ENCHILADA ENTERPRISE

The menu for a church dinner depends on where it’s held. In the mid-West, it’s usually chili or spaghetti that is served. In Louisiana, folks gather to eat seafood gumbo and Po’ Boy sandwiches. In the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, stacks of pasties are enjoyed by those who gather around the tables. In Boston, no doubt, baked beans and clam chowder are the main attractions. In north Texas, barbequed ribs are popular.

In south Texas, however, everything, including church dinners, have a Mexican flavor. For over forty years, the little Methodist church we attend in Edcouch, Texas, has annually served a fund-raising dinner of enchiladas made by the members of the congregation.

For all of you non-Texans, perhaps we need to explain the nature of an enchilada. A small tortilla is rolled around one of various fillings: meat, beans, or cheese. The rolled tortilla is then nestled tightly in a pan with others of his kind and they are generously covered with grated cheese and a thick sauce. I suspect that every cook has her own favorite recipe for enchilada sauce including ground meat or refried beans, and tomato sauce, and spices which can vary from bland to three-alarm fire in the mouth! The enchiladas are then baked in the oven until bubbly and served hot with rice and beans, some type of salad and a sweet pastry for dessert.

As you can guess, making enchiladas is labor-intensive. But it’s also fun when it becomes a party! About twenty of us gathered on the appointed Saturday morning in the former fellowship hall of the church. (It and the Sunday School rooms are now rented out to a Head Start program for local children.) Tables had been set up and prepared with coverings of wax paper, stacks of warm tortillas and piles of grated cheese.



We carefully scrubbed our hands, took a seat and began rolling the first of the 3000 enchiladas that would be needed that evening. It’s a simple enough routine but the folks who have been doing it for 35 or forty years have exacting standards for the finished product!

1. Take one warm tortilla. Put a small handful of grated cheese near one end of it. (Don’t use too much cheese or the supply will run out before we reach the magic number!)

2. Gently roll the tortilla around the strip of grated cheese until it is a compact little roll. (If you get in too big a hurry the tortilla may tear and have to be discarded – or eaten. If so, we might run out before the 3000 are prepared.)

3. Lay it tenderly in the prepared pan, lining up exactly nine of your culinary creations in each row. (It has to be nine because each serving at tonight’s feast will be three.)

4. Take a deep breath, and start all over again, and again, and again!

Helpers kept us supplied with warm tortillas, piles of grated cheese, empty pans to replace those we filled, and wax paper so we could stack the finished product in the larger pans. Sometime in mid-morning fresh doughnuts and pastries from the local bakery were passed around.

Before we knew it, we were done. We had rolled about 3000 tortillas, enjoyed several pots of coffee, finished off the doughnuts and pastries, caught up with local news, discussed some church business, admired the homemade pies coming in for the upcoming feast, and begun to set up for the evening’s event.

We’re glad we’ve had the opportunity to learn this new south Texas skill! No doubt it will be invaluable to us in our old age! After several years of experience as described above, our advice to you is this: never roll enchiladas alone. It’s lots more fun in a crowd!

"BELIEVE IT OR NOT" TRAFFIC

On our way home from a local shopping trip yesterday, we witnessed the unbelievable! We were northbound in the right lane on a four-lane street, waiting for the light to change from red to green. Traffic was heavy and the lines of vehicles waiting with us were long and closely packed together.

Suddenly, a large old car turned left off the cross street, heading south on our street. With little hesitation, it then turned left again, right into waiting line of vehicles on our left! At a right angle to the direction of the stopped traffic, the car inched its way between the tail of the truck in front to our left and the front of the car stopped beside us. We couldn’t believe our eyes.

The driver continued creeping forward until the nose of his gas guzzler was aimed at our front bumper. His car was now crosswise to our direction of travel. We were close behind the truck in front of us so it was a tight squeeze for the crazy car to get through. Ever so carefully, the dumb and daring driver continued his forward progress between the grill of our truck and the tailgate of the truck ahead. It must have been frustrating because he began to point his finger at us, making stabbing motions, as if to say, "Back off! You didn’t leave me enough room to get through!"

We did not move. We could not move. The vehicle behind us was too close. Besides that, we were in "traffic shock," unable to comprehend what was taking place. We listened for the sound of scraping metal – but it didn’t happen. The driver squeezed past us, blindly crossed the right turn lane, and zipped into the gas station on our right.

All we could do was stare at each other in response to this jaw-dropping traffic maneuver. Then we broke out in the laughter of disbelief. If we hadn’t seen it with our own eyes, we never would have believed that idiots like that would be allowed to drive! (Perhaps the anticipation of encounters like this is why he drives an old clunker.)   A new item for Ripley’s "Believe It or Not."

ENOUGH ALREADY

I don’t want to sound ungrateful,

Lord, I’m thankful for the rain.

I’m glad to see the flowers bloom

And grass get green again.

The drought is finally broken

As raindrops fall so steady.

But really, don’t You think that it

Has rained enough already?

The drought caused folks to pray for rain.

(Perhaps I’m being petty!)

You answered "Yes" and showers came

For weeks! Enough already!

Our world has turned from dust to mud,

and all we touch is gritty.

Our clothes are damp and clammy.

That’s rain enough already.

Your rain falls on both good and bad

The Good Book tells us so.

But what about Your sunshine?

Oh, how we’d like to know

What we can do to bring it back.

Those rays would make us giddy!

Please send the sun to cheer us up.

We’re soaked enough already!

ETERNAL DANCERS

They must be at least in their 80s.   Almost everywhere and anytime we go out dancing we see them. They are stately and attractive, neatly and modestly dressed in fashions of several decades ago.   Their faces show the signs of a wisdom gathered over a lifetime.

He is tall and distinguished, a gentleman with manners learned in the days when men opened doors for women and pampered them in other ways.   She is a lady from the top of her perfect hair-do to the soles of her color coordinated shoes.   She wears thick glasses but they cannot hide the smile in her eyes that lights up her whole face.   They are oblivious to the crowded dance floor and the noise of the other dancers as they gaze affectionately into each other’s face.

And, hour after hour, they dance.   In the midst of the dance floor, they waltz, two-step or invent their own steps to the varying rhythms of the music.   Their steps are tiny and their movements sedate, but always faithful to the beat.   They rarely sit out a dance.   When one piece of music ends, they wait patiently on the dance floor in each other’s arms for the next piece to begin.  They seem to have an endless supply of energy for dancing.

One evening she came into the ladies’ room just as I was going out.   I remarked to her how much I enjoyed watching the two of them dance.   She smiled, thanked me, and said, "Yes, we do like to dance."

I went on to express my amazement at the energy and stamina which enabled them to dance every dance without resting.   "Well," she replied, "we’ve been dancing since 8 o’clock this morning, and we do that most days of the week."

I left her presence shaking my head in disbelief.   How do they do it? I am at least ten years younger than they are.   And yet, I get tired and have to sit out a few dances every hour to rest.

I’ve not yet discovered their secret for having endless energy for dancing – or anything else, for that matter!   But research tells us that activity is the key to healthy aging and longevity.   If that is the case, those two may live forever!   I can almost see them dancing right into eternity!


 mshr

INFLUENZA INQUISITION: TRIAL BY VIRUS

The word "Inquisition" originally meant a formal time of questioning in search for the truth. In the 1300's, however, the Pope used that word to describe a series of heresy trials he conducted across Europe.

The proceedings were formal and considered legal by the church. However, the accused had no rights in the trial, did not know the charges against him and was denied any defense. The goal of the proceedings was for the accused to confess his error, repent and be restored into the good graces of Mother Church.

Punishment for the non-repentant was death by public burning at the stake. If, as the fires were lighted at the feet of the condemned, he showed any sign of repentence, he was given a more merciful death: his throat was slit to hasten his demise before the flames consumed his body!

Two hundred years later in Spain, the process of Inquisition gained a new level of notoriety and terror. King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella had finally banished all the (Moslem) Moors from their land and had forced all Jews either into exile or conversion to Christianity. They convinced the Pope to mind his own business and let them take care of their own heretics.

The Spanish Inquisition discovered that the quickest and most reliable way to move an accused heretic to confess his sins was by torture. They perfected various forms of external persuasion: an early form of water-boarding, "holding the feet" of the accused "to the fire," suspending the condemned up off the floor by a chain connected only to his upward-extended arms.

Punishment for the non-repentant was always the same: death by public burning at the stake. Some historians estimate that perhaps as many as 2000 hapless Spaniards - of both genders and all ages – died in this way before the practice fell out of favor in 1530. Statistics are not available on death penalities administered by Inquisition courts in Spanish colonies in the New World.

What, you may wonder, does this have to do with anything? I don’t know. However, after nearly two weeks of confinement against my will and torturous misery, I’ve concluded that I must have unknowingly offended the high priests of the "ïnfluenza gods!" They snatched me away into the prisons of the Influenza Inquisition, where I languished without help or hope.

The initial capture was so sudden and sinister that I hardly remember it at all. I felt cool and began to chill; everything ached and I was totally energy-less. I remember wondering, "Is this how it feels to be dying?" For two and a half days I did not know where I was, who I was, or whether I really was at all!

Then, of course, there was the misery. There was not a part of my body that did not ache! But, how clever are those viral torturers of the Influenza Inquisition! Instead of importing tools of torture from the outside, they just turned my natural body processes against me! They invited in some of their bad bacterial buddies to join in the misery-making. The "bacteria boys" seemed to prefer my throat, neck, ears and sinuses! Eating became yet another new kind of torture.

The only questions being asked in this Influenza Inquisition were my own: "What did I do to deserve this?" "Why me?" "Where did I catch this?" "Why am I being tortured like this?" "What am I guilty of?" "What heresy do you want me to admit to? I don’t care what it is, I’ll confess to it!"

After three days of this on-going torture, I decided to appeal to a Higher Power. I called the doctor! He was not the least bit intimidated by my viral and bacterial torturers. He checked me over, did a blood test to determine that there was, indeed, a bacterial infection as well as the flu.

Then he pulled out his 21^st century arsenal of anti-illness miracles: a shot of antibiotic, and prescriptions for a Z-Pak and high powered cough medicine. He sent me home and kicked the Influenza Inquisition back out into outer space where I hope it stays for all eternity! Now, sixteen days after the beginning of this nightmare, I am regaining power over my own bodily well-being little by little!  Thank God (the real, true One, that is!), I am finally recuperating from my recent trial by virus!



22 Jan 2012 - mshr

A SUGARY TALE

Contrary to the popular cliche, agriculture is the oldest profession of humankind. It’s as old as Genesis and continues to flourish in the 21st century. That’s a blessing because most of us are addicted to eating.

We grew up in Ohio and Pennsylvania, where corn, wheat, oats, soybeans, cattle and pigs were the primary products of the farms. Then we became Winter Texans. In the Rio Grande Valley for six months, we found ourselves in the midst of an agricultural mystery.

What was causing these frequent plumes of smoke and air-borne ash? Where were all these identical trucks – yellow cabs and fence-like trailers – coming from or going to? And the many acres of bright green plants with fronds instead of leaves? What was hiding behind the clouds of steam and smoke belching from a small factory along a busy highway a few miles east of our park?

We discovered that we were living in sugar cane country! Most of the sugar cane grown in the U.S. comes from Louisiana and Alabama. But there are three counties in deep southeast Texas where the soil and weather are suitable for growing cane. Sugar cane is not one of the major sources of income for farmers in this area. However, for half of the year,  harvesting, processing, and shipping out the raw product is a major operation in our area. That’s because the only sugar mill in Texas is just about 15 miles east of our RV park.


We find the “sugar cane cycle” to be fascinating; very different from what we knew of farming in the mid-West. We thought it might be of interest to you corn farmers of Ohio and Indiana, too.

Sugar cane plants can regenerate themselves from the same root for several years.  The same planting can be harvested for as many as five or more years.

The plants, however, are hard on the soil.  So most growers plow them under after about five years.  The field is then planted in some type of ground cover which will replenish the nutrients of the soil.

The following year new sugar cane starts are planted in the field and the cycle begins again.

The crop matures in about a year.  Three varieties of cane plants -- early, mid and late season types -- extend the harvest season over six months, from September through March.  In Hidalgo County where we live the harvest season is spectacular.

The season is ushered in by the appearance of tell-tale plumes of smoke on near-by horizons.

Then, as we travel the roads of the county, we see more and more warning signs like this.  The signs remind us why cane fields are always planted with broad, "firebreaks" on all four sides of the crop.

Several days after the warning signs have been posted the harvest begins in that field.  The first step of the harvest is an eye-popping, ear-splitting extravaganza!  This large tractor arrives at the field.  It has a loudspeaker mounted on top and tows a flame-thrower behind.  It circles the field several times loudly announcing -- in both Spanish and English -- that the field will soon be burned and that anyone who might be in the field should leave it immediately.

A tractor with a tank full of water in tow is stationed along the nearby roadside in case the fire gets out of control.  Traffic control personnel and vehicles are put in place.  Then the burning begins.

(This step of burning off the excess foliage takes place only in rural areas far from cities or heavily populated areas.  It is also strictly controlled by regulations regarding technique, location, weather, wind speeds, safety procedures, etc.)

The flames, ignited by the flame-thrower drawn by the tractor, move quickly into the field.  Each plant burns for about twenty seconds, just long enough to burn off the excess and unnecessary foliage.

The tractor and flame-thrower move steadily along the open firebreaks on all four sides of the field, igniting it from all directions.

Clouds of smoke rise from the field and ash (known locally as "black snow") fills the air for miles downwind of the burn.  The ash clings to everything it touches, dirties up sidewalks and patio floors and transforms swimming pools into filthy ponds!

The fire is intense, but brief.  It takes only 20 minutes to burn a 40 acre field.  The tractor and flame-thrower circle the field only once, igniting the crop.  The flames do their work quickly and then die out.  Only the charred stems of the cane plants and curls of smoke linger as a reminder of the day's dramatic preparation for the harvest.

Within a day or two, the harvesting machine arrives in the field.  In many ways, the cane harvester resembles a corn picker.  The ground-level "knives" at the front cut the cane stalks at the ground.  The two auger-like tubes gather up the stalks, shred them, and raise them up into the storage bin.

 Timing is important for if a hard freeze occurs (a rare event in deep south Texas) the cane crop will be ruined in three days.  So the harvester wastes no time in carrying out the next step of the cane harvest.

The harvester periodically unloads its burden of harvested stalks into field wagons.

The field wagons are towed out to the highway where their contents are emptied into semi- trailer trucks for transport to the sugar refinery.  A line of other transport semis waits on the highway for their turn to fill.

The wonders of hydraulic power make the job quick and efficient but, no doubt, requires highly skilled operators.

Loaded to capacity, the sugar cane transport truck heads off toward the refinery.

So, for the six months of harvest season, this is a common sight -- and traffic reality -- on the highways around our winter home.

The destination of all the trucks transporting harvested cane is the W.R. Cowley Sugar House operated by the Rio Grande Valley Sugar Growers, Inc. a cooperative of the 119  local cane farmers.  The refinery is located near the small town of Santa Rosa.

A November 15, 2011 news release reported, "SANTA ROSA, Texas -- The old mill is cranking and squeezing out sweetness for the 32nd sugar cane season in the Rio Grande Valley...

"More than 270,000 tons of sugar cane has been produced so far at the W.R. Cowley Sugar House off Highway 107 in Santa Rosa since the Oct. 1 opening...

"In 2003, the counties of Hidalgo, Cameron and Willacy -- the only sugar producing area in Texas -- have harvested almost 44,000 acres that produced more than 1 million tons of sugar...."

The sugar, in raw form, is transported to the Port of Brownsville and shipped from there to a processing plant in Louisiana where it is further refined for table use.  Molasses is a by-product of the Cowley Sugar House refining of the sugar cane and it is sold to the animal feed industry.

In 2010, the Cowley Sugar House received national recognition for its energy-saving measures.  All the electricity needed to run the mill operations is produced by burning the waste products from the harvested cane.

And that's the sweet ending of the sugary tale of the local cane industry!

"MORE BLESSED TO GIVE..."

It’s only taken about seventy years but these last two Christmases have finally taught me something important! I’ve often wondered why Santa Claus makes that difficult and dangerous journey around the world on Christmas Eve night. He’s long past retirement age and Mrs. Claus has probably been nagging him for years to give up his Christmas travels so they could go south for the holidays.

The airways are getting more congested every year. Reindeer power is no match for supersonic jets and space ships. The elves are gradually dying off. Those that remain can’t work as fast as they used to. Toy prices have increased dramatically. The world’s population is growing at an alarming rate.

Nevertheless, Santa continues to make his whirlwind "giving trip" year after year without fail. Now I know why! It’s because "it IS more blessed to give than to receive"! It wasn’t Santa who said that but he obviously knows it’s true. Now I – and several other people – also know it, too!

Last Christmas (2010) our RV park of Winter Texans adopted a needy family in our neighborhood to assist with food and holiday gifts. Several individuals also made Christmas merrier for two other families. The outpouring donation of gifts and donated food was beyond all expectations. So, this year (2011) our seasonal community offered holiday happiness for five needy families in the surrounding community.

We contacted the public school just a few miles from our park. The staff there indicated that 96% of their students are "economically disadvantaged." The school receives governmental assistance to provide breakfast, lunch and "a brown bag snack" each school day for those students. When school is dismissed for holidays or vacations, many of those families do not have the means to feed their own children three meals a day.

The school social worker lives in the community and knows the households of her students well. She gave us the names of five families of their students who were in need of life’s basic necessities. There were 49 persons living in those five households! "How in the world would we ever be able to provide gifts and food for so many?" we wondered. Then we watched a miracle take place.

Gifts and food began to pour in from the 100 or so residents of our park. Cash donations had not been asked for but $535 of donated cash provided gifts for every one of those 49 persons!

A $500 donation designated for food filled three grocery carts to overflowing at the local market. The store manager, impressed by our "spirit of Christmas giving" donated a gift card for each of the families!

A large "gift wrapping party" of volunteers prepared boxes and bags for delivery. Other volunteers carefully divided up the donated food, assigning an appropriate amount to each household.

Like the biblical "five loaves and two fishes," our Christmas gifts had multiplied!

Delivery day arrived and a large cargo trailer was loaned to transport all the gifts.

It was filled from side to side and front to back with boxes, bags and bins carefully labeled with each recipient family’s name. Then, like Santa’s subordinates on a trial run, we headed out, led by the school social worker.

Off the main highways, we traveled county roads and gravel byways from one humble home to another. Barking dogs, twinkling holiday decorations and smiling family members welcomed us at each stop. The poverty of the homes was obvious in the tiny, crowded rooms, leaky roofs, drafty walls, broken or makeshift steps, barefoot and lightly clad children. But, just as obvious, was the love and hospitality that dwelt in each home. Well mannered children were eager to help us carry the packages. There were hearty handshakes from the men of each home and an occasional hug from the women and girls.

For one of the families, our visit was a repeat of last year’s Christmas helping. But they were eager to show us their own surprise: the little house they are building for themselves! It is tiny and not yet finished but they now have sleeping space under a roof that doesn’t leak. When the house is completed, it will provide for them a kitchen and indoor plumbing!

"Gracias; muchas gracias," we heard over and over again from the adults in each home. The school age children expressed their delight and thanks in English.

Yes, those of us who delivered those gifts now know why Santa continues his gift-giving travels each Christmas season. It’s because "It [REALLY] is more blessed to give than to receive." That’s partly because, in giving, one also receives: "Gracias! Gracias! Muchas gracias!"

23 Dec 2011 - mshr