SkeeterVac Review #4

The SkeeterVac ran out of gas over 2 months ago.  We were about to leave the next morning for a short vacation, and didn't want to fool with the machine.  Over the next few weeks, daytime temperatures hovered around the 100-degree mark, and we didn't hang out in the yard much, so we weren't encountering any mosquitoes, anyway.  Replacing the gas tank on the SkeeterVac hasn't even been in our thoughts.  Now that the heat is beginning to relent, we're starting to venture out again, and since we have not had the SkeeterVac running, the mosquito population growth has been unhampered.

Last Sunday at dusk, when The Husband and I were puttering around outside, he said, "I'm going in. The 'skeeters are eating me up!"


"We need to crank the SkeeterVac back up," I commented, as I followed him inside.

Yesterday, I picked up a new gas tank.  After installing it, I changed out the TacTrap and put in a fresh bait cartridge.  Happily, the machine started on the first try. 

You should have seen the old TacTrap.  While I didn't see many mosquitoes stuck to it, I did see loads of horseflies (which I loathe more than mosquitoes), houseflies, and crickets.  There was even a dried-up skink stuck to it.  Sadly, there were also a couple of rows of feathers from a bird's wing.  (Poor bird probably thought he'd found some easy pickin's.)  All that was in the trap drawer was dust and fuzz, stuff that was in there before the gas bottle ran out.

Theoretically, I guess we're starting over in trying to decimate the mosquito population around here.  Before the heat drove us indoors, we were not seeing many mosquitoes in our yard, but neither was I encountering many in the garden, which is far outside the SkeeterVac's reach.  Had the SkeeterVac been doing its job, or has this simply been a slow year for 'skeeters?  Hard to say.  We have never seen mass quantities of mosquitoes stuck to the TacTrap or in the trap drawer - nothing that even distantly approached the drawer-full of mosquito carcasses shown in promotional videos.  But we have also (until recently) not been eaten alive by mosquitoes in our yard.  Perhaps the real test will come in the next few weeks, now that the mosquitoes seem to be out in force.

* * * * * *

On the gardening front, I mailed a garden soil sample to the University of Tennessee yesterday.  I am hoping that the results will come back about the time the garden poops out so that I can amend the soil for next year's garden.

Monday afternoon I tilled up the green bean rows and would've done the same to the purple-hull peas except that they had a "mess" of peas still on the vines.  Nanny picked them while I weeded the tomatoes.  The black-eyed peas need to go, too, but their vines are massive and should be mowed, first.  The butterbeans and butterpeas are still producing, so I'll leave them alone a while longer.

The squash is kaput, except for the zuccinis.  The okra is still making like crazy. 

The raccoons have gotten every single ear of corn, so far.  I'd be mad, except that I knew when I planted the corn that the 'coons would get it.  This year's corn crop, such as it was, is a dwarf variety, seeds that I bought half price at the end of the season last year.  The whole plant is barely waist high, and the little ears aren't two feet off the ground; the 'coons don't even have to break a sweat to reach them.  If I plant corn again next year, you can bet it's going to be giant stuff that the 'coons will have to work to get.

As for the tomatoes....    I sprayed fungicide to combat late blight over the weekend.  This may sound weird, but Monday when I went to work in the garden, there already seemed to be less of that throbbing, yellow-ish glow that a full-swing blight infestation seems to emit.  The top two-thirds of the tomato plants still look healthy, and the plants are still blooming, so maybe we'll get more ripe tomatoes this season.

The tomato vines have been outrageously large and lush this year, spilling over their cages and trailing onto the ground, but they haven't produced all that much fruit.  I blamed it on over-fertilizing until I heard other gardeners complaining of the same issue.  Uncle Jack says that he has lopped off some of his tomatoes to see what will happen, and they are doing well, so far.  I'd thought about doing that, myself, and may yet try it with a couple of the plants.  I'll let you know what happens.

Shame on You, Sears!

I have always been a fan of Kenmore appliances.  Our washer, dryer, refrigerator, and dishwasher all came from Sears.  One of my sewing machines is a Kenmore.  We own a Craftsman lawnmower, two Craftsman tillers, and some Craftsman power tools.  My 26-year-old kitchen stove (a Whirlpool that came with the house) is about to poop out, and I'd planned to replace it with a Kenmore.

Last July, our 7-year-old Kenmore refrigerator went on the fritz on a Saturday.  I phoned the Sears repair hotline and scheduled an appointment for the next Monday.  The repairman arrived as promised, checked out the refrigerator, and said that he would have to order parts before he could fix the 'fridge.  He said the parts would arrive by Wednesday, and that he would be back on Thursday to install them.  On Tuesday, the repairman called and said that the parts he needed were on back-order, and he would not be coming on Thursday.  As it turned out, all of the parts arrived by Wednesday, but we had lost our place in the repair schedule.  This part-ordering screw up and a series of re-scheduling screw ups resulted in us being without a refrigerator for 13 days and caused me to take several afternoons off from work, waiting on repair appointments that never happened.

A couple of months ago, The Husband bought a refrigerator service/maintenance agreement from Sears.  Over a week ago, when the refrigerator's freezer fan started sporadically making a funny noise, I called the repair hotline to schedule service.  I called on a Monday.  Sears would have scheduled a Tuesday service appointment, but I asked them to hold off until Friday, since I would be working out of town until then and the refrigerator was still cooling adequately.  They set the appointment for Friday, "between the hours of 1 and 5."  They said that I would get an e-mail confirming the appointment, and that the repairman would call 30 minutes before his arrival.

Mid-morning on Friday, when I had not received a confirming e-mail, I called the repair hotline to make sure I was on the list for service.  They said that they had, indeed, scheduled us for service between the hours of 1 and 5. 

At 4:57 p.m., I phoned the repair hotline again.  Yes, I was on the list.  Yes, the repairman would call before his arrival.  Evidently running behind.  Blah-blah-blah.  At 6:30, having not heard from a service technician, we went out to dinner. 

Today is Tuesday.  I have still not had a call from the repairman.

Sears, your service stinks.  I realize that you contract the work and thus are even farther removed from your actual customers' needs, but somewhere in your big corporate world, the buck should stop with someone.  Your service repair hotline won't/can't tell me who that person is or how to reach him/her, so I'm hereby letting you know that someone, somewhere, has dropped the ball.

Sears, doing what you say you will do is one of the basic necessities of human interaction.  It is one of the fundamental principles of business.  It builds trust.  Trust builds customer bases.  Customers build profits.  You know how it works.  You can't leave us out of the equation indefinitely.  I understand that my refrigerator's "funny noise" is not (yet) an emergency, and that other customers may be experiencing far more serious problems that should receive attention first.  Since my ice cream and 'tater tots are still frozen, I'm not all that upset that the service call has been delayed, but I am upset with the lack of communication.  The service company with which you have contracted is not doing its job. 

NEWS FLASH:  I just phoned the Sears repair hotline to determine when the new repair appointment will be.  Guess what?  There is no repair appointment scheduled.  Sears' notes reflect that a repairman showed up at our door at 7:01 p.m. on Friday evening, and that the homeowner cancelled the service call. 

Sears, I am boiling mad.  We left the house to go out to dinner around 6:30 p.m.  There had been no call from the repairman to let us know he was coming, and there was no one here to answer the door or cancel the appointment when he arrived.  Your contract technician has told a big, fat LIE.  And guess what else?  When I asked to schedule another appointment, I was told that the next available appointment was Saturday, at a time when I cannot be here.  The next available appointment after that is on Tuesday, between the hours of 8 and 5.  And guess what else?  The telephone operator said that the repairman MAY call before his arrival, but would not guarantee it.  So that means I either have to stay here all day Tuesday (when I'm supposed to be at work), or risk missing the service call.  It's last year's repair ordeal, all over again.

Sears, this frosts the cake.  I am done with you.  When I go out to shop for a new kitchen stove, I will not be buying from you.  I will be going to my local hardware store, which has an in-house repairman to service the appliances they sell.  Let me tell you a story about their service.  My niece bought a refrigerator from them.  When it went out, this hardware store brought her a "loaner" refrigerator to use while they fixed/replaced hers.  That, Sears, is service.  You could learn something from them.

Risky Moves

Thursday, as I pulled in my driveway after work, I glanced across the road out of habit to see what was going on at Nanny's and Pop-Pop's house.  Their cars were home and the workshop door was open.  Disturbingly, Pop-Pop's 10-ft. painter's ladder was standing open directly in front of the shop.  I squinted, but couldn't tell if anyone was on the ladder.  To be honest, I didn't think Pop-Pop could climb a ladder because of the arthritis in his feet, but I didn't doubt that Nanny might give it a go, and she doesn't have any business on a ladder, either.

I came on in the house, changed clothes, and sat down at my computer desk.  From here, I could glance out the window and see the workshop door.  Every few minutes, I'd lean back and have a look, ready to intervene if I saw someone move toward the ladder.

Sure enough, after a while, I saw movement near the ladder.  Judging from the speed at which the person was walking, I knew that the person was Pop-Pop.  As I watched, he made his first slow step onto the ladder.  Oh, I don't think so!  I jumped up, grabbed my car keys, and went down there.

By the time I got there, Pop-Pop was standing on the ground, holding the giant streetlight-type lamp that normally hangs over the shop door.  The look on his face said he knew he was busted.

I got out of the car and walked toward him.  "Hmmm...I'm not liking the looks of this," I said. 

"What?" he asked, trying to look innocent. 

"You, near a ladder.  Need some help?"

He hum-hee-hawed around and eventually said that he didn't think either of us would be able to re-attach the lamp.  I was a little relieved that he was apparently abandoning the idea for the moment, for I wasn't too thrilled about climbing the ladder, myself.  A few minutes later, one of his grandchildren drove up, and, thankfully, Pop-Pop delegated the job to him. 

While The Nephew reinstalled the light, Pop-Pop pointed out that the tomatoes were "firin' up."  Sure enough, it looks like they've been hit with late blight.  I couldn't remember exactly how long it had been since I'd sprayed fungicide.  "I'll have to check my records," I told him, meaning this blog. 

Looking back, I see that it's been about 3 weeks since the last treatment - too long, really, considering the vigor with which this fungus thrives around here.  I should have been spraying at regular intervals, regardless of whether or not signs of blight were present.  You'd think I'd have learned that lesson by now.

The Lazy Weekend that Wasn't

Last week was a seriously busy time for me, and so as I snatched an old Patricia Cornwell novel out of a sale bin at the drugstore on Friday evening, I envisioned myself piled up on the couch for the weekend, absorbed in the thriller.

It was not to be.

Standing before the open refrigerator on Saturday morning, I realized that I'd have to break down and go grocery shopping or we'd go hungry all weekend.  I showered and dressed and hit the road about 9 a.m.  As The Husband and I were putting away the groceries an hour later, he told me that The Grandson had called, wanting to come over.  Before we finished, the phone rang again.  The Husband answered it.  "Ok, we'll be down there in a little bit to get some of it," I heard him say.  He hung up the phone and turned to me:  "Mama's picked a bucket of tomatoes, a bucket of butterbeans, and a bunch of okra.  And somebody gave her a bucket of pears.  She said for us to come get some of it." 

Oh, boy...there goes my lazy Saturday, I thought, but I went across the road and relieved Nanny of the tomatoes and butterbeans.  While I was there, she told me that the squash plants in the garden were infested with bugs.  I went out and had a look and, sure enough, the squash plants were crawling with squash bugs of every size and description.  They'd already demolished some of the older plants and were working their way down the row.  Watching them, I remembered that a month ago a friend in Albuquerque had complained that squash bugs had arrived in his garden, and that he had given them $5 and my address.  Thanks, buddy.  I'd have to deal with them later. 

Back at home, when The Grandson saw me assembling the tomato squeezer, he made a bee-line to the kitchen, volunteering his help.  Letting him help seemed like a good idea.  I clamped the contraption to the kitchen table, showed Caleb how to turn the crank, and began slicing the tomatoes into the hopper.  We'd only ground a few tomatoes when he leaned into the juicer too hard and knocked the whole business, bowls and all, onto the kitchen floor.  He needed no encouragement to go play with his trains when he saw the mess he'd made.  I cleaned it up and finished the job without his assistance.

It was early evening by the time I'd canned the tomatoes and shelled and blanched the butterbeans. My feet were aching, but I knew that if I sat down to rest them, I'd never get up again, and there were still squash bugs to be dispatched.  I went across the road, mixed up a few gallons of insecticide, and went out to greet the squash bugs.  Truth be told, the squash plants weren't worth saving, but I knew those rotten bugs would multiply, or over-winter in the soil, or something; getting rid of them this year might save me some headache next year.  I let 'em have it with the bug spray and didn't even feel bad about it.

Sunday was far less hectic, even though Caleb was still with us.  We had a semi-lazy day loitering around in our pajamas, reading books, watching cartoons, and watching the writing spider catch bugs in her web outside our living room window.  Between all that, I managed to wash four loads of laundry, change the bed sheets, and put meals on the table - all in all a productive weekend, despite the non-productive plans I'd made. 

Tiling the Shower (The Finale)

I was reminded this week that I never wrote the rest of the story of the shower tiling project. 

There is a reason for this - the not writing, that is.

You see, ten years ago, we undertook another do-it-(partly)-yourself project, a bedroom/bathroom addition.  In fact, that project involved the very bathroom that has been the subject of these posts.  Now, we didn't do much of this project, only simple things like painting and trim work.  As of this writing, that project still is not quite finished after all these years.  The Husband cut and painted the baseboards for the bathroom, set them in place against the walls, but never nailed them to the wall.  Why this occurred (or, rather, didn't occur) is still a mystery.  As we started the tiling project, I said to him, "When we finish tiling, we need to nail those (#!@ baseboards to the walls."  Having spoken the words that added that step to the process, in my mind the shower project won't officially be finished until the (#!@ baseboards are nailed to the walls.

Nevertheless, we are showering in it.  Here it is:

The Husband took over the final stages of the project.  He did the grouting and sealing and installed the final trim pieces.  There is still a place or two where I think we should add some trim work, just to spiff it up a bit, but that may never happen. 

As you can see, we haven't installed a shower door yet, and we probably never will.  (I'm thinking it'll be a lot easier to periodically replace a slimy shower curtain than to keep a glass door free of soap scum.) 

Am I 100% satisfied with our work?  No, just 99%.  The tile job is not perfect, but it ain't bad for amateurs.  We had to replace a small strip of sheetrock near the ceiling, and we still haven't painted it, but I hereby vow (and you are my witness!) that we will do it.

And we might even nail the baseboards to the walls while we're at it.  ;)

* * * * * * * *

In the garden, the tomatoes continue to ripen.  Nanny canned a load of them earlier in the week.  I should go to the garden this morning to see if more are ready, for I haven't put up nearly enough spaghetti sauce and salsa.  The okra continues to churn out pods at an astonishing rate.  The cucumbers, squash, and blackeyed peas have about pooped out.  I planted more squash seeds a few weeks ago, and those plants have begun to bloom and produce squash, but they are only making a half-hearted effort.  Who could blame them in all this heat?  Some time in the next couple of weeks, I am going to pull up the pea vines and plow those rows for greens.  The corn plants have small ears on them.  So far, the stalks are still standing, but I know in my heart that the raccoons are watching, waiting to harvest the ears one day before I do. 

 

Tomatoes! (and Gadgetry)

I went to the garden when I got off work, thinking that there might be enough ripe tomatoes on the vines to make a batch of spaghetti sauce, and was delighted to find that there were LOTS of ripe tomatoes - two plastic grocery bags near-to-bust full.  I brought them home, washed them, and fed them to my new kitchen gadget.

It's a "Sauce Master" sauce strainer.  Clamps to the table, cranks like a meat grinder.  It comes with one strainer attachment, its mesh small enough to hold back a tomato seed.  You set a funnel bowl on top of it, drop quartered tomatoes into the funnel (belly buttons and all), and commence cranking.  It has a plastic auger inside that smushes the tomatoes against the mesh.  You don't even have to peel the tomatoes; the juice and pulp run out one spout, and the seeds, skin, and cores run out another.

I also bought a salsa attachment that has bigger holes, like a round box grater instead of a mesh.  With this attachment, you get juice, pulp, and little bits of tomato.  The seeds - and sometimes even little bits of skin - will come through the holes of this attachment (I don't care).  When I finished squeezing all of the tomatoes with the salsa attachment, I changed back to the original strainer, squeezed the skins again, and got more pulp and juice.  This is a good gizmo.  It drastically cut down on the tomato prep time.

There are now three pans of tomatoes simmering on my stove, altogether about 12 quarts of raw tomatoes and juice.  I've added garlic powder, salt, and pepper to the tomatoes and will cook them down until they've made a nice, thick sauce. 

Cucumber Pigs

My grandson, Caleb, came to spend the evening with me yesterday.  About 30 minutes after his arrival, he announced, "I have a great idea.  Let's go to Nanny and Pop-Pop's."  It so happened that I had already planned a trip to Nanny and Pop-Pop's to deliver some things I'd picked up earlier in the day, but I was shelling butterpeas at that moment, and needed to start the supper cooking, so I put him off for a while.  When his Poppy had come home, and we'd all eaten dinner, we headed across the road to Nanny's.

While we were there, I made a quick sashay through the garden to check on things.  On my way past the cucumbers, I found two big yellow ones.  Finding them gave me a flashback to my childhood, when my grandfather showed me how to make a pig out of a big yellow cucumber and a few spent kitchen matches.  I told The Husband, "I'm going to show Caleb how to make a cucumber pig."

Caleb was at that moment zooming around the yard in his Power Wheels Jeep.  I snapped a branch off of a cherry tree, and when Caleb zoomed past me, I hollered, "Caleb, come watch; I'm going to turn this cucumber into a pig!" 

He stopped and gave me a disbelieving look.  "Pigs are not made out of cucumbers," he said.  "They're made out of meat."

"This one's going to be made out of cucumber," I told him.  "Come look." 

He climbed out of the Jeep and followed me onto Nanny's back porch.  I sat down at the table and broke off four equal lengths of the cherry branch to use as legs, another length for a tail, and some short pieces for eyes.  Caleb stood at my knees, watching as I poked the sticks into the cucumber.  "He needs a nose," Caleb said.  I broke off another piece of the branch to make the nose. 

"There!" I said, setting the pig onto the table.  It immediatly collapsed onto its belly, with all four legs splayed out to its sides.  My sticks were too thin to hold its weight. 

"It looks like an insect," Caleb observed. 

I broke off two more pieces of stick and jabbed them in.  "Ok, now it's an insect," I said.

Caleb looked skeptical.  "What kind of insect has a tail?"

He had me there. 

Fortunately, Poppy had witnessed the pig's collapse and had already gone for sturdier sticks.  With them and the second yellow cucumber, we fashioned a fine (if slightly disproportioned and rather startled-looking) pig that could hold its own weight.

Rain!

It rained Monday night.  The garden needed it, but I wish it would've waited one day, for I'd sprayed for tomato worms a few hours earlier.  I don't know whether to spray again or wait and see if the little green devils ate enough supper that night to kill them.  I'll probably wait, since (1) I hate using pesticides, and (2) I'm lazy.

Temperatures are cooler this week - low 90s instead of high 90s.  Yesterday was wonderful, with sunshine and a nice breeze.  As soon as I came home from work, I went to the garden.  The butterpeas - rather, some of the butterpeas - were ready for picking.  I haven't shelled them, yet, but I'm guessing this picking will make enough for a 2-person supper.  The plants still have loads of pods on them, and plenty more blooms, so we should get another picking or two.

The purple-hull peas have about "done their do," as my mother says.  One day soon, I'm going to pull up the vines, till the rows, and find something else to plant in their place.

Something has eaten most of the leaves off of the green beans.  They may put back on after this rain.  I'll give them a few days before I yank them up.

Still waiting on tomatoes.

Pssssst...Bugs!

Note to self:  I sprayed the tomatoes for bugs and blight this evening.  We've had a good rain since the last time I sprayed, and tomato worms are beginning to trim up the plants.  Pssssst!  Take THAT, horned worm. 

Tonight on the local TV gardening show, the questions were about why the tomato plants haven't borne fruit as they should have.  Apparently, I'm not the only gardener with green, bushy plants and not many ripe tomatoes to show for it.  The experts said that we can blame it on the excessive heat of the past couple of months, and that if we persevere (and water regularly), the situation should improve when the weather cools a bit.  They said, "Be patient."

I jumped the gun last week and bought a case of tomatoes from a road-side stand.  (How THEY're getting ripe tomatoes is anybody's guess.)  On Tuesday, the ripest of them went into a batch of salsa.  It tasted good, but wasn't spicy/hot enough to suit me.  By Sunday, the rest had ripened, and I made a second batch of salsa.  I threw the hot peppers to it, and shook in a few dried red pepper flakes for good measure.  This batch is hotter than a firecracker, just the way I like it.

Note to Self re. Watering

I watered the butterbeans, squash, tomatoes, peppers, and corn today.  Didn't make it to the cucumbers, green beans, and peas.  While the water was running, The Husband and I picked squash, cucumbers, peppers, and okra.  The okra is really going to town.  Heh...must be all that swagglin'.  Anyway...finish the watering tomorrow.

We had a garden supper tonight - fried eggplant, butterbeans, and frozen ravioli with fresh tomato/basil sauce.  That sauce was good on the eggplant, too; with a little parmesan cheese grated on top, it was a like a quickie Eggplant Parmigiana.  The butter beans were good.  I chopped and fried one piece of bacon until it was about halfway done, then I dumped the raw butterbeans (about 2 cups) into the skillet, swooshed them around with the bacon, and let them heat for a couple of minutes.  Then I poured enough water on the beans to cover them, simmered the water out, then watered/simmered them again.  What little liquid remained was like gravy.  Next time I do it, I'll add a little finely-chopped onion - and/or a little roasted red pepper - in with the bacon.