Why Does Ludivine Get an Uber-Rare “Double Shout-Out?” Let Me ‘Splain.

Editor’s note: For a full review on Ludivine OKC Restaurant, please visit HERE.

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There is a line in The Princess Bride where Inigo Montoya says, “Let me ‘splain.  No…there is too much.  Let me sum up.”  Well, I feel the need to ‘splain – not summarize.

Growing up in rural Oklahoma as a youngster meant I was exposed to a life different from my current suburban context.  My father was tri-vocational.  He worked at FAA for his day job, he and my mother operated a small Angus cattle farm during the evenings and weekends, he did electrical wiring jobs for occasional money and ran a small business with his friend called B&C Enterprises. Dad was the “B.”  My maiden name is Bomgardner.  B&C enterprises operated a transportation service to and from FAA every work day, bought scrap gold and jewelry to send to the refinery for a small profit, and perhaps other ventures I didn’t even comprehend.

Morel mushrooms are a rare treat to find in wooded areas or creek banks in Oklahoma. Dredge them in a very simple light egg batter, then saute in olive oil, add salt and pepper - you'll have a heavenly tasting side OR center of your plate.

We usually traded my grandfather one of our steers for one of his, thus not eating our own beef (we frequently named our cattle), but beef we knew was raised in an acceptable way.  We ate eggs from our Bantam (we called them Banty) chickens and harvested honey from our beehives.  We gathered dandelion greens and poke salad off the land and gathered Morel mushrooms from the creek beds.  And, we raised much of our food in a garden.  An “Organic Gardening” garden.

“Organic Gardening” was one of the magazines my father received in the mail for much of my formative years.  Every year, my father would order a load of cotton hulls to be delivered to our garden.  They would sit on top of the soil all winter long breaking down with the moisture of the snow, and in the springtime before planting he would turn it all under to begin the growing process once again.

There are GOOD Sand Plum years, and NOT SO GOOD Sand Plum years. 2010 was a decent year for them.

My mother canned vegetables with a pressure cooker.  My grandparents raised corn in a section of their land that we harvested every year.  We picked sand plums to make jams and jellies, and picked blackberries when they were in season.  Our neighbors’ parents had a large strawberry patch that we were allowed to harvest. My grandfather raised watermelons.  My uncle in Tuttle and my aunt in Bethany had an apricot tree.  My great-grandmother in town had a pear tree.  We had an orchard where we raised sweet and tart cherries, peaches, plums and apples.

My brother and I used to play a game where we would ride our small Yamaha 50 under the cherry tree during harvesting time.  We would reach out with one hand and grab a bunch while cruising under the tree at top 50cc speed, then stop to see how many cherries we had scored on that particular run.

We purchased milk from our neighbors and a friend in town who had a dairy.  My parents made their own yogurt with their yogurt maker. We sometimes make sumac lemonade or tea when the red velvet sumac on our property pollinated at the end of the summer.  We cut and bailed the prairie hay we fed our cattle.  We purchased bales of alfalfa from local farmers for supplements.

A trip into town to eat at a restaurant was fairly rare.  I usually ordered a bologna sandwich or a corn dog when that happened…that was “fancy food” to me. Ah, youth…

I’m sharing this information with you because it might better help you understand why I’m using this space on the RDC to give not just one but TWO shout-outs this week to the soon-to-open Ludivine restaurant in downtown Oklahoma City.  I’ve now watched every one of their eleven 4.5 minute videos posted on their YouTube channel.  In each segment, they highlight a vendor they have built a relationship with in order to bring the food raised in Oklahoma to the table of those who eat in their restaurant.

"Sunchokes" or Jerusalem Artichokes

My heart warmed while viewing them.  We used to raise “Jerusalem Artichokes” in our garden at home.  They’re using “Sunchokes” (same thing) in their restaurants.  One of the videos shows the pains of gathering Sand Plums and discusses the rewards of why you would do such a thing.  And most of all – there are people across Oklahoma who Ludivine has connected with carrying on a tradition of raising organic, nutritious, fresh and wonderful treasures in our precious Oklahoma soil.  They seem to be committed to helping you feast on their crops or products that they prepared in a loving and conscientious way.

Here’s to you, Ludivine, for documenting your developmental journeys and relationships with your growers and vendors.  And here’s to you, Wagon Creek Creamery, Two Tomatoes Farm, OM Gardens, Regional Food Bank, Avalon Seafood, Willie’s Ribs, Coop Ale Works and Urban Agrarian.  (We mentioned Peach Crest Farms earlier this week).

Thank you twice. Thanks for all you do, all your plans and for all you hope to be.

Good luck! (Click the picture below to visit Ludivine’s YouTube videos).

CLICK HERE TO VISIT LUDIVINE YOUTUBE VIDEOS

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Burn

by Mark “The Howard” Hinderliter

If you happen to read this, know that it is being written through insomnia.  Not that I’m incoherent but, occasionally something just takes up so much space in the head that sleep won’t come, TV won’t help and there’s no compelling novel waiting to lull me.  Just an engineering textbook.  The textbook could actually work as an insomnia cure on another night, but not tonight.

Let me say first that I’m not a political liberal.  I think our country’s founders were pretty smart guys who enacted the best system of government they could given their study of history and the political and societal realities of their time.  And this system has withstood the test of time:  self-centered politicians, elitists and those who believe they are entitled to something that belongs to another.

Having said that, I am deeply bothered by the church in Florida whose pastor wants to burn a Quran to commemorate 9-11.  Apparently, this man is disturbed by the proposed Mosque planned near the site of the World Trade Center in New York City and what he sees as the world’s cowering to fanatic Muslim extremists.  Burning a copy or copies of the Quran on 9-11 is his and his congregation’s response to these current events.

When I first heard a news report of this planned burning, it was in the context of General David Petraeus warning that it could fan the flames of hatred and endanger our troops in Afghanistan.  And I have to admit, I was not swayed by the General’s argument.  My first reaction was, “Tough, what goes around comes around.  Burn our flag and the Christian Bible, we’ll retaliate.”

I am frequently a very conflicted man on these sorts of things.

Left to my own devices I’d probably join the pastor.  Left to my own devices I’d promote the death penalty for murderers and rapists.  I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve said out loud when hearing the report of a homicide or a rape, “bullet in the head will put a stop to that.”

But I have to admit something.  I’ve read the words of Christ.  I’ve read the words of the Lord spoken through the prophets of old.  Sometimes they confuse me and seem to conflict.  But when I think about the actions of Jesus on earth and I ponder what he would do in a given situation, I don’t reach the conclusion that he would act hatefully or act in retaliation.

Now there were certainly things that irritated him.  Turn his Father’s house into a goat market? Serious irritation.  The hypocrisy of religious leaders, those who should know better? Their behavior earned a tongue lashing that may not be over yet!  But burn someone else’s religious book?  I can’t see it.  Jesus was and is a walking endorsement of the love of a Creator God who would do anything for any of us.  Including radical Muslim haters.  Because if they took the time to know Him their behavior would change.  Children of the King learn to act like the King.  If they seek Him over self.

I don’t know anything about this preacher in Florida other than he wants to burn a book.  But I can look at history and see that when people follow a charismatic leader rather than the King, hatred and destruction usually follow.  Waco, Guyana…but from Waco came Oklahoma City.  And Jonesy didn’t go alone.

Those who would call themselves Christian are called to love their enemies and pray for them.  Vengeance is for the Lord.  If a Koresh or a Jones claims to be the Lord’s instrument of vengeance or retaliation, run away.  Leave them to their own destruction.  Do not join them until you have read the red letters for yourself.  That one chooses to be tolerant of another’s beliefs does not mean he condones them.  He chooses to love that person until the light of the Kingdom shines through.

Maybe I can sleep now.  If not, the text book awaits me.

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RDC Shout-Out to: OK Food Cooperative, Peach Crest Farms and Ludivine Restaurant

Thank you, Ludivine Restaurant, for making short videos highlighting local growers and the products you use.  Thank you, Oklahoma Food Cooperative, for helping share the story and share the love.

All three of you rock.  Keep up the great work, Red Dirt Kelly

CLICK PICTURE BELOW TO VIEW COOL VIDEO

CLICK THIS PICTURE TO VIEW LUDIVINE VIDEO!

http://www.peachcrestfarm.com/

http://www.ludivineokc.com/

http://www.oklahomafood.coop/

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The Ping of Your Relational Sonar

I liked this photo so much that I decided to use it and give nanukphotos.com a free ad shout-out. While I’m not in the mood to pay $60.00 for the rights to use it (we do our own photography, although I do purchase iStock photos occasionally), I am willing to reference back to them and their very cool work. The photo shows the same sky type of sky mentioned in this essay.

It’s about 9:00 p.m. Labor Day night and I’m putting the last check into the last envelope as I finish paying my monthly bills.  The day has been a long one with the majority of my time spent in my office reading and working on my statistics homework.  I get up from my chair, stretch, grab the stamped envelopes on my desk and head to the mailbox.

I head down the long slope of the paved driveway.  It’s getting dark and my mind switches from wondering if my bare feet are going to find a wayward stone (protective-mode thoughts) to the overwhelmingly beautiful twilight sky (refreshing, happy thoughts).  My pace slows and I remember that my hair is pulled up into a ponytail, bound with a brown velvet scrunchie; perfect for a little pillow to rest my head on the concrete while I play slot.  I drop to the warm pavement, lay down, breathe in the cooling air and take a few moments to study the sky more closely.

It’s beautiful out tonight.  The sun has dropped below the horizon so far that only the slightest hint of light shows along the western line.  From there sweeping upward is light blue, medium blue, dark blue and the deepest midnight blue right over my head.  The stars are beginning to show and as I lay still and focus, more and more tiny lights begin to peek out of the deep blue.  I can now see about 30-40 stars, but one in particular catches my eye.  It’s brighter than the rest and seems to be moving.  I assume at this point that it’s a satellite and I watch it travel ever-so-slowly across my view.

My body begins to relax as I start realizing how many layers of sound are filling up my ears.  I can hear the distant click of a katydid, intermittent bursts of cicadas, a constant tree frog sound, and another rhythmic frog sound over that.  There is a dog somewhere in the distance that barks occasionally and every three or four minutes a car passes down the street, headed toward their homes for the evening.  I look around for the satellite and find it again.  I started thinking about my husband.

On the way down to the mailbox, I had hugged him goodnight because he was heading to bed.  He gets up at 4:00 a.m. every morning to go to work.  I had said, “I missed you today.”  He said, “I missed you too.”  We talked a bit about the homework I was doing and said goodnight.

I watch the satellite another minute more and my mind drifts back to a conversation I had last week with a colleague.  He had written a blog entry for contract work we do over the topic of “checking in” with your spouse during the day.  I’m watching the satellite and thinking about that topic when I link a thought about the sonar pings made by satellites, submarines or other devices that also “check in” with those monitoring their progress.  I begin to play that sound in my head and think about parents monitoring their children as they grow and develop, spouses checking-in with each other to make sure all is good between them, leaders checking in with their team members in places of employment.  Ping, ping, ping.  The satellite has now passed two stars as I watch it continue to creep across the sky.

I start thinking about satellite orbits and how they decay over time.  Without the sonar or other monitoring devices, there could be no awareness of how that orbit had decayed or whether it was stable and in good working order.  Mother mammals of tiny babies constantly check to see if all their offspring are accounted for, birds guard their nests, alpha males of various species watch over their herds in case they are threatened.

I want to think about this balance or out-of-balance checking in between couples just a bit more so I reluctantly get up, walk the rest of the way to the mailbox (I only step on one small pebble), and head back to my office.  On my way back up the driveway I hear a car leave our neighbor’s driveway, muffled rap music coming from the interior.  I wonder what type of sonar is going on between he and his parents as he drives down the road.  I get to my office and begin searching for sound files of sonar pings.  I find some cool files of a WW II submarine sonar.  CLICK HERE TO LISTEN TO THE SOUND.

While I’m playing with these sonar sound files I begin thinking, “They sound a little bit like a heartbeat.”  My mind drifts back to all my relatives who have been in the hospital with heart monitoring devices…ping,  ping,  beat…beat.  I think about the inordinate amount of journal articles I’ve been reading the past six months over a person’s physical well being and how it relates to their relational well being.  People who are stressed because of unhealthy relationships actually have different vagal tones when on a heart monitor than when their relationships are better, or when they feel closer to their partners.

I make a mental note of this thought process and head back into the bedroom to tell Mick goodnight a second time.  I need to check in with him and make sure our orbit is not in decay.  He’s fine.  We’re fine.   I’m glad I check, however.  He tells me goodnight a second time and that “All systems are go.”

How about yours?

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Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch: Jack of All Trades, Master of ….Gardening?

There is a certain spin that living in the country puts on hobbies.  We have to work with what’s available to us or travel to a nearby city to get it.  A Teddy Roosevelt quote sums it up best:  “Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.”  I have dirt, and I have decided to do what I can.

I showed up to my first Master Gardener meeting with a green paper folder with a few sheets of paper inside.  (Green, you know, for plants? )  There was a total of four participants in the meeting and we all had to stand and tell our names and what we hoped to get out of the program.   The lady across from me just wanted to grow some grass in front of her house.  The boy behind me was with his mother.  He was going to include this as part of his home schooling science curriculum.   Ahh, sweet.  Then the scene changed.

I was handed a commitment page to sign for 40 hours of community service.   I turned around to ask the boy to borrow his pen; he glared at me clearly annoyed that I had forgotten mine.  I turned back around to find that a four-inch binder with twenty separate tabs had been placed in front of me.  Neatly tucked inside was my first take-home test, ironically, on dirt, known in this extension office, as “soil.”  The boy quickly threw his hand in the air and started asking about due dates then weaseled his way into a conversation about eagles with the lady who just wanted to grow grass in her front yard.  This young boy had just established himself as a weed trying to take over my flower bed.

This boy has been planted in my Master Gardener class for a reason.  I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I know what I’m going to get…exactly what I put into it.  You don’t have to be a former president to hand out words to live by.  Julie Allgyer, future Master Gardener, sums it up best:  “Bloom where you are planted.”

To find out more about the Master Gardener program in your area : http://www.ahs.org/master_gardeners/index.htm

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Showcasing Red Dirt culture ~ authored and managed by contributors with connections to the great state of Oklahoma.