, relaxing Boca Ciega Village on Walsingham Road in Pinellas County, Florida.  As the news advanced about the growing number of infected people in the US, we went about our daily activities and lives with the attitude (as stated by one resident) "We've got our own little bubble here.  We're safe."

Then our President declared a state of emergency.  We needed to stop playing possum!

The Canadian government asked all citizens to return to Canada as soon as possible.  The Canadians' private health insurance plans (that cover the difference in cost between US and Canadian health care) were advising them that their policies would be cancelled if they did not return immediately!  Within a matter of just a few days our neighbors from the north were gone!  Those with cars left as soon as they could pack their bags.  Those who were flying made immediate reservations and prayed their flights would not be cancelled ... some were delayed for days.  Refrigerators were emptied, and groceries donated to those who hadn't left yet.  (Glad we could help!)

Spring break arrived, as it does every year in Florida, with massive numbers of college-aged kids whose still-maturing brains could not understand the concept of social distancing and staying away from Florida this year.  Beaches and restaurants were closed as a result of their lack of appreciation for the situation at hand.  Closing as well was our beloved mangrove beach, and eventually the county closed our community swimming pool at Boca Ciega.

Many American residents started making plans to leave early as well.  Our park has about 25 (out of 138) year-round residencies, with the remainder being seasonal.  We were down to a little over 50 remaining two days before we left.  We packed our things and studied the weather forecasts.  We targeted our exit date.  We said "goodbye" to paradise.

While reading the news, we learned that New Jersey and the NYC Metro area were real hotpots for COVID-19.  Our usual, shortest, and fastest route goes straight up the New Jersey Turnpike to New York City.  Years of trips back and forth conducted with my anal retentive behavior patterns reminded me that we cannot make it through NJ without stopping for coffee, restrooms, and gasoline.  No how, no way!

So, this year, we decided to avoid NJ by turning north just before Washington, DC, and taking I-81 north into Pennsylvania.  This would allow us to then turn east on I-84 well north of NYC, scoot safely into CT, MA,VT and finally arrive in NH.

Our plans were set ... the van was loaded.  A final restful night's sleep in Florida and we were on our way at 4:30 in the morning.  Dark.  No traffic.  Northward bound!

Stay tuned for Part two of our exciting travel adventure!