How I Make Bread

It took years for me to learn to make a loaf of bread. I consider myself a pretty good cook, and have received many compliments for my breakfasts at Maguire House. Yet every time I tried to make bread it came out like a doorstop or a brickbat. I had given up, then when shopping at Wal*Mart I found a loaf of frozen bread dough on sale. I took it home, thawed it out in a bread pan, baked it according to the instructions, and produced a wonderful loaf of bread. I figured that if the computerized machine could make good dough, I would try again. After many failures, my trial-and-error method works for me.

My secrets are a twelve-quart bowl that makes enough dough for four loaves, and a proofing method that tells me that the yeast is good and will make the dough rise properly.

Ingredients:
4 tsp yeast
4 tsp sugar
1 1/2 cups warm water
12 cups flour
1 Tbsp salt
1 stick (1/2 cup) margerine
4 cups buttermilk
1 Tbsp oil

Add the yeast and sugar to the water. I found that yeast in packets is the most expensive part of baking, and now buy bulk yeast at Sam's. The sugar is food for the yeast. The water should be barely warm to the touch. Let the mixture sit 5 - 15 minutes until it forms a foam collar.



Put the flour and salt into the bowl, make a well in the center, and add the yeast mixture. Pull the flour at the sides of the bowl over the liquid until it is covered. As the yeast proofs it will bubble up through the flour.


Melt the margerine in a quart measuring cup. Add buttermilk (or any milk/sour milk/water combination) to the cup. Warm 2 minutes (just warm) in the microwave to avoid shocking the yeast, then add to the bowl and mix thoroughly until well blended.


Dump the dough onto a floured counter or breadboard, cover with the inverted bowl, and let rest fifteen minutes. Remove, clean, and oil the bowl. Knead the dough for about five minutes, turn the ball of dough out into the bowl, rotate to cover with oil, cover with a dishcloth, and let rise until doubled, 1-2 hours depending on conditions.

Punch the dough down, divide into four equal parts, form into long balls, and punch down into four loaf pans. Let rise until it is almost bread-sized (it will rise slightly more while baking).


Bake at 425 degrees for 15 minutes, then 350 degrees for 30 minutes. Remove baked bread from pans and let cool on a rack so the bottoms don't get soggy. I wrap bread in Wal*Mart bags and freeze until needed.


Not many people bake their own bread these days, and most of the people who do use bread machines. This bread is easy to make, very tasty, and makes wonderful toast. It is my "trade goods," excellent barter for fresh vegetables, as thank-you's, or as gifts any time. It's nice to bring a smile to someone's face with something that costs a quarter and a little effort to make.

Making bread is therapy. The yeast makes the dough a living organism and it is a joy to work with. You can take out all your frustrations and aggression by kneading the dough. And the baked bread makes the house smell wonderful for the rest of the day!

Maguire House Sign

After the end of the year we will no longer take in paying guests. So what do we do with the sign? Take it down? Cover over the "Bed & Breakfast" part? Attach a "No Vacancy" sign? Guess you'll have to drive by to find out!

The Bird

After almost two months living in England I was beginning to feel at home. When the Air Force opened a new Wing to fly the European U-2 mission, housing was scarce, but I managed to find a place to rent in the tiny village of Sudborough, Northamptonshire, right in the middle of the country.

My little house was called Brewery Cottage, so-named because it was part of a defunct brewery yard. The courtyard behind me contained a malting house, cooperage, brewing house, and cottages for the workers. Next door was Brewery House where the beer was stored in the basement and the pub was located on the ground floor. The brewmaster had lived in my cottage.

My landlord and landlady lived in Brewery House. Lovel was a proper English gentleman, a retired English literature professor who had been an infantry officer and POW in WW II. Lettice was his perfect partner as a slightly aristocratic and reserved country lady who nevertheless took very good care of me.

Sudborough contained about 100 people, a post office that also sold snacks and a few groceries, a riding stable, and, of course, a pub. Most of the younger generation had gone off to the big city to make their way. I was a big hit as the first American to live there since WWII among the population that was still fighting the War. I felt right at home among the thatch-roofed houses and the farm buildings and animals and fields. My 1700’s house was the new place in a village where my neighbor’s toll house was restored in 1620 and the church was dedicated in the 1180’s. I felt even more at home when I was greeted at the pub with “The usual, Mike?" which in my case was a pint of Ruddle’s County ale.

Thanksgiving was fast approaching, and, being on my own and in a foreign country, I was determined to have a traditional holiday meal. I went to the base commissary to buy a turkey, only to discover that the smallest birds weighed about 25 pounds. Since Brewery House still contained lots of beer, I went next door for advice.

Of course, the English know little to nothing about Thanksgiving. When Lettice heard that I was going to have cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie and actually eat a turkey, she was astounded, but interested. Lovel said that I could not get a turkey, but that the local butcher shops sold all kinds of game, and pheasant was abundant.

In fact, Chinese ringneck pheasants were everywhere. On my walks and drives through the countryside I would see them darting among the hedgerows and hear them calling to each other. They were actually a hazard as they ran across the roads.


My informally adopted parents, my “landparents” as I called them, invited me to Sunday dinner, provided that I would bring some cranberry sauce and a pumpkin pie to share with my explanation of the traditions of Thanksgiving. Wanting to make a real pie from a real pumpkin, I consulted my 1938 copy of The American Woman’s Cookbook for a recipe. It began, “Take one #2 can of pumpkin. . .” I gave up on scratch pie and made it from a can. I was still determined to fix a Thanksgiving dinner for myself, though.

On the way home from the base I drove slowly past the butcher shop in Thrapston, the only town large enough to have real stores. Sure enough, they had pheasants hanging in a row in the window. Just the thing. As soon as I got to Brewery Cottage I changed out of my uniform, jumped in my Austin Mini, and headed back to Thrapston. The drive took me through the countryside between tall hedgerows. I had not gone a mile from Sudborough, when a pheasant darted across the road and I hit it.

Now, Lovel had told me that if you hit any game with your car it is considered hunting without a license, and you can’t take it, though the person behind you can. I stopped the car, and went back to look the pheasant over, which was laying beside the road with scarcely a mark on it. Well, since I was on my way to buy a pheasant anyway, and since no one was looking, I considered it a Thanksgiving gift from Mother Nature, threw it in the back seat, and headed for home.

The pheasant was easy to pluck and dress in my tiny scullery, fit just right roasting in my apartment-sized stove, and as delicious as it was as part of my Thanksgiving dinner, tasted even better for being poached illegally. I felt a little like Robin Hood, except that I wasn’t stealing from the rich, but I was feeding the poor -- me.

Happiness

Happiness is as a butterfly which, when pursued is always beyond our grasp, but which if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you. -- Nathaniel Hawthorne

End of Summer

There is nothing like the fall garden to confirm the end of summer, unless it's the hammock that is no longer being used.

However, in the dark recesses of the spice cabinet there is hope that spring will come again soon.

Power Pole

Does anyone know who dumped this pole in my front yard six weeks ago? The power company? Ok, does anyone know why? If you do, please contact me at BR-549.

Air Show

I was stationed at RAF Alconbury, England, in the early 1980’s flying the U-2 reconnaissance aircraft. Our usual mission was to patrol the borders of East and West Germany and Czechoslovakia to keep an eye on the Warsaw Pact countries. The nine-hour missions flying above 70,000’ could be tedious and boring except that we had the best seat in the world for viewing the incredibly beautiful countryside below.

One summer we were tasked to take a U-2 to Ramstein AB to participate in the airshow at Frankfurt, Germany. Since it was weekend duty it was voluntary (in the military it is “I need volunteers -- you, you, and you!), and when I signed up I was selected to fly the airplane over.

Any time we flew at altitudes above 45,000 feet we had to wear a pressure suit. That was complicated, as it took a whole team of physiological support personnel to care for the suit, dress the pilot, transport the equipment, etc. So it was decided that we’d fly at a low altitude. What I flight! The course took me from England, over the English channel, and across the Netherlands, Belgium, France, and into Germany. I normally flew this route at a much higher altitude, but this time I had a scenic tour of the European countryside, all the picturesque farms and villages, each town with its cathedral and market square. The best part of the flight was descending through the Alsatiatian wine country, across the Rhine, and on to a landing at the airport.

While all the maintenance airmen were off during the airshow, it was the duty of the pilots to stand in front of the airplane and answer questions from the crowd. The airplane was still highly classified, and the area was roped off into a security zone with armed guards, which only added to its mystique. The spectators were very knowledgeable about the U-2 and asked some penetrating questions, not all of which could be answered. When I told one guy that it was OK to take a picture of the airplane, he said, “Yeah, I know, it is painted with that special paint and the picture won’t come out,” and walked off. It was fun being a celebrity of sorts, especially when the people asking for our autographs were pretty young frauleins.

The thing I remember most about that day was buying a beer. I took a break from airplane-sitting duty to get a beer and get out of the hot sun. At the beer tent I saw a buxom blond serving wench in a dirndl, who immediately caught my eye. I ordered a liter of doppelbach, and when she handed it over I saw a big patch of blond hair growing from her armpit. I almost dropped the beer. After the shock I decided that it was kind of sexy, but it sure got my attention!

The airshow was Saturday and Sunday, with all kinds of flying demonstrations and wonderful static displays of every imaginable kind of airplane. It was heaven for any aviation enthusiast, and especially for a participating pilot. We were treated like royalty, much different than our lives back home as “pompous pressure-breathing prima donnas.”

For some reason we were scheduled to return home on Tuesday, rather than Monday. That was a real bonus for me, as my sister was at the base, married to an Air Force Captain stationed there. They both got Monday off, and treated me to a tour of that section of Germany. It was a short drive down into the Mosel Valley to the village of Bernkastel. Bern is German for bear, so everywhere in the village were statues and murals of bears. Very quaint and very beautiful.

Since this was special duty we were on a travel allowance of sorts, $10 a day, I believe, to cover our extra expenses. The high point of the airshow weekend for me was sitting in a biergarten overlooking the Mosel river with my sister and her husband, enjoying a glass of Reisling, thinking, “The Air Force is paying me extra to do this!”

Ageing

You're only young once, but it makes you tired for the rest of your life -- Frank & Ernest

Horoscope

PISCES (Feb 19 - Mar 20): The music of the spheres is a grand orchestra, but the melody is a simple one, heard in the smallest details of nature -- a leaf, the buzz of a bee, the lapping tide. Likewise, you communicate to the world in big and small ways.

A Letter to My Grandson

10 Dec 2001

Hi David,

I was rummaging through the basement and found this picture. Because of all the bombing in Afghanistan I have been thinking a lot about my time flying the B-52. The picture also takes me back to those times, especially since I flew this time of year on Linebacker II missions. The photo was taken of my crew on 27 December 1972 after we landed from a sortie over North Vietnam.

We were flying bombing missions every other day to targets in North and South Vietnam, and occasionally Laos and Cambodia. They were not particularly dangerous, but quite a contrast from the forward air controller missions I had been flying in the south less than a year earlier in an O-2. I went from one of the smallest airplanes in the inventory to the biggest. We flew from Guam in three-ship cells on a flight that normally lasted about 12 hours with one refuelling. Ironically all B-52's flying into Vietnam came inbound to a common point located over the province where I had flown for a year as a FAC. From 41,000 feet I could put my thumb on the windscreen and cover the place I knew like the back of my hand.

In December the Paris peace process stalled and someone decided we should quit piddling around hitting targets of no consequence and bomb the North Vietnamese to the conference table. The result was Operation Linebacker II, which started on the 18th. We started bombing Hanoi and Haiphong in earnest. Our crew flew on the 19th, and the campaign was going very well. However, the mission planners weren't changing the flight plans. As the bombers came in on the same headings at the same times losses started to mount. We had nineteen crews from Blytheville, and lost three in the first few days. It got so bad that the last few sorties were recalled on the way to their targets.

We had a stand down for Christmas. Late that day we received a message to report early the next day for a high protein breakfast. Of course, we knew that meant we were flying. Sure enough we got to our mission briefing on the 26th to find that we were bombing Haiphong. First we got general absolution from the Catholic chaplain, so if we died we'd go straight to heaven. That'll get your attention!

This time things would be different. We were flying with 80 other B-52's from Guam. But instead of flying in formations of three, all 81 airplanes would be in one formation. Not only that, but there were five other waves of B-52's from other bases, and all waves would be bombing at the same time. No longer would we be marching over the targets in single file like a row of sitting ducks. After the briefing the three-star general in charge read us a good-luck message. He was shaking so hard he could hardly read it, and he wasn't even going! Not very inspiring. We were probably too nervous to hear it anyway.

I was a copilot with a senior aircraft commander, so we were the wave lead for all 81 aircraft. We did all the navigating and communications for the entire formation. The B-52's took off one minute apart from Guam, flew over the Philippines, refuelled, then went on to Laos, where for two hours we flew around a big "compression box" so all the aircraft could join up in a tight formation. Then it was up through Laos, across North Vietnam, then south along the coast to Haiphong, our target.

As we approached the target we could see the opposite wave of B-52's on radar coming the other way. The SAM's started coming up, but most of them were shot at the airplanes behind us, as the ground crews would sight in on the lead aircraft and shoot at those following. I counted about 60 SAM's coming up before we dropped our bombs and turned out to sea. Most of the SA-2's would pass through our altitude and arc over as their motors burned out, then explode in a big orange doughnut. It would be a pretty sight if they weren't so deadly. The number three aircraft, two behind us, was turning off target when a SAM went off under him, The pilot had to continue his roll all the way around until the airplane was upright again. I think he was the only pilot to ever roll a B-52.

I don't remember how many B-52's we lost that night, but the wave formations and simultaneous target times worked so well that a few days later the North Vietnamese called a cease fire, and soon after that the war was over. For most of us the primary motivation for flying these missions was to get our prisoners of war back. It worked, but in the process some of our guys became POW's. Strangely, out of the three crews and nineteen crewmembers shot down from Blytheville AFB, we got one guy back from each crew. They all saw fellow crewmates alive on the ground, who were never accounted for.

The missions were scary, in part because they were dangerous, but mostly because you had eight hours on the way to the target to think about dying. Because I had already had a tour in-country, I wasn't as nervous as the rest of my crew who had only been in B-52's. One thing though, there is nothing like facing death to make you feel alive. It was a nice ride home, watching the meteors, then the sun come up, then landing on a South Pacific island and knowing you can spend a couple of days on the beach.

We were the first airplane to land, with the shortest flying time, 14 hrs 10 min after takeoff, and had this picture taken. I did a lot of exciting things in my Air Force career, but this was probably the most intense.

Cheers,

Your Grandfather,

{signed}

Life as a Spectator Sport

This is the same mindset that brought us professional bass fishing.

The Two Princesses

The Princess at leisure.

The other Princess, also at leisure. We got her from Jordan's mother when she was born to a stray in their neighborhood. She walks with me to the highway each morning to fetch the newspaper, then on the way back flops on her back in the driveway to get her morning belly rub. Shamless hussy!

Happiness

You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life. -- Albert Camus

Just do it! -- Nike

End of an Era

Maureen and I have been running Maguire House for ten years. Last year, 2005, we took in $1800 and made a profit of $51. That was OK, though, because we had always intended to run the business as a hobby, and breaking even was fine. Our rewards came from our guests; our entertainment came to us. We particularly enjoyed the weddings, being a part of something so important in the lives of others. Our payback was hearing “What a beautiful house you live in,” or “That’s the best breakfast I’ve ever had.” My niece told us we put on the wedding she had been dreaming of since she was a little girl.

This year we’re much busier and we’ve become victims of our own success. We’ve been pretending that our household insurance covered us. When we got reservations for most weekends through the end of the year and some whole weeks in between, Maureen decided that it was time to look into proper insurance. The best quote we got for liability and property damage coverage was $3800! Things were getting out of hand.

We decided that after the first of the year we could no longer take paying guests. At first I was saddened that we were going to be out of the B&B business. Since Maureen works full time, and since most of our guests come for the weekends, she was spending all her free time cleaning rooms and making beds. I enjoyed the cooking and maintenance, but it was becoming a full-time job. I’m supposed to be retired! We no longer had weekends to call our own.

After talking this through we decided that this might be a blessing in disguise, an opportunity to regain control of the B&B and a large portion of our lives. It is ironic that we could have guests stay for free cheaper than charging them. We would still have family events like Oktoberfest and Mayfest. We never did charge my old AF buddies or family members to visit, or for certain charitable events. Our grandchildren could come for even more overnight visits. The University of Arkansas holds weekend or week-long seminars for foreign exchange students several times a year and looks for host families. Our place would be ideal.

I realized that I was putting off most of the things I had intended to do in retirement. Running the B&B was just one of them. We had a great run of ten years being hosts, and now it was time to say, “Been there, done that.”

I started to sense a new feeling of freedom. I had started taking the Life Writing classes because I wanted to recapture a feeling I had as a teenager of wonder and excitement about the world. Back then I was interested in everything; my hobbies included building model airplanes, collecting skulls, reading about science, electronics, and gardening. When I retired from the Air Force I thought that I would be able to pick up where I left off when I started high school. Not only would I have all the time in the world for my hobbies and interests and adventures, but I would also have the freedom and money to explore anything I wanted.

Somehow it didn’t work that way. I had lost my ability to have fun. The things I enjoyed doing as a youngster no longer held my interest. I would buy a new model or computer program and leave it in the box. It was easier to watch TV or read a book than to start a project. I would start my day looking at the list of chores I should do, and be so overwhelmed by the length of the list that I could not figure out where to start. The problem with being so busy with the B&B was that the amount of work made those decisions for me, and the decisions were all about work and no longer about having fun.

Lately I’m looking forward to the “post B&B” days, anticipating finishing some of the projects I’ve been planning for years. We have been too busy to go out on our sailboat in a year and a half, and “Dragon Lady” is suffering from neglect. There are a chicken coop, greenhouse, and tree house to build. We will be able to take more trips, even to go to St. Louis, or New Orleans, or the Florida panhandle on a long weekend. When I first retired I worked as a volunteer in the hospital emergency room, and soon should have the time to volunteer at the VA hospital or the Civil Air Patrol. Even cleaning out the basement and garage are starting to sound like fun when I have to time to do them. I have not been fishing or flying or bike riding since Maguire House opened.

I don’t think I’ll have to struggle too much to make my second retirement better than the first, in the pursuit of the ability to have fun.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving from the Pilgrims!

Grandkids

Our grandchildren live in Prairie Grove, about half an hour away. They are able to visit with us often, which we really enjoy. We particularly like it when just one visits, and we are able to give each some individual attention and get to know them better.

Nicholas is our star athlete. He excels at baseball, football, and basketball while still making straight A's. At 11 years old he is growing up too fast.

Braden is our "Nature Boy." He is an excellent student, but would rather be tracking down wildlife on his Grandmother's 4-wheeler. He is the only person we know who has land crabs for pets.

Jordan likes to dress up and have her picture taken. She is our "Princess," 5 years old going on 16, but she holds her own with her brothers.

This is our daughter, Christa. You can see where the grandchildren get their beauty and talents. Like many women today, Christa is balancing family, household, and career. We don't know anyone who does it better. She is our hero, and we are very proud of her.

Philosophy

If you're fortunate enough to get to do what you want in this world, be happy about it.

A World in a Grain of Sand

When I was about 12 I got a microscope for Christmas. I don’t remember whether I asked for it or not, and I later realized that it was just an inexpensive, simple instrument. It soon became the most precious thing I owned.

The microscope opened my eyes to a world that was hidden. Wonderful things that were invisible to the naked eye became visible, things that I had not even imagined.

I was at an age when I was starting to question what I had been told all my life. The magnificent images under the microscope, the revealed truths, made more sense to me than what the nuns said about angels and holy ghosts and devils that I would never see. The natural world started to take its place in my world of spirituality.

So, what did I look at? I went through the kitchen and examined every powder I could find: sugar, salt, powdered sugar, brown sugar, cornstarch, cornmeal, and on and on. One of my favorite tricks was to take a drop of saltwater and watch as the water dried and the salt formed crystals across the slide, growing from specks to building-sized cubes. I could see the molasses specks in the brown sugar that gave it color. The finest powdered sugar was still made of crystals.

The outside world was full of wonders. I examined the scales on butterfly wings, the lacy pattern of flies’ wings, all kinds of bee parts and ant legs and spiders’ eyes. The microscope made me aware of the variety of life around me, and as I explored my back yard I was constantly on the alert for more subjects for examination.

You can hardly imagine the different structures and materials in sand, all sizes and colors and transparencies of tiny crystals and cubes. Hair is scaly, not smooth; the edge of a razor blade is ragged, not sharp. The fiber from every fabric and animal is distinctive.

The biological and botanical worlds are full of wonder. Under the microscope every plant, flower, and animal had secrets to reveal. I used to catch a guppy from my aquarium, wrap it in wet cotton wool, then watch as blood cells traveled single file through capillaries in the tail. Blood, skin, leaves, and dust bunnies all willingly gave up their secrets.

There is a world in a grain of sand, but an even more fascinating one in a drop of pond water. A seemingly clear drop of water could contain creatures more interesting than anything in a zoo. I would watch for on hour as an amoeba slithered across my slide or a paramecium moved its slipper foot along looking for the other creatures. At least it would until the water dried up!

My world was never the same. I would take fewer things on faith and believe fewer things that I could not discover for myself. I would be a hard critic, but not so much that I could not appreciate the truth in, say, the poetry of William Blake: “To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palms of your hand and eternity in an hour”

Jack

Jack O'Lantern was a fine looking pumpkin at Halloween. Perhaps it was all the trick-or-treat candy that did him in!