Honey

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Richard Juday is an engineer, retired from NASA’s Johnson Space Center in Houston.  In 2000 he married Darcy, who was living at the time in Ft. Collins, and they settled in Longmont after she told him it was halfway between Ft. Collins and Houston.  He has continued his engineering on an occasional consulting basis, and you can read some of what he’s been up to in the April 2013 issue of Popular Science.

He began beekeeping about 40 years ago and after a break of several years he resumed it after moving to Longmont. This is an insidious hobby, since it’s so tempting to respond to a “swarm call” even if all the present hives are doing well and you don’t really need another hive.  Having a hive makes him lots happier than not having one at all, two makes him happier yet (but not quite twice as happy), three happier yet (but not thrice as happy, nor even one and a half times as happy as having two).  You see the progression; at some point it becomes more like work than play.  His present hive count of five or six seems to be optimal for him — there is the economy of scale in that the cleanup from extracting several hives is the same as cleaning up from one, and the kitchen stays gummy the same length of time, too.

As a hobbyist, Richard is not under the same pressure as some commercial beekeepers, and as a consequence he has not felt it necessary to use pesticides or other chemicals on his bees.  He uses locally bred “survivor queens” that have come from lines that are able to live well in this climate.  The three humming hives on his back porch get a good deal of attention (though no complaints) from folks walking on the neighborhood greenway, and nearby home gardeners report that their crops have been doing better since he put the hives in.  The fine flavor of his honey owes to the variety of flowers in the neighborhood.

Richard has a number of other hobbies, the most time-consuming of which are auto restoration (1957 MGA) and woodworking (there’s a 1000 square foot shop in his basement).  He and Darcy travel as much as they can and enjoy Colorado’s splendid outdoor opportunities when at home.  Having lived in Houston for 40 years, Richard has little patience for those who complain of so-called “heat” during the Colorado summers.

Debra’s GF Story

I have been gluten free for just over a year. I became gluten free almost by accident. I teach French in high school. I love everything French, especially the food!  Last summer an old professor and mentor came to Colorado to visit. He is one of the reasons I am a French teacher today. While he was here I wanted him to have a great time and enjoy delicious food, so I asked if I could cook for him. While delighted, he told me about a book he read over twenty years ago that recommended the diet he now follows.

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He had originally read the book Eat Right For Your Blood Typebecause he was about to have surgery for his horrible migraine headaches. This book told him to eat a low gluten diet among other restrictions. Being on this diet cured his migraines and he did not need the surgery.

For the two weeks he was in town I cooked him a gluten free diet. Of course I ate the same thing. By the end of two weeks, I realized I was feeling better. I had my share of health issues but doctors could never find anything wrong so I just learned to live with how I was feeling. I actually had more energy and my body didn’t hurt.

After my professor left, I stayed with the gluten free diet. My energy continued to increase and my body stopped aching. It made such a change in my energy that my students now ask me to eat bread – they say I have too much energy! When I accidentally eat gluten, I will know within a half hour or forty-five minutes. My bones will start to ache and my body will hurt.

Being a French teacher I love most things French including and especially the food.I love coming to Mary’s and getting to enjoy delicious gluten free foods.  I love the quiches – they are reminiscent of the many quiches I have enjoyed in my time in France!

Tori’s GF Story (a mom’s view)

In our July 19th newsletter/blog our GF story was by Emily. In this weeks GF story her mother, Tori, will share with you what it is like to be a mom with a child who is gluten free while the rest of the family is not.
About five or six years ago, my daughter got salmonella on a road trip home from the Carolinas. She was sick for a month or two and her stomach never quite felt better.  After doing some medical tests, and not finding anything we decided to do and an elimination diet. For a week, she did not eat dairy but her stomach still hurt. So we had her stop eating wheat. After only two days, she felt better. But she was very sad to learn she was allergic to wheat. It was hard on her at first thinking about the things she would have to give up.  Once in a while she would slip or eat something with wheat and she would have major stomach pains. She said it felt like a knife going into her stomach.  Of course this made her realize it was worth not eating a hoagie. As time went on it got easier and as the years went by more gluten-free products became available. Her friends and people at school knew was gluten-free and always make sure there was something available for her.
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At home her brother and father and I still eat wheat products. So pasta dinners create many pots and pans. My daughters sometimes gets upset if we eat her gluten-free products because she believes why eat hers when we can eat ours. My son at first would not eat anything gluten-free but he has come to like many of the foods.
I suppose it could seem like a hassle to cook for two different diets but it has just become a way of life.  With so many gluten-free products, gluten-free restaurants, and more people knowing about it it is easier to be gluten-free even that was five years ago.

Heritage Lavender

 

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Growing plants has always been a defining part of our family’s history. The family records start with Charles Victor Nelson, who homesteaded in 1899 near Platteville, Colorado. The homestead quickly turned into a farm, and it was passed on to Charles Victor’s son, Oscar Oliver Nelson, my grandfather. My father, Chuck Nelson, was born and raised on this farm, his brothers Robert and Harold faithfully kept the farm and it is still a working farm owned by my uncle, Harold Nelson.

Gardening was a part of life. My mother always had beautiful flower beds.  Canning was an annual tradition for my mother and I, as was harvesting the large vegetable garden and making sauerkraut with my father.

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Me and my brother Raymond

The John Deere tractor that is on our property which was restored by my husband is the same tractor that was used on this farm by several generations since 1950. My husband, Bob, is a Kansas expatriate. He similarly grew up in a tiny farming town before moving to Colorado.

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Bob’s father, Arnold, on his Farmall tractor

My obsession with lavender started after my brother Perry gave me sixteen lavender plants, which he grew from seed. These lavender plants were some of the first I ever grew and are currently part of my cutting garden.

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Some of the lavender in the cutting garden

Caitlan’s GF Story

I have been gluten-free for about four years. I think the depression from not having the foods you love can be very dangerous.  I used to smell my friends’ food to try and experience that joy again, but for the first couple of years that would only make me tear-up, and long for the taste.  For me, the cravings don’t go away, they just change in nature.  The biggest thing I have realized in the battle for self-control when it comes to food, is that no matter how delicious the experience, it is fleeting.

I truly realized this when I would cheat and have a bite of a  fluffy, sweet bread or cookie (my weakness).  I usually wouldn’t have any symptoms for a few days, so I was seemingly free to bask in the bread flavor, for the moment.  However, I would be slightly disappointed with the short-lasting reward on my tongue (especially considering the miserable consequences).  The taste of the food would leave as quickly as it started, only to become another teasing memory.

Yes, bread & cookies taste amazing… but just like any other fun, yet harmful substance, you decide they’re not good enough.  They are empty satisfactions, with no substantial reward, and the separation becomes less emotional over-time… I promise.  I can tell you now that it has been four years, I am finally in a place where I can smell pizza or cookies and it truly makes me happy, not bitter or teary-eyed.   It really is like tasting them, vicariously, without the repercussions… I guess our senses just evolve accordingly, thank goodness!  Everything takes time, but it definitely gets easier!

I have been gluten-free for about four years. I think the depression from not having the foods you love can be very dangerous.  I used to smell my friends’ food to try and experience that joy again, but for the first couple of years that would only make me tear-up, and long for the taste.  For me, the cravings don’t go away, they just change in nature.  The biggest thing I have realized in the battle for self-control when it comes to food, is that no matter how delicious the experience, it is fleeting.

I truly realized this when I would cheat and have a bite of a  fluffy, sweet bread or cookie (my weakness).  I usually wouldn’t have any symptoms for a few days, so I was seemingly free to bask in the bread flavor, for the moment.  However, I would be slightly disappointed with the short-lasting reward on my tongue (especially considering the miserable consequences).  The taste of the food would leave as quickly as it started, only to become another teasing memory.

Yes, bread & cookies taste amazing… but just like any other fun, yet harmful substance, you decide they’re not good enough.  They are empty satisfactions, with no substantial reward, and the separation becomes less emotional over-time… I promise.  I can tell you now that it has been four years, I am finally in a place where I can smell pizza or cookies and it truly makes me happy, not bitter or teary-eyed.   It really is like tasting them, vicariously, without the repercussions… I guess our senses just evolve accordingly, thank goodness!  Everything takes time, but it definitely gets easier!

The Clarks

We are fortunate to have The Clarks playing again at Mary’s Market, Saturday July 13 from 5-8. They were great the first time and we look forward to listening to them again. This is who they are…

Craig (Clark) Blockwick
Craig (Clark) Blockwic
Songwriter. Electric Guitar. Clark brings the concept of musical illiteracy to its highest levels. Composing only in the keys of Am and Bm, and often confusing the two, Clark’s compositions range from the sublime (Quiet Sea, Winter Dreams) to the ridiculous (Do the Dialectic) to the obviously pathetic (I Want to Be an Economist). Targeting Cm in 2014. Never compared to Mark Knopfler or Stevie Ray Vaughn, he nonetheless occasionally (usually accidentally) plays one or two of the same notes played by those titans of the guitar. Has turned to the guitar only because he can no longer climb. Not allowed to talk about Phish concerts.
Caroline Quine
Caroline Quine
Vocals. Bass. Acoustic Guitar. Caroline was raised and rooted in the rootsy/tootsy/frootsy musical traditions of Akron, Ohio (Town Motto: ‘Omnes Gaul Tres Partis Divisibus’). Caroline brings a unique attribute to The Clarks— actual musical talent. And she knows musical concepts like thirds, fifths and liters. Her vocals combine the power and range or operatic castrati with the lyricism of the early (pre-6 months) Mozart. The timber of her voice is earthy and smoky, dry, with hints of raspberry, colander, coffee, lemongrass, jalapenos and mushroom (non-psychedelic), with a complex bouquet and lingering aftertaste.
Mike (Mani) Mannion
Mike (Mani) Mannion
Hand drums. Vocals, Songwriter. One drum, two hands — or is it the other way around? In addition to rhythm, Mike sings, and in performance, he actually looks like a live human being as compared to the ‘Hans Solo encased in carbon’ presentation of Clark and Caroline. Mike is Humor and Style to the max. Daughter Roo is official head of the The Clarks dancers.

Jesse’s Story (A Horse Story)

Jesse’s Story (a true story…)

Jesse, a young yearling Spanish mustang stallion, lives on the wild prairie near the Montana / Wyoming border.

I first saw him in June, when the wild mustang stallion bands were preparing for a busy summer caring for their mares and babies.  His personality was engaging, sweet and gregarious, almost effervescent, as he played with other yearlings that warm early summer morning. There was something special about him and my lens followed him as he went about his morning.  Suddenly two dominant stallions began challenging each other for dominance of the mare harems.  As the two powerful stallions challenged each other, their interactions quickly escalated into a heated contest. I watch from a respectful distance, worried for Jesse, so young and inquisitive. I held my breath as he walked ever closer to the contesting powerful stallions. I knew if he entered their contest, he would be injured, perhaps very seriously. I held my breath, my heart beat harder, as I watch Jesse thru my lens.

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Then I saw the Elder… The old battle scarred veteran black mustang stallion watching the contesting stallions and Jesse from at least ½ mile away, grazing alone, like so many old stallions.  He watched the escalating situation closely and made a decision. He started to walk toward the stallions.  His injured leg had healed but was swollen from damaged tissue and a long hard life. Hobbling slowly and steadily over the rough rocky terrain he arrived on scene. Clearly he was the Elder stallion. The two contesting stallions did not acknowledge him but Jesse did immediately. The yearling joyfully trotted up to the Elder and stood, waiting. As I watched thru my lens, my heart was deeply moved as the injured old Elder accepted Jesse’s invitation to play. And so the Elder patiently played with the yearling 10 feet away from the now combating stallions. The Elder kept Jesse occupied and interested, thereby avoiding certain injury from the stallions.  I was moved to see the old Elder care for the youngster. After a while, Jesse tired and went off to graze. The old Elder watched the two combating stallions as they accelerated their battle and injury was looming. The old Elder, walked between them, stopping the combat. The stallions obeyed and walked off in separate directions to graze on the sweet summer grass. I watched the old Elder survey the scene for a bit, look over at Jesse dozing and then hobble slowly away, back toward his solitary grazing grounds.  Jesse dozed in the rich aromatic sage; safe and content. I wondered if he was dreaming of the days when he too would be a powerful mustang stallion.  I thanked the old Elder for taking care of Jesse that warm summer morning and hoped he would continue to watch over Jesse and this wild mustang band for a long time to come. I picked some sage and holding it close to my heart said, “thank you brothers for allowing me to be with you in this way”.  I gently placed it on the prairie and quietly walked away, grateful to the wild mustangs for sharing their lives this warm summer morning…

 

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