POSTING # 10

A Revolution in Bread Making; In the Toilet in Russia; A Gift From Russia; Calling a Moose; Buzzing the B&B; Short Stuff (Mini-Stories about Kids and Pets)


A Revolution in Bread Making

Although the Virgil area has several bakeries that turn out fine, made-from-scratch bread, I still like to bake bread from time-to-time---to experiment with different textures, tastes and flavours.

My breads are not bad, but I have never been able to make loaves with a deep, crunchy crust, despite many attempts. Bakeries get that kind of crust by adding moisture during the baking process, by injecting steam into the oven. Amateur bakers have suggested ways of replicating the steam by, for example, putting ice cubes into a very hot oven when the bread goes in or opening the oven door several times and spraying in water. The results are not bad, but no cigar.

Then, a few weeks ago I came across an article in the Buffalo News that promised not only crusty bread, but crusty bread with NO kneading. Now, as they say in financial affairs, if something sounds too good to be true, it is.

But, I tried a loaf and the bread was fantastic. And the family has been having the same success. One of our sons summed things up well, “It is ridiculously good and unbelievably easy”.

I think that the developers of the recipe deserve the culinary equivalent of the Nobel Prize.

But, I don’t want the Virgil area bakeries to become alarmed. We need you, even if we don’t knead our bread (sorry about that!).


In the Toilet in Russia

Talking about bread reminds me of an article I read when I was preparing for the Russian contract. The writer said that there was an old Russian proverb, “Eat bread and salt and speak the truth”. I dropped this proverb into a conversation with a Russian friend and he laughed and laughed, “There is no such proverb in Russian culture. It is just another piece of Western disinformation.”

The Russians love stories and I am sure that my friend regaled his chums with my gaff about the Russian proverb.

Later on, my friend told me a story about a friend of his, a conscientious and hardworking traffic engineer, who, in the 1980s, was engaged in trying to improve the flow of the cars and trucks in one of Russia’s largest cities.

One day, a senior Party Official called him in and asked to change the design of certain roads (we don’t know why--- perhaps his mistress wanted less noise on the streets outside her apartment).

The engineer objected forcefully that the requested changes would ruin an important part of his traffic system. The Party Official insisted, but the engineer resisted. Finally, the Party Official decided to get rid of the engineer and replace him with someone more flexible. He knew he couldn’t fire the engineer so he decided to force him to resign by humiliating him.

The Party Official announced that the engineer was being moved and henceforth would be responsible for the operation and maintenance of the dozens of squat public convenience buildings that were located on most of the major intersections in the city.

The engineer was indeed humiliated, and his first impulse was to resign. My friend talked to the engineer and told him not to be stupid. The Party Official might anger his superior and be shifted somewhere else, things like that happened all the time. The best thing was to swallow his pride, take the new job and just wait to see what happened.

What happened was that the Berlin Wall came down, the USSR was dissolved and Russia started on the road to a market economy. Western entrepreneurs flooded into the city hoping to establish their retail firms in the newly open country. They looked for street-level properties that could be converted into stores to sell sporting goods, clothing, electronics and other Western merchandise. But suitable spots were very scarce.

One of the entrepreneurs noticed the public convenience buildings. They were perfect--- ground level and situated on busy intersections. Soon the traffic engineer was inundated with calls about converting parts of the public conveniences to store-front space. The engineer negotiated deals on behalf of the city and the grateful entrepreneurs made sure that the engineer was generously rewarded for his cooperation.

It wasn’t long before the engineer had enough expressions of gratitude to build a huge dacha in the country, a dacha that was much larger and nicer than that of the Party Official with whom he had fought.


A Gift from Russia

Part of our Russian project involved bringing Russian officials to Canada to show them how our employment offices and systems worked. One of the visitors was the Director of a large regional employment operation whose job involved overseeing a large number of local offices, and collecting huge amounts of unemployment insurance premiums from hundreds of employers in his region. The premiums were used to pay benefits to thousands of unemployed workers.

The visit started in Ottawa, where we were living at the time. Pat and I invited the visitors to have dinner with us. Soon after they arrived, the Director and the other visitors asked if they could tour our home (it was the only Canadian home on the tour) and they went from basement to attic, asking dozens of questions about furnaces, bathrooms, appliances and so on.

After dinner, the Director gave Pat a gift, a large Palekh box with a mythological scene that had been hand painted by skilled artists. We were a little bowled over by the beautiful and very generous gift. (For more information on the fascinating story of Palekh boxes please click here.)

Some months later, we heard that the police had arrested the Director after searching his apartment and finding many thousands of dollars, a rifle and a revolver.

It is important to point out that in Russia at the time, police investigations were sometimes the result of political in-fighting between governmental rivals. It is possible that someone in the government was unhappy with the Director’s superior and instead of attacking him directly, attacked his subordinate.

On the other hand, it is possible that the police raid was legitimate, that the police had received information that the Director was involved in bribery or some other form of corruption, and that he was keeping the fruits of his criminal activity in his apartment.

In any event, the Director handled the police questions with the coolness that one would expect from a person who was able to survive and prosper in the Machiavellian politics of the old USSR

Concerning the money, the Director said it had been paid into the unemployment fund by employers and since the banks were unreliable (certainly true at the time) it was safer for him to keep the money in his apartment so that it would be available to pay the unemployed. And, since he had so much money in his house, he needed the firearms to protect it from thieves.

After some time in detention, he was released without charge.

We think of him every time we look at the gorgeous Palekh box, and wonder whether he paid for it with his own money or with money he shouldn’t have had.


Calling a Moose

Pat and I have been talking recently about the summer family reunion that takes place each year in July or August at the cottage our daughter and son in law bought in the Hastings Highlands near Bancroft.

The kids and grandkids stay at the cottage, while Pat and I stay at a nearby bed and breakfast called Jewel on the Hill (link to http://www.jewelonthehill.com/)

Ten or so years ago, a Toronto couple, Linda and Larry, decided to move to the country and start a B&B. They built a 4000 plus square foot log house on a hill with a spectacular view of the Hastings Highlands. Unfortunately, Larry died a couple of years ago, but Linda is carrying on the B&B, and very successfully.

A few years before his death, Larry was returning from a moose hunting expedition in Northern Ontario and, driving through Algonquin Park, saw a bus and its passengers beside a small lake. He decided to stop in case the bus had broken down.

As he pulled over, he realized that it was a busload of tourists from Asia, watching a big bull moose, with a fine set of antlers, standing in the lake about 200 meters away. The passengers were taking photos and Larry thought it might be good if he could bring the moose a little closer.

He got his moose call from the back of the truck and putting the three foot cone of curled birch bark to his lips began to imitate a cow moose in heat. The bull moose’s head came up instantly and he stared at the bus. Larry made the call of a cow moose again and the bull moose, after a moment or two of reflection, started lumbering toward the bus.

The tourists were delighted and snapped more pictures as the moose came closer. Larry had assumed it would stop but it didn’t and then he became alarmed about the damage a frustrated moose (and its antlers) might do to the tourists or the bus.

Thinking quickly, Larry put the moose call to his lips again and this time imitated the sound of what he hoped would be perceived as a big, big bull moose. The moose out in the lake stopped dead, thought for a while and then trotted off.

The tourists, not realizing they had been in any danger, congregated around Larry and asked to see the birch bark moose call. One man came forward and asked, “How much, you want”, pointing at the call. “A hundred dollar?”

Larry shook his head.

The tourist persisted, “Hundred and fifty? Two hundred?”

Larry finally convinced the tourist that the call wasn’t for sale.

The smiling tourists, chatting about their experience, got back on the bus, while Larry wiped his brow and headed for home.


Buzzing the B&B

Last year when we were staying at Jewel on the Hill, Linda told us that the previous year a large plane had flown over the B&B at tree-level, frightening guests, rattling china, and scaring a deer that was nibbling on some apples at the back of the house.

Then a few weeks later the house was buzzed again. Running onto the deck, Linda saw that it was a military aircraft.

Linda decided she would have to complain to someone but she wasn’t sure to whom, and since she was busy with B&B guests, let it slide.

One day, a young couple arrived at the B&B and asked for details about renting a room. Linda asked them how they had found her B&B. (Jewel is at the end of a winding, half mile lane that in turn is off a narrow, logging road. Linda tells us that guests often get lost even when they phone ahead for directions.)

The young man said that he was in the Canadian Air Force, based in Trenton, and training to go to Afghanistan. He was part of a crew that had been practicing low-level flying of the kind they would have to do in Afghanistan. He had had a good look at the B&B from the air and decided that it looked like the perfect place for a weekend getaway for him and his wife before he shipped out for Afghanistan.

Linda made sure their weekend was special, and in return, the young man persuaded his colleagues to choose another area for their low-level flights.


Short Stuff (Mini-Stories about Kids and Pets)

Robins of Virgil

On Wednesday this week, I saw my first robins, a male and female, and wondered if they were the ones who had caused us so much trouble last year, just after we had bought our house in Virgil.

We bought the house at the end of February but didn’t move in until the contractor had finished the basement for us. We did, however, drive over from Grimsby two or three times a week to drop off things we didn’t want to trust to the movers.

On an early visit we found a robin’s nest on the ledge of the transom above the front door. They say that birds don’t foul their nest but that doesn’t mean they don’t foul everything around it. There were ugly white streaks on the freshly painted front door, and a mess on the floor of the porch.

Luckily there were no eggs in the nest, so I removed it, cleaned things up and assumed that the birds would go elsewhere.

A few days later, there was a half-finished nest in exactly the same spot.

I cut a piece of 2X4, nailed a couple of small blocks to it and placed it over the half-finished nest.

Two days later there was another half-finished nest, on the 2X4 exactly above the one under the board. (It looked like the start of a condo nest.)

Our contractor suggested starting over, removing the nests, attaching some balloons and ribbons to the 2X4 and placing it above the door.

We did that, with the robins watching us from a nearby lawn, and then sat in the car on the street and waited to see what would happen. The male robin cocked his head and looked at the transom and quickly looked away. A few seconds later, he looked again, as though to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. After a few minutes, he flew close to the transom but fluttered away when the balloons moved in the breeze.

We went back to Grimsby, thinking that we had triumphed.

We HAD triumphed---for a week, until the air had seeped out of the balloons. We arrived to find the 2X4 on the porch floor and the beginnings of a new nest above the door.

We have no idea how the robins managed to push the 2X4 off the ledge. Virgil robins are clearly something special.

I went down to Penners, Virgil’s hardware store extraordinaire, and pleaded with a clerk to help me. He suggested using a strip of plywood with projecting nails that carpet layers use for the edges of wall-to-wall carpeting. I anchored it above the door with some duct tape.

And that did the trick.

And I just want the Virgil robins to know that if, during the winter in Florida, they figured out a way of building a nest on top of all those sharp nails, I have a Plan B.

A son in Toronto and his neighbours had trouble with pigeons last year and bought strips of steel with long, embedded metal prongs. I have a set ready to install.



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See you next Sunday for more stories from our family’s universe!