Farewell to Our Dear Masha

To the hungriest, gassiest, orneriest, sweetest and loyalest old Dalmation I've ever known.

This morning, February 22nd, 2010, I had just shuffled into the kitchen and had poured my first cup of coffee of the day when I heard a great rattling and thumping coming from the one of the bedrooms. As I was getting up to check it out I heard Bree call out for me. Upon walking into the bedroom I found poor Masha trembling on the floor by the bed and struggling to get up. It was obvious something was terribly wrong. I tried to help her up, but her legs stuck straight out in front of her and would not support her weight. We sat with her for a while trying to calm her and hoping it would get better. Before long Bree called the vet and got her an appointment to go in at 9. I wa afraid she'd had a stroke. The vet said instead that it looked like acute onset canine vestibular disease, a condition affecting the inner ear that makes the dog feel as though they are super dizzy and can't get their balance. This is a condition that will sometimes clear up. The vet put the chances at 50/50. Bree was left with a very tough call to make.

In some ways Masha was responsible for bringing Bree and I together. We used to walk our dogs together over in Cheesman park when we lived in the same building. That is how we first got to know each other. I think Masha was a little protective of Bree, because for a long time I don't think she completely trusted me. I had to earn her trust and affection. She did not take well to my occasional teasing. And I know she didn't like my overly friendly Golden Retriever, Otis, harassing her. Masha was a private animal who liked her quiet time and preferred to be around only a small, select group of humans. She liked certain cats, but I don't think she ever cared much for other dogs. The only purpose they ever really served for her was so she could filch a little food from them.

As a dalmation, she didn't have a big, thick coat of hair, so Masha was often cold. We'd put blankets on top of her when she slept when it got really bad. I remember one night just before New Years we were travelling and stopped for the night a tiny little, backwards town called Horse Cave, Kentucky. We stayed at the Horse Cave Motel. Not only was the room dirty and worn, but it was super cold as well. The heat was barely be functioning. Otis was fine with it, but I remember feeling terrible for Masha having to sleep on the threadbare carpet with no heat. She didn't have a lot of tolerance for for any accomodations rated less than 3 stars. I'm just glad she didn't have to see me bargain with the illiterate hillbilly at the desk just to get the privilage to let her in the room in the first place. The few times we went camping together it was obvious that she wouldn't be happy unless she practically got in somebodies sleeping bag with them.

I always appreciated that she was always game to take walks, though. She didn't care much for rain, and avoided sprinklers like the plague but she never balked at getting the leash on and going outside. Some of my favorite memories in recent years have been of going for walks with the dogs. I used to walk the dogs while pushing Owen in the stroller and later I think I must have developed a reputation in the neighborhood for being the guy who walked around the Baker Neighborhood and down Broadway at night with the dalmation and the German shepherd with the baby chattering away in the backpack.

Bree got Masha as a gift when Masha was only 5 weeks old. She lived in Cincinnati, Blackhawk and then in Denver. She must have shared 10 different residences with Bree, and several with me as well. The old girl turned 14 last November. That's a pretty long life for a dog, but this still came as a real blow. Only the night before I had been walking Masha and Oscar in a snowstorm and Masha was bounding through the snow like a pup. She looked very happy and I might say quite spry for a senior citizen. Mash had an insatiable appetite , and was hungry enough to finish my bagel, even when she couldn't get up out of her bed. I thought that said something about her spirit. Now we are very sad and the house is definitely not the same place without her.

We miss you, Masha.

Owen's Birthday

Owen Edward Steldt would have been 3 years old today.

We miss you.

In Memory of Charles Dye, 1922 - 2010

My wife's grandfather, Charlie, passed away this morning. (Jan. 24th, 2010) He was 88 years old.I had the pleasure to get to know him a little bit in the years since I met my wife. I certainly don't claim to have known him well, but I really did like the old man and I think he was pretty fond of me as well. Charlie had a reputation as somebody who could be tough to get along with, but I can't say that I really saw that side of him. I regarded him as a strong, proud man who had lived a full life with a lot of different experiences but who was struggling with the lousy issues associated with getting old. I was interested in his stories about his life and I think he was happy to share them with me.I believe that most people that reach that age don't necessarily see their lives as particularly exceptional. I never got the sense from Charlie that he felt that his life experience was really special in any way. He was probably no different than most of the other people he grew up with and the history he witnessed may not have seemed as exceptional to him as it might to a student of history from a younger generation.

Charlie grew up in Miami before air conditioning. In 1920, the city had only 29,000 residents. By 1930 it had grown to over 110,000, still tiny compared to the sprawling megalopolis it is today. When he was a kid, South Beach was just being developed. Tropical diseases were still common. In fact, Charlie talked to me once about all the diseases that were around when he was a kid. He grew up near a railroad tracks and I believe his father worked in construction.

Charlie served in the Army during World War II and apparently saw quite a bit of action fighting in Italy. He was involved in the famous Battle of Anzio in January, 1944. While I'm sure he saw some pretty heavy fighting, he never really discussed it very much during my conversations with him. Charlie preferred instead to talk about some of the good times he had while serving in Europe. And while he never got too into any specifics I definetely got the sense that he and his friends had some pretty rowdy times. Even though we were technically at war with the Italians, it sounded like the Army was well received by the locals. One of the last times I talked with Charlie he talked about some of the good times they had in both Palermo and in Naples. Wine was cheap, the girls were friendly, and US currency went a long way.

When Charlie got out of the military he settled in the Chicago area. He got a job in the printing industry as a typesetter. I'm not clear on all of the specifics but I believe that this is where he met his wife, Peggy. Charlie and Peggy had two children, Linda and Scott. They raised their family in Des Plaines, northwest of the city and for many years he suffered through a long commute to and from his work because he preferred the more rural setting to the congested urban setting of Chicago. He spent much of his time in the garage tinkering and fixing things. He was always taking in some old broken lawnmower or something and fixing it to resell it. He was always being a very sharp dresser and made an effort to look good all the time. My wife also remembers him as having a distinctive smell consisting of a combination of Irish Spring soap and Drakar Noir cologne.

I believe he worked in that business in the Chicago area for on the order of 40 years. During that whole time, he could never get used to the cold weather or the long drive and he always looked forward to retiring back in Florida. After he finally left he printing business he got the chance. He and Peggy lived at several addresses, first in Englewood and later on in Venice. Bree and I visited them at their townhome in Venice shortly after we lost Owen. They were very gracious with us during the afternoon we spent with them. I think Peggy served ribs she had brought back from Publix, which is the grocery store she was working for at the time. Charlie took me in his room and showed me his computer and some of the things he was did with the computer and pulled up some area maps off the internet. He was already moving very slow at the time and I remember really appreciating the fact that he was using the technology, but at the same time I wanted to grab the mouse and keyboard away from him because he was taking so long to do anything.

Charlie was always very interested in technology. He was what marketing people call an 'early-adopter'. Bree recalls that when she was very little Charlie had taped The Wizard of Oz for her and her sister off of a very early early video recorder. The only problem was that when they got it home they couldn't watcy the video because neither they or any of their friends had a VCR on which to play it. Within a week of his death, Charlie was still checking his email and forwarding jokes, many of which I still have saved in my inbox.

Things unfortunately didn't work out quite as well as he and Peggy had hoped. The pension plan into which he had been paying for the past several decades had some serious problems and they were unable to retire with the type of income that they had expected. Both he and Peggy were compelled to take jobs and work through their seventies. She worked a variety of jobs waiting tables and later at the local grocery store in the bakery. Charlie followed his passion and landed a job at a golf club. This was not exactly hardship duty for him. In fact he apparently really loved working at the club. He was happy to spend much of his time out on the golf course. He also loved to be around all of the various birds that are found in Florida. Bree has remarked at how well he was able to identify the many varieties he would point out when they were out together. In recent years he had several medical proceedures to remove skin cancers from his head. He had always had sensitive skin and made sure to cover up with a hat and long sleeve shirt when going out in the daytime. I suspect that spending all of the time outside doing what he wanted probably did him a lot more good than harm in the long run.

I first met Charlie and Peggy over Christmas one year when Bree and I went to stay at a condo Bree's folks had rented in Myrtle Beach. Charlie and Peggy had made the drive up from Florida and I think that they had taken quite a while to do it. I think that must have been in about 2004 and even then Peggy was doing most of the driving. Charlie was still walking well enough though to get out and walk on the beach.

The last big trip Charlie took was when he and Peggy came to our wedding in Estes Park. I know that they had a great time when they were here and we were grateful that they were able to make the trip. My grandparents were all gone by the time we got married which, to me, reinforced the importance of their being able to be there. The day before the wedding I drove Tim and Charlie from Estes Park over the Trail Ridge Road to Grand Lake. We had lunch at a little cafe there in town before driving back. It was a beautiful day to do the trip. I think Charlie had a really nice time. It had been a long time since he had been in the mountains and unfortunately it would be his last time.

Charlie had the good fortune to be able to meet his great grandson, Owen, when we travelled to Florida over Easter weekend in 2007. Those were very happy times. I know he was very proud of Owen. He was very happy to have a great grandson. And when we lost Owen, I believe he took it hard, as well. We all had a good time during that weekend which left some very good memories with me. I remember Owen having some goofy Easter rabbit ears that Bree got for him and he had to endure wearing them while pictures were taken. It was very cute and Owen, as usual, was a good sport.

Charlie first met his great granddaughter, Rachel, when we took her down to visit them in the Villages last February. By that time he had Peggy had moved into a small house in the Villages so that they could be closer to their daughter, Linda and her husband Tim. From that time forward, as both Charlie and Peggy's health deteriorated, Linda and Tim spent a great deal of time with them visiting and helping out. Charlie became less and less mobile and was not always able to care for himself. There were instances when he fell down at night and had to have Tim come over in the morning to help him back up. Peggy became too weak to help him up. Even during these difficult times over the past year I don't think Charlie lost very much mentally although at times my understanding is that he could be dificult to get along with.

A few weeks ago Bree and I went down to Florida for a visit. Charlie and Peggy were both staying at the Arbor Village Rehab Center. Charlie had suffered a bout of phemonia over Christmas and never fully recovered. His health appeared to improve a little after he got out of the hospital, but he suffered a tremendous amount of fluid buildup as a result of the congestive heart failure he was suffering. He was clearly very uncomfortable.

The day before I left I went to see him in the afternoon after Bree and I returned from our night in Cedar Key. Tim and I found him sleeping but we decided not to wake him. Charlie had been complaining of not being able to get any sleep. So we let him be. It made me sad, though, because as I stood in the room looking down on him I knew that it would probably be the last time I would ever see him.

Charles Dye lived a long and productive life. I can't imagine that what I have written here would begin to do him justice. So for anyone who knew Charlie who happens to read this, I invite you to please leave any comments or recollections in the comments section here.

Christmas, 2010

It has been a very long time since I have written anything here. Finding any time to sit down and spend any uninterrupted time at my desk or the kitchen table has become more and more difficult as my daughter Rachel had become increasingly mobile. About the time she turned a year old Rachel decided that walking was really the best way to locomote. Since then, all bets have been off. In fact, as I sit in the kitchen of my new house right now, Rachel has just pulled a chair out from the table and climbed into it where she is reclining comfortably with a bottle of water. Food and drink will keep her occupied, and stationary, but only for a short time. The rest of the time she spends on the go. She occasionally plays with her many toys. More than likely, however, she'll be pulling a dog tail, unpacking cabinets and drawers, throwing random objects or getting into some other mischief. As far as Rachel is concerned, everything is fair game.

I'm not complaining, though. I find Rachel endlessly entertaining. She is very funny. In fact I think she has the best sense of humor of anybody I know. Not bad for somebody with vocabulary of a dozen or so words. She is to the point where she seems to be regularly learning new words and generally seems to understand their meaning. For months she has been saying "uh-oh" whenever she drops something. The other day she pulled over a floor lamp in the living room. The glass globe shattered on the floor with a huge crash. Bree, my dad and I all instantly rushed to see that she was alright. Rachel just stood there with a puzzled look and said "uh-oh". A tad understated, but really quite appropriate.

But it is Christmastime. My mom and dad flew to Denver from Milwaukee on December 17th and left to go back this afternoon. It was a special treat to be able to have them here at Christmas as well as for my 40th birthday. That sounds awful, doesn't it? 40! The best thing about turning 40 is that it means that I didn't die while in my thirties. Time is going so fast. I wish I could slow it down sometimes. I know that won't happen, so I guess the best I can do is to try not to have too many regrets going forward.

On the 23rd Bree, Rachel, Dad and I drove to Carbondale (between Glenwood Springs and Aspen) where we spent two nights with my uncle Al, aunt Peg, cousin Jennie and her fiance Allen. Justin and my mom joined us later in the day. My uncle and aunt have a great new house in a golf course community which is where they have chosen to spend their retirement. On Chistmas Eve Bree and I were able to get away for the afternoon to spend some time in Aspen, which is about 30 miles down the Roaring Fork Valley from their house. It's not too often that we have the chance to get away without Rach these days so we enjoyed the few hours of freedom to hobnob with all of the high-falutin snobs. We didn't realize Charlie Sheen was in town, otherwise would have gotten together for a few drinks, I'm sure.

My cousin Jennie has spent many years in the Airforce flying around the world in C130s but next summer she will be getting married. As far as I can tell, she seems to be marrying a pretty good guy. Allen is from Cork, Ireland and now works at Microsoft. He was good enough to have a bottle of Bushmills waiting for us when we got there.

Christmas day, we all drove over Tennesee Pass to Debbie and Jerry's place on a windy mountainside just north of Buena Vista. Snow had been drifting over the winding dirt road leading to their house for the past couple of days, so we weren't sure if we'd make it. Jerry runs the music program at the Catholic church in BV and they all perform but this year they were unable to make it to mass on Christmas Eve or on Christmas morning because of all the snow that had drifted over the road on the way in. The stretch where most of the snow collects is called The Hackendorf. I'm not sure how it got that name, but by the end of the weekend Bree, my Dad and I all thought it quite funny to constantly hear about the horrors of navigating the dreaded Hackendorf. It got to be a bit of a joke. The wind was no joke though. It was blowing off of Mt Columbia to the west at a murderous rate. They had hired a plow to come through just before we arrived so we didn't have any problem making it in. The next morning a man had to come in with a front end loader because the plow couldn't make it through, so much snow had drifted in.

I had been looking forward to walking around their land and up into the forest on the mountainside butthe cold and the gale force winds made that idea seem much less agreeable. So we all stayed inside for the rest of the day. Jerry had set out a wide variety of booze, and after the snowy drive in, I was happy to help myself. They had picked up a bottle of Jamison the day before when they thought that they might have to spend the night in town. Over the course of the evening I made a big dent in the bottle.

The Hogans are a musical family so later in the evening they performed some Christmas carols for us. Debbie singing and on the piano, James playing the flute. Debbie made a ham recipe out of the Julia Child cookbook that was phenomenal. Everybody there seemed to have a pleasant night. It's not too often that I get my whole family together like this anymore. I try to enjoy it while it lasts.

I got a bit of a walk in the next morning as I scoped out the road out. The wind was still raging but I thought we'd have smooth sailing. Until I reached the dreaded Hackendorf, that is. It became clear that we'd have a tough time getting through this quarter mile stretch, even with our four wheel drive vehicles. That's when they called in the front end loader.

Thanks everybody for a great Christmas.

RockyGrass Music Festival

"Give me some of that bread" the big man with the beard shouted across the campsite."There's only one piece left and I ain't giving to you" was the angry reply.

"God Damn it! I'm your father, give me the bread. Do you expect me to pick this greasy piece of sausage up out of the grass and eat it without any bread?"
"Fuck you, I don't care what you do. Eat your sausage, don't eat your sausage, I don't care but I'm not giving you the fuckin bread."
"I can't believe that you expect your father to pick this greasy piece of sausage out of the grass and eat it without any bread."
There was a pause and then the sound of a plastic bag hitting the ground after being thrown from some distance.
"There's the bread, now eat your fuckin sausage"

The sky had only just started getting light on Saturday morning of RockyGrass when this exchange took place. The father and son, who were our neighbors at the Meadow's Park Campground in Lyons had been up all night partying and playing their instruments and carrying on. Bree crawled out of our tent to see the father, Randy, slouched over on the cot we had set up as a bench outside of our tent. His still lit joint smoldered in the grass beside our tent and his beer had been tipped over. Bree, being a helpful and considerate neighbor, extinguished the doobie and placed it and the beer on one of the tables our neighbors had set up under a canopy.

I got up somewhat later and Randy was still on the cot beside our tent. I had been somewhat oblivious to what all had been going on so it was Bree who filled me in on all the details later. I had no idea that we would have a guest in our camp that morning, but considering the atmosphere of the festival and our campground, I wasn't at all surprised. 900 campers were packed into the relatively small park beside the St. Vrain River, but despite the cramped quarters and occasionally smelly portable toilets, everyone seemed to be getting along. Every one I met seemed happy to strike up a conversation and share stories. Only briefly during our second night at the camp did I get slightly irritated. And that was when I was awakened to some drunken shouting at about five in the morning which was followed up by the sounds of a jam circle with some scorching mandolin riffs at about five o'clock in the morning. Don't get me wrong, I like the mandolin as much as the next swingin' bluegrass aficionados, but I had gotten to bed late and was having a hard time sleeping the way it was. Dawn finally put a damper on the festivities.

We arrived Friday morning to find that the campground was practically full already. Apparently people had been arriving since Monday and setting up their compounds, some of which were very extensive. Although there were no vehicle campers around where we were, some people had generators while other camps were equipped with solar panels. We dropped off our modest stock of gear, and I went to park the car in a remote lot about a mile away.

We finally walked through the gates of the festival in the late morning in time to catch The Wilders. Since it was our first time at the festival, we found that most of the ground had already been staked out by people laying down tarps to reserve space for themselves. It seemed very first come first serve and it struck me that a lot of people were going to wind up with terrible seats for the performances, but the festival rules state basically that even though you can put a tarp down to reserve a spot for yourself, if you aren't there anybody else has the right to use it also. And according to the rules, also, if you come back and find somebody on your tarp, you have the "right to become lifelong friends." So basically it wasn't much of an issue. I figure, I'll let other people get in line at 7 in the morning to be the first one through the gate in the morning to throw down a blanket somewhere and then when I get up later and after some coffee and playing with Rachel, I can go over and find a perfectly good spot. In this case it wasn't even an issue at all. We wound up sharing a tarp with a group of guys from Tupolo, Mississippi, one of whom was sipping from a large flask full of Grand Marnais. He said he comes to the festival every year.

For Bree and I, having Rachel there posed some new challenges for us. We rarely made it through an entire performance without having to take Rach somewhere to go play or to go and change a diaper, but for the most part, she was quite good. She even seemed to enjoy herself. This is a very family friendly festival and parts of the grounds are simply grassy areas under massive cottonwood trees where children and families could go and escape from the crowds near the stage. For older kids, there is even a small beach area along the St Vrain River which was always packed during the day. Many people from the Meadow's campground where we stayed would bring their big inner tubes into the festival, and then hop in the river and float the three blocks or so back to the campground. No glass containers were allowed inside the festival grounds, but these huge rubber inner tubes were apparently no problem. Smoking weed apparently wasn't much of a problem for the people who run the festival either. Anyone who smoked cigarettes was restricted to a small tent far to the rear of the grounds, but pot was consumed openly just about everywhere with the possible exception of the Family Arts and Crafts Tent.

We saw a number of acts the first day, including Del McCoury, Sam Bush and Peter Rowan. I'd seen Del McCoury before but never Sam Bush. Even though he's been in the business since the late 60's, which is not quite as long as Del McCoury, he put on a fantastic, energetic show.

That night at camp Rachel didn't want to go to sleep. She thought being in the tent was just great fun and obviously didn't associate it with bed time. Our cause was not helped by all of the commotion going on around camp, but even without all the music and loud talking, I don't think Rachel would have wanted to go to sleep until very late. I took one small walk around the campground and witnessed some sort of bizarre wedding ceremony being officiated by a young guy in a bright red and ornately decorated sombrero going on under another group of canopies that had been moved together in a row. The bride was wearing a halter top and had a white feather boa wrapped around her head like a turban. The groom wore a tee shirt and boxer briefs. The best man wore a helmet that was not unlike the one Luke Skywalker wore when he piloted the X-Wing Fighter in his heroic effort against the Death Star. The line of canopies opened into a large peaked tent which had icy blue lights strung around the inside. This tent was referred to as the "Twinkle, Twinkle Tent" and was apparently where the consummation was to take place as the group of friends continued to party through the night right outside.

The next morning we saw a band called Bearfoot, who I had never heard of before. They are from Alaska and are all very young. I think they have the potential to do big things in the business. I am now officially a fan. Later in the day we saw the Claire Lynch Band. Eighty Five year old banjo pioneer, Earl Scruggs came on after she did with his band. Despite the fact that it rained off and on throughout the performance it was still a memorable experience to hear him picking on the bluegrass anthem, Foggy Mountain Breakdown.

It had been raining off and on all afternoon, which was getting to be kind of a drag. There were covered places where we could take Rachel to crawl around where she wouldn't get too soaked, but my butt was soaked after a brief downpour sent a small river down the tarp I was sitting on right into my backside. Bree and I were both concerned about keeping Rachel dry and warm as well. Steve Earl finished up the night playing with his old band The Bluegrass Dukes. Most of the music I've heard from him in the past has not been bluegrass, but this show, despite the almost constant rain was one of the highlights for me.

We got back to camp to find it very quiet. Our old friend Randy from the morning was sitting in a camp chair under a canopy telling stories to a couple of women. Few other people were around or out of their tents. We all blamed it on the rain dampening everybodies spirits. I had a couple of beers with them and learned that Randy lives on a large piece of land that he owns in New Mexico, just south of the Colorado border near Durango. In between drags on his blunt, he mused about setting up a bluegrass festival on his land someday.

We went to bed soon afterward and actually fell asleep. Sleep was not to last long because the campground filled up soon afterward with people who had been at a surprise performance by Red Knuckles in the Wildflower Pavilion that started at 11. So now that it was around 1 in the morning, it was time for the real partying to begin around the camp. I'm ashamed to admit I was not in the least bit interested in joining in. I was more concerned about them waking Rachel and keeping Bree and I up all night.

Sunday morning was very pleasant. The rain had finally stopped and our things started drying off. I made coffee by boiling water with my little camp stove and using the French Press. This is the type of roughing it that I can get on board with. Rachel played with Isabel, the little girl from the next tent, and we sat around and talked with our neighbors. Everybody had stories to tell and it was interesting for us to listen and share our own tales. I was a little surprised to find out how many people had travelled from other states to be in attendance. We talked to people from down south and states out east who claimed that this was their favorite bluegrass event. Most folks had been to several different festivals and many knew each other from years past. There is a sub-culture built around these types of events and the music whose existence I had never really been fullly aware of.

We took some time to break down the camp and I went to get the car so that we could load it up in the morning. We figured that if it started raining again that we would be better off having everything packed away so that it could stay dry. Not to mention the fact that breaking down a camp in the rain is never fun or is unpacking everything again after you get home so it can dry out.

That afternoonwe saw the Steep Canyon Rangers and Sarah Jarosz. Later we saw the 2nd half of the Darrell Scott Bluegrass Band. I really enjoyed Darrell Scott. After a late afternoon performance by Danny Paisley & The Southern Grass, there was a slot on the schedule that was listed as TBA. A rumour that I had heard that morning was that the secret performer that the promoters were keeping secret was Steve Martin, the actor and comedian who got his start playing the banjo. The special guest turned out to be The Yonder Mountain String Band. This is a group, formed over 10 years ago in Nederland, Co, that has really hit the big time. I've wanted to see them for years so I was pleasantly surprised to learn that they were on the bill. Their performance did not disappoint. I look forward to seeing them again one of these days.

It was about 8 o'clock when they finished playing and Rachel was starting to act a little impatient. So rather than stay late and see Hot Rize, the evening's headliner, we opted to call it a weekend and head back to Denver.

I look forward to having the opportunity to attend more of these festivals in the years to come. It was a very nice way to spend the weekend with my wife and daughter. We saw a lot of great music and met some interesting people. Even the food from the on-site vendors was memorable. Maybe we'll finally make it to Telluride next year for their festival.

The Cheese

Recently Bree and I decided to try our hands at the fine art of making our own cheese. People brew their own beer, make their own wine, cure their own meat and change their own oil, so we wanted to see if we could be industrious and craft some cheese in our kitchen. I found it difficult to find the necessary supplies. Even in such a big city, it seems that there isn't a very big demand for the tools of the cheese makers trade. You'd think that there would be more than one or two places in town that sell rennet. Rennet by the way is a solution derived from the stomach lining of a calf. It is essentially made up of enzymes that promote the seperation of the curd from the whey. It's one of those things that makes me wonder how this particular property was ever discovered. Thousands of years ago, maybe some poor herdsman decided to store his milk for the day in a stomach he had lying around and was no doubt terribly alarmed at its consistency when he sat down under a tree to have lunch.

We have made four batches now, none of which were disasters. However, I can't say that any turned out exactly as we had hoped either. One of the easiest cheeses to practice with is mozzarella. It doesn't require pressing, aging or any exotic cultures. We also made a ziegerkase, which is a whey cheese that is pressed and aged in a wine and herb solution.

Since we find making cheese to be exciting and enjoyable we have included it as one of our many possible dreams to choose from on how we will make a living. So when we were in Wisconsin, we decided to visit a working cheese factory and see what we could learn. Widmer's, in the small town of Theresa, offers daily tours and is not too far from Milwaukee. So we made the drive up through the pleasant countryside of southeastern Wisconsin in time to make the 9:30 tour.

Like many old time Wisconsin Cheese factories, it is in a very small building with an attached living quarters upstairs. This wasn't set up to supply Wal-Marts all over the country. But they have been making Brick, Chedder and a couple of other cheeses for generations now and seem to do a great job of it. The bricks they use to press the cheese are still the original bricks they used when the factory was founded several decades ago. They had three large tubs (maybe 15 feet by 5 feet) going with a couple of workers occasionally stiring the contents with rakes.

I can't say we learned a great deal from the presentation. It was pretty elementary. A lot of people take their kids there for a morning activity. And the tour was free along with the samples, so it worked fine for us.

Afterwards we spent a couple hours walking around Theresa. We took took Rachel to the small park down by the river and pushed her in the swing. It was one of the more lonely feeling parks that I've ever been in, but it was very pleasant nevertheless. We later stopped for snacks at the confectioners shop in town. We had deep fried beer battered bratwurst and some deep fried brocally and cheese nuggets along with some mini potato pancakes. All good stuff, but stuff we would not eat every day. Besides, I have yet to see beer battered deep fried brats on any menu here in Denver.

We later met my mom and aunt Myra in Cedarburg for a real lunch at The Anvil Pub and Grill. Our table was on a lovely patio overlooking the river. I hadn't seen Myra in years so it was a great pleasure for me to visit with her. She is my deceased grandmother's older sister and she is a wealth of stories about the old days when they grew up in Clayton, Wisconsin which was very poor and rural at the time. I hope to have the opportunity to get together with her again soon.

Rachel Goes Up the Country

Rachel went over to Jeff and Michelle's house out in the country last weekend. As usual, Jeff and Michelle were fine hosts and had a great big vat of beverages out for their guests. Rachel, never the shy one, decided to crawl on over and help herself. Not unlike Goldilocks from the tale of the three bears, she sampled a couple different ones before finding one that was just right.

Here Rachel is surveying the various selections. "So many to choose from" she says. "How can I ever possibly decide?"

At first she sampled the Leinie's, but she didn't like it very much. "Too bitter" she said.

Then she tried the Busch. "Tastes too much like urine!" she exclaimed.

Finally, our young hero finds a can of Coca Cola, takes a slug, and decides that it's just right

Tomorrow Rachel will be ONE! July 10th, 2009.
Happy Birthday
We love you even if you do have a dirty schnoz.