Free Range Friday ~ Culebra

There are so many sayings about weather that I wouldn't know the best place to step into that pool. Maybe there is no best place, since one of the most commonly known quips, “Everybody talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it.”, attributed to Mark Twain, isn't really something Mark Twain ever said or wrote. Some poor wag never got his due, most likely wandering the country saying, I said that, me! I expect a lawsuit by his current ancestors any day, once they find a lawyer hungry enough.

Point being, while the sun is currently blazing into the side of my face - I'd move but it feels good - we've had some weather here. A colloquialism - there is always weather. But rainy, cloudy, only occasionally was the sun seen days, 6 of them and counting, is worthy of being talked about. We talked about it. A lot. We're a simple folk.

This is yesterday, starting with the sun blaring 

That soon turned to this, a cycle that got stuck on repeat about three or four times

In the beauty cycle

The end of the day, with one more big rain coming at dusk

Temperatures are relative. We get chilly about 70 degrees F. 60 is cold. Those from Northern climes may laugh but you wouldn't think it too hilarious to see us in what is considered cold there. Because there are those of us who would be like those experiments about freezing the body to see if it will come to life again when thawed. It's not pretty. 

All that to get to soup. Soup, wonderful soup. 

Whenever something went wrong when I was young - if I had a pimple or if my hair broke - my mom would say, 'Sister mine, I'm going to make you some soup.' And I really thought the soup would make my pimple go away or my hair stronger. Maya Angelou

It's like that. But along with usually warm, wonderful weather comes a lack of incentive to make soup very often; too bad because it's something I really like to make. When I lived in cold places it was a family joke, my anticipation of lighting the first fire of winter, soup to follow on its smoky heels. Soups on the stove, or stock for making soup. No one laughed at the soup though.

She doesn't care for soup. This was between showers yesterday, waiting while I stood on the little dock, basking in weak sunlight. I don't know why she doesn't care for soup. Maybe she knows something I don't. She usually does.

My housesitting instructions came with freedom to demolish all Thanksgiving Day leftovers and the obvious thing was soup. I bided my time and was rewarded on the 5th or 6th day of rain with a temperature drop. Soups on! 


Most of the people I housesit for are friends and most of my friends are cooks. Good cooks. These people make a living doing that so I always know there will be the makings for good food around the kitchen. It's not the same as my own, because I know exactly what is and isn't there (unless I don't). I like the hunt, stumbling on little treasures like...well, no need to give away all the secrets. But if you take salt and put it on your wood fired grill or oven, you'd be close.

There was a large pan full of all the bits of everything leftovers taken away from holiday meals, stuffing and meats and vegetables. Rather than sort it all out, I just gave it a good sniff to assure myself and tossed it all in the pot, covered it with water, threw in some garlic, salt and a hunk of peeled ginger, put the lid on and let it simmer.

I usually cook over fire, but the electric worked just fine once I figured out which dial went to which burner. Rocket science.

The stuffing thickened what quickly became a broth. Quickly in soup terms is at least an hour. It rained, it shone and just in time it rained again. The wind came up. The temperture dropped. It was perfect.

And so was the soup.

Another holiday coming up. Another chance for soup. Buen provecho!

Have a fusional Friday. Do something in a fine fettle.