Sunday, August 11, 2013

Week 32 of the 52s...Extenuating and Impossible

Since Friday morning things have been fairly fraught around the homestead.  It started with a barrage of thunderstorms that rolled, one after another, across the valley, shaking windows and rattling doors.  I actually liked it, and though I fervently hoped for rain--there was nary a drop--the noise drove the dogs into panic mode.  At one point, late in the afternoon, I thought Max was going to have a heart attack from the stress of it all.  By bedtime, things had eased back enough for both dogs to collapse in exhaustion, wedged between the wall and the bed like earthquake survivors.
The relief was short-lived.  Early Saturday, before sunrise, a clap of thunder woke all three of us, me with my heart galloping like a stampeding horse, the boys first barking, then clambering all over me while they tried to bury themselves under the duvet, whining and shaking.  Bloody hell, another day of angst and anxiety.
But worse, there was no rain in the storms, just thunder and heat lightning.  Which started a whole slew of new forest fires, as if the dozens that are raging right now across Oregon weren't enough.
This is the view across the valley at first light today.  Somewhere out there are mountains, and forests, and wildlife...

The smoke is everywhere.  It reminds me of being a kid, sitting around the campfire when the smoke shifts and blasts right into your face.  Stinging eyes, burning nose, coughing and sputtering.  The difference is, at the campfire you can jump to your feet, wave your arms around and dodge to the other side of the fire.  There's no escape here.
The storms have moved on today, leaving fire and destruction in their wake, though I'm pretty sure the dogs don't care; they're just relieved the bangs and tremors have stopped.
Here's the extenuating part of the 52s this week:  Because of the weather I couldn't leave the dogs by themselves as Armageddon roiled, which meant I couldn't do what I had planned.  The Douglas County Fair is this weekend.  I wanted to go early on Saturday, to see the baby goats and the wee piglets and the quilts and maybe even eat some great artery-clogging food that can only be had at any county fair in America.
I suppose I could've still tried to go today, but with the smoke and the swampy bayou humidity of Dagobah, I can't be bothered.  Frankly, it's all I can do to breathe at this point.
Though I also didn't want to miss a week.  I've come so far, I've managed to find some adventure, something new, every week for over six months.  As I walked the boys this morning, it just seemed impossible to--



Why does that jog something in my mind?

By the time we get home, I remember:  Impossible Pie.

I dig through my recipes until I find the one I want, this odd coconut pie from an old-time recipe--my favorite kind--called 'impossible' because it miraculously forms its own crust while baking.  How cool is that?

The recipe is very easy, six ingredients, all mixed in one bowl, poured into a glass pie pan, cooked for an hour, and ta da...

Impossible Pie...

It will take some time to cool, so I'll have to get back to you, dear readers, on the mysterious crust, though even without that, it smells heavenly and the top is crunchy and firm.  I'm looking forward to a piece after dinner tonight.

So, though my original plan for Week 32 didn't happen, the impossible did.  And I'm really good with that.

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Update:  Hours later.  Dinner finished.  Slice of pie on the plate.
The Impossible Pie...
The top was crunchy and deliciously coconutty, and wow, the mystery crust was truly there.  It was crust-like on the back part of the slice, the bottom being a more firmly cooked custard base, though I've had soft bottom crusts, so this wasn't really a detraction.
Now, to be completely, critically accurate:  The pie tasted like a super moist macaroon.  And for me, that's a very cool thing; I totally love a good macaroon.

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