Just when I thought our chance had passed, cucumbers saved the best 'till last!

The cries of victory likely could be heard to the next county--or to the next back yard, at least.

"We have one!" I heard Hubby exult somewhere amid the large expanse of vine in the middle of the garden. "It really did produce this year."

The cucumber vines had been gorgeous--all green and growing and huge. One would think that from them we'd have enough cucumbers to supply everyone in our hometown, or at least to make enough bread-and-butters to give to the family.

But alas! For weeks now, no cucumbers had turned up. Almost daily hubby would peer and paw around for some sign of life. The vines continued to spread out and become more lush, but very forelornly he would return from his hunt. No baby cukes under there.

That's what made this week's cry of joy from somewhere under the cucumber vines such a shock. We'd given up. Isn't that the way things just go? A popular song from a few years back sums things up pretty well: "Just when I thought our chance had passed, you went and saved the best 'till last."

Here as the summer moves on toward its finale, cucumbers--which usually are history at this point in the year--are starting to show. Just when time to plant the fall garden draws near, the cucumbers show promise (he says more blossoms are growing near the cucumber that's burst forth.)

But that's not all. Watermelons and cantaloupe are experiencing a late start as well. The watermelon vine, at this late date, has three promising melons and numerous other possibilities. The cantaloupe might have a late-summer bumper crop, too. Isn't life amazing?

Last night we celebrated our late-bloomer cuke with one of my all-time favorite cucumber dishes--Fried Cucumbers (prepared just like Fried Green Tomatoes) from my new cookbook, Way Back in the Country Garden. We shouldn't have, but Hubby and I were so ecstatic that the cucumbers had "made" this year, we poured a tiny bit of ketchup on and ate the whole bloomin' plate full.

Fried Cucumbers

4 medium cucumbers, washed, peeled, and sliced crosswise in thin slices

2 eggs, beaten (we use egg substitute)

1 cup milk (we use skim milk)

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup cornmeal

1 teaspoon salt (we use salt substitute)

1/2 teaspoon pepper

olive oil

Wash, peel, an slice fresh cucumbers. A few at a time, dip cucumber slices in a mixture of beaten eggs combined with milk. Place flour and corn meal in a clear plastic zip bag; add salt and pepper. Into bag place cucumbers that have been dipped in egg-mik mixture. In skillet heat about 1-inch oil. Fry coated cucumbers in hot oil. Fry as you would fried green tomatoes.

Even without a partridge, new pear tree yields fruit for delicious cake

No, our pear tree has no partridge, but that's about the only thing it lacks.

Were we excited when we looked out our patio door and spotted the telltale signs of growth on our relatively new pear, which we have had in the ground only about two years!

"They'll be small this year," Hubby projected, ever optimistically, about the expected fruit. "Next year will probably be its year to shine."

Happily he was wrong. The small green projections kept growing and burgeoning--until they suddenly became the size of those you see in the grocery store produce aisle. They even sported a trace of characteristic amber blush, as though they were straight out of a still-life painting. Just beautiful. We admired and admired--but didn't pick. They still were way too firm to the touch.

"They'll ripen up soon," Hubby projected.

Wrong again. The pears just kept hanging there; they weighed down the branches. Birds began eyeing them longingly, or so we feared.

As a test case we brought one of the fruit in and set it on the window ledge to ripen. Works for peaches, why not pears? A few days passed. The supposedly ripening pear still was like a brick--a beautiful brick, but decidedly non-edible. Hubby tried to cut up one to use in a smoothie--bad choice.

Good ole Google. I entered my question, "How do I get pears to ripen?" Instant comfort--I wasn't the first to struggle with this dilemma. Google empathized and furnished me the answer to someone's similar query: Place unripened pears in a brown paper bag, keep bag closed, store away from light in a dry place. To speed things along, alongside them in the bag place another already ripe fruit. All this we did; our bagged pears hid out with a ripened apple.

Two days later--fulfillment! Wonderfully soft pears, thoroughly ripe and ready for a smoothie, Hubby supposed. Not so fast, I told him. I pulled out my Pear Cake recipe (from my new cookbook, Way Back in the Country Garden). The first time I baked this cake years ago, I did so with pears from my neighbor's orchard. This time I wanted the privilege of using my own.

The recipe suggests baking the cake either in a tube pan or loaf pans; I chose the loaf pans so I could make two--one for now and one to freeze to take to my daughter next month when New Grandboy arrives. Then I added a glaze--not mentioned in Way Back in the Country Garden but a favorite that I like to use to give breakfast breads or loaf cakes a little something special.

The resulting cake with its fresh pear morsels was such a gift, I felt as though I'd been handed the partridge, two turtledoves, three French hens, four calling birds, and five golden rings all tied up in one special package.

Pear Cake

3 cups chopped pears

2 cups sugar (I used sugar substitute)

1 cup oil

3 cups all-purpose flour

2 eggs (I used egg substitute)

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground cloves

1 teaspoon ground allspice

2 teaspoons soda

1 teaspoon salt (I used salt substitute)

1 cup pecans, chopped

Mix first three ingredients; let stand for one hour. Beat eggs and add to pear mixture. Sift all dry ingredients together and add to pear mixture. Add chopped pecans. Pour into greased and floured tube pan or two loaf pans. Bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour.

Glaze:

3/4 cup sugar (or sugar substitute)

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

1 teaspoon butter flavoring

1/2 teaspoon almond extract

1/4 cup orange juice

Mix ingredients in bowl. Immediately when the cake is out of the oven, use toothpick to pierce the cake all over, but don't leave the toothpick in the cake. Spoon glaze over each loaf. Allow to cool in pans.

The Dog- (aka okra-pickin'-every-day) days of summer are here again

The hot, sticky, okra-pickin'-every-day, dog days of summer clearly are at hand.

In a predictable ritual now, each late afternoon Hubby exits carrying his paring knife, gloves, and plastic bag and heads to the garden to see what's ready on the okra rows.

To be usable for cooking at all, new okra pods must be removed quickly from the plant. Let them stay a day too long, and they're tough as leather; the knife can hardly hack its way through the pod to slice the okra to prepare for a meal. (When this happens, hubby throws the hardened okra on the ground, knowing the pod will leave seeds for the next year's garden.)

At this point many gardeners let their okra go to seed or chop down the mighty plants that by now are as tall as a person. Okra-pickin', at this stage, is not necessarily a joyful task. Sweltering days combined with the itchy okra leaves can make for some unpleasantness. Many okra-pickers find they must wear long-sleeves to avoid succumbing to the itchiness. Interestingly, cutting the okra is like deadheading a rose or a geranium--removing the new pods simply makes more grow in their place.

But I have far too many favorite as well as untried okra recipes remaining in my file to turn my back on this harvest. (As I mentioned in an earlier blog, on years that we don't grow okra, we always regret the lack thereof.)

Plus in my refrigerator I had some ears of fresh corn that needed to be used up in a recipe. Hubby's most recent trek to the garden gave me reason to prepare Okra Creole, a divine veggie combination (okra, corn, tomatoes, onion, green peppers) that holds a place of honor in my new cookbook, Way Back in the Country Garden. (In the Vegetable Side section of the cookbook it is the first one listed.)

Hubby and I used it to top some leftover pasta we had in the refrigerator. The next night (we loved it so much, we prepared it two nights in a row--with fresh okra each night) we served it over crumbled (low-sodium) tortilla chips. For tonight's leftovers we may serve it over brown rice, but it's wonderful on its own without using it as any kind of extras.

With more dog/okra days undoubtedly ahead, many more trips to the okra "grove" undoubtedly are in Hubby's future.

Okra Creole

3 or 4 slices bacon (I use turkey bacon)

1/2 cup chopped onion

1 green pepper, chopped

3 tablespoons bacon drippings (I use 3 tablespoons olive oil)

18 okra pods, sliced

2 fresh tomatoes, sliced, or 1 cup canned tomatoes, undrained (if canned, I use the no-salt-added variety)

1 cup fresh corn

1/2 teaspoon salt (I use salt substitute)

1/2 teaspoon cajun seasoning (I use salt-free, such as Mrs. Dash)

In large skillet fry 3 or 4 slice bacon. Reserve 3 tablespoons bacon drippings and let it remain in skillet. Crumble bacon. In skillet saute onion and pepper. Return crumbled bacon to skillet. Add sliced okra pods, tomatoes, corn, and seasonings. Simmer covered for 15 minutes.

Christmas in July arrives with cauliflower/avocado medley

Some people do their Christmas shopping early. I do my Christmas-recipe planning well in advance.

Already I've been making notations in the margins of recipes, "Prepare for this year's Christmas buffet." I've scoped out recipes that in one way or another seem to lend themselves to potlucks that pop up at holiday time. Such invitations, though received joyfully, usually are accompanied by a frantic, frustrated sigh: "What in the world can I fix to take?"

I try to anticipate the holiday crunch and help myself out a little. Naturally now would be too early to prepare and freeze a dish, but at least during crunch-time maybe I can find my anticipatory notes to myself and already have a plan in place.

Nothing about Cauliflower Avocado Bake immediately conjures up "Jingle Bells", but the Christmas colors of this vegetable medley (not to mention the absolutely delightful flavor combination of this surprising mixture) would make it a true joy for a holiday take-a-dish event.

I had some leftover cauliflower from when I prepared "Broccoli and Cauliflower Salad" from Truett Welborn's cookbook that honored his mother, Neta (mentioned in my last week's blog.) Hubby looked in the vegetable compartment of the fridge and remarked, "Don't forget the rest of the cauliflower. We need to use it before it goes bad." True, cauliflower rapidly shows its age by getting brown spots or darkened areas. What could I throw together quickly to use up the leftover cauliflower bunch? I didn't have any occasions in which I needed to prepare a veggie tray to cut it up for munchies.

Under my "cauliflower" section of "Celebrating a Healthy Harvest" I found instructions for Cauliflower Avocado Bake. Cauliflower and avocado? Whoever heard of pairing those two? But avocado can make anything better. I decided to try it. Then the colors starting arraying themselves: the green for the avocado, green pepper, green onions, and parsley; the red from the red pepper; white from the cauliflower. Plus grated cheddar cheese on top (every casserole--at Christmas or otherwise--needs a little cheese topping, right?)

Like every other recipe that I prepare from my "Healthy Harvest" booklet, the results were highly unusual and extremely good. The melted cheddar cheese linked the cauliflower and avocado in a seamless flavor combo. As I mentioned earlier, the holiday colors represented the crowning touch. "Hark the Herald Angels Sing"--Christmas is just five months away! Recipe-wise, I'm ready!

Cauliflower Avocado Bake

1 large cauliflower (about 1 1/2 pounds), broken into florets

1 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon black pepper

1 large avocado, cut into 1/2-inch chunks

1 tablespoons cooking oil

1 red pepper, cut into thin strips

1 small green pepper, cut into thin strips

4 green onions, chopped

3 tablespoons fresh parsley, diced

2 cloves garlic, finely minced

1/4 pound sharp cheddar cheese, grated

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Steam or boil cauliflower 5 minutes until tender; drain. Grease a 13-inch-by-9-inch baking dish. Spread cauliflower evenly in pan. Sprinkle with salt and pepper; top with avocado chunks. In a skillet over medium heat saute peppers 3 minutes or until softened. Stir in green onions, parsley, and garlic; cook 2 minutes more. Spread mixture over cauliflower; top with grated cheese. Bake 20 minutes until cheese is bubbly. Makes 6 servings.

Yes, you can adapt old unhealthy recipes to the more health-conscious era today

I admit that at first, I was a little deflated. No blackberries at this farmer's market, after the signs for miles along the road specifically promised me I'd find them there. Out for the rest of the season, the proprietors told me.

Then, on looking further, I found something that replaced my disappointment with joy. Fresh apricots--sometimes considered one of nature's most delightful creations. Years had gone by since I had prepared that special apricot recipe that makes the most average cook look like Paula Deen--a bit time-consuming, yes, but the results are outta-sight good.

So, amid hubby's protests of "I hope we use them up", I smugly placed a pound and a half of fresh apricots on the clerk's checkout table. I had a plan; I knew just how I'd execute it.

I first had to dig out the recipe from the brown-stained pages of my cookbook, Flavor Favorites (circa 1979), containing favorite alumni picks of Baylor U, my alma mater. As my husband says of some of my well-dogeared cookbook relics, "That doesn't represent the way we cook any more." True--many cookbooks on my shelf predate today's "cooking-light" era. You can see this as you leaf through them--recipes that are heavy on sauces and rely on canned and pre-packaged items to assemble it.

However, even yesterday's popular, fat-laden recipes can be adapted to a more health-conscious approach. Fat-free evaporated milk, the lighter Neufchatel cheese instead of cream cheese, and sugar substitute instead of regular sugar represent adaptations that can make a favorite of bygone days much more suitable to today's healthy-eating needs.

The dough for these baked fried pies is malleable, never sticks to the floured pastry board, rolls out thin, and bakes up into a delightful, flaky pastry to surround the sliced apricots that have been cooked briefly to coat themselves into a light syrup from their own juices. Drizzle a little powdered-sugar icing on top; you have a delicacy that looks as though you purchased it from the most upscale bakery. Best of all these mini-pies freeze superbly, in case you want to sample a few for now and then store them away for later company or an upcoming special event.

So to answer Hubby's concern, yes, we used them up in a heartbeat! One bite into those sweet, juicy mini pies made my find of fresh apricots all the more rewarding--even better than turning up those much-sought blackberries at a roadside stand. Best of all, Hubby took the seeds that emerged after peeling the fresh apricots and planted them in our garden. Now wouldn't that be the most exciting thing ever--if one of them actually decided to grow (to their credit, apricots are said to be even more cold-hardy than peach trees) and some day give us our own apricot orchard!

Baked Apricot Fried Pies

1 pound apricots

1 cup sugar (I use sugar substitute)

1 (8-ounce) package cream cheese, softened (I use Neufchatel with less fat content)

1 cup butter, softened (I use no-salt butter)

2 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon salt (I use salt substitute)

About 1 cup powdered sugar (1 cup when sifted)

evaporated milk (I use fat-free)

Peel and slice apricots. Place in saucepan; pour sugar over. Cook until apricots are tender. Set aside. Blend well the cream cheese, butter, flour and salt. Chill several hours. Roll thin on a floured surface. Cut into 4-inch squares. Place 1 teaspoon apricot mixture in center of each square. Fold square in half; crimp edges. Place on a lightly greased cookie sheet; bake at 375 degrees for 10 minutes. Combine powdered sugar and enough evaporated milk to make a glaze. Drizzle over hot pies. Drizzled glaze will harden. Yield: 12-15 mini pies.

Once again in our family, fresh peaches mark a time of celebrating

In our family peaches always have seemed to be synonymous with a celebration; the events of a few days ago were no exception.

In this blog and in my new cookbook, Way Back in the Country Garden, I write about the Quick Peach Cobbler that once was served when my cousin, Lynda, and her fiance, George, visited our house to discuss their upcoming wedding ceremony. The peaches in that cobbler represented the renewal of our peach orchard, since floods had wiped out our first prolific peach trees some years back.

Earlier this week I stirred up Fresh Peach Muffins on the occasion of another great event. Family and friends from all over gathered here for a baby shower for our daughter, Katie, who's on the verge of giving birth to a baby boy.

I served the muffins to houseguests--our brother- and sister-in-law--who traveled down from Oklahoma to help honor Katie. Biting into these sweet muffins and tasting a peach morsel that hailed from our now-prolific orchard always has been pure delight.

These loved ones' visit produced another reason for celebrating. On Monday we journeyed back across the Red River for the grand opening of the brand-new, $145 million, state-of-the-art Chickasaw Nation Hospital in Ada, OK. Because my hubby and his sister (and all their Moore blood kin) are Chickasaw Nation citizens, the health care that they will be able to obtain from this beautiful medical center will be provided for them at no charge to them. No wonder they wasted no time in taking the grand-opening tour and seeing what this marvelous new facility had to offer them.

In my way of thinking these terrific blessings couldn't happen to a more deserving bunch. My hubby and his two siblings were left without a father when their dad, who actually was born on the old Chickasaw reservation just months before Oklahoma became a state , died an untimely death as the three Moore children were teen-agers. Their widowed mom struggled for years to support, on her own, her children. All three ultimately were college graduates; two obtained advanced degrees. But their early lot was not an easy one. Deprived of a father's love and nurture and provision during their crucial teen-age years, they did not have a family's financial security to undergird them as they were launched into the adult world.

Now, as these three Baby Boomers enter their senior years, the benefits that are theirs through their father's bloodline of his Chickasaw heritage are absolutely astounding. The once-poor tribe today flourishes because of outstanding modern leadership that practices the best of financial stewardship and management. Medical care is but one of the incredible, mind-bogging perks that recently have arrived at their doorsteps as a result of their father's kinship to Chickasaw ancestors (my new cookbook details this in the chapter, "One Smart Indian".) These youngsters who spent anxious years of heartache without a dad's paycheck to give them life's necessities now at long-last are having that made up to them as they become seniors. I can think of no more worthy group of people; I'm thankful that the Lord enabled them to live long enough to see their Chickasaw connection (of which many people once were ashamed because of discriminatory attitudes against Native Americans) bring great blessings to their lives.

Sparkling new hospital wings that offer dental, hearing, and eye care as well as clinics for routine physical exams and testing were proudly toured by our family group. Naturally an emergency room, operating rooms, and critical care areas were a part of the new structure as well. Certainly one can hope that good health will prevail and that the occasions to visit such a place will be few, but the Chickasaw Nation can be proud of having this fine facility for its people in time of need.

Hooray, Fresh Peach Muffins! Once again, you crowned a day well-worth celebrating.

Fresh Peach Muffins

1 egg (we use egg substitute)

1 cup milk (we use skim)

1/4 cup melted shortening

2/3 cup sugar (we use sugar substitute)

1/2 teaspoon salt (we use salt substitute)

1/4 teaspoon cinnamon

1 teaspoon lemon juice

1/4 teaspoon vanilla

2 cups all-purpose flour

3 teaspoons baking powder

1 cup peeled, chopped, fresh peaches

Beat egg. Stir in milk, shortening, sugar, salt, cinnamon, lemon juice, and vanilla. Sift together flour and baking powder. Stir into milk mixture until all is blended. Do not overmix. Fold in peaches. Fill greased muffin cups 2/3 full. Bake at 450 degrees for 20 minutes or until brown. Serve warm.

Great country-fresh recipes get perpetuated with two guys' cookbook exchange

Two males, no less, recently engaged in a highly significant cookbook swap at a meeting of a Garland city governing body.

My hubby--my biggest fan--and his fellow City of Garland Plan Commissioner, Truett Welborn, toted and traded brand-new cookbooks that were near and dear to their hearts. While Truett got to take home to his wife, Linda, a hot-off-the-press copy of Way Back in the Country Garden, Hubby brought me a copy of Neta's Favorites. As a result I acquired a wonderful new country-fresh recipe . . . and confirmed what I've maintained in my own books--that when special recipes are shared, memories of a person go on forever.

Truett's book is one he compiled to honor his mom, Neta Welborn, who died in 2009. Not only was Neta a reputed great cook for her family, she also prepared food for kids at Greenville Senior High School and Lamar School and in her time also was a church hostess. Some of her recipes, such as Neta's Hot Dogs, were original to her and were highly regarded by students in her cafeteria line.

Along with each recipe Truett included one of his mother's favorite maxims, such as "You never know what you can do until you try" (my mother pontificated this one to me as well) and "What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve over" (a good warning for those of us who sometimes suffer from "Too Much Information" when we pore over our loved ones' escapades on Facebook.)

The recipe I was happiest to see among those in Neta's collection was one for Broccoli and Cauliflower Salad, which I adore when it's offered at a cafeteria such as Luby's or Furr's but which I never have prepared in my own kitchen. I've always wanted to know just exactly what those cafeteria cooks use in that terrific salad dish, which is just brimming with healthy vegetables.

Now, thanks to Neta (and Truett's work in preserving his mother's masterpieces), all is revealed. Just this past weekend, when we had family members as houseguests, I got to serve Broccoli and Cauliflower Salad (featured below) for the first time. I felt as though I really had accomplished something.

I love what Truett says about his mom: "The reason this recipe book was started was because if your recipes are not shared with your family and friends, they will soon be forgotten, but when they are shared, your memory will go on forever." (Preach on, Brother! Exactly my reason for producing first Way Back in the Country in 2002 and then Way Back in the Country Garden in 2010.)

Best of all he concludes by saying of his mom the same statement I draw about my relatives whom my cookbooks honor: "Most of all I know you loved the Lord and you are now in heaven."

What greater words could ever be spoken--even in a cookbook--of a loved one who's gone before?

Broccoli and Cauliflower Salad

Salad:

6 to 8 slices of bacon, fried and crumbled (we used turkey bacon)

1 head broccoli

1 to 2 cups grated mild cheddar cheese

1 cup mushrooms

1 head cauliflower

1 small onion

Dressing:

1 cup light sour cream (we used fat-free)

1 cup light salad dressing or mayonnaise (we used fat-free)

1/2 to 1 cup sugar (or sugar substitute)

Cut broccoli and cauliflower into bite-sized bits. Chop mushrooms. Toss together all salad ingredients. Mix dressing ingredients and pour over salad. When vegetables are evenly coated, refrigerate at least one hour or overnight before you serve.