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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 16, 1943)
Fruit pickles take less time to prepare, vegetable pickles may take ■everal days or even weeks, but both contribute to brightening win ter menus. Pickling Time Summer has slipped by and with it has passed the time of putting up rruju ana vegeta bles. But canning Is not yet over, (or (all brings with it many (ruits and vegeta bles which home makers like to use for pickling and preserving. Pickles may be of either the fruit or vegetable variety for there ai^ a great many varieties of pickles. Fruit pickles can be made in a short time, but those made from vegetables require a longer time— sometimes as long as several weeks. Hie best cucumber pickles take several weeks in order to complete the pickling process and make them crisp in texture, dark green in color, j Sugar is introduced gradually to the cucumber after it has had a prelimi nary treatment in brine or vinegar. Crisp Pickles. How does one get crisp pickles is {the question most frequently asked lin pickling. Select fresh, ripe rath er than over-ripe vegetables and ,fruits for pickling. Over-mature and stale vegetables will shrivel during I the pickling process. Old spices and low grade vine jgar are other causes of pickle fail lure. It’s important to use vinegar {which has a strength of 40-60. Cider I vinegar is usually preferred because of Its mellow flavor. As a rule on lions and cauliflower, which are'light, {require ■ white vinegar to make a i light-colored pickle. Both types of vinegars serve to modify the taste ‘ of the product and also to preserve It Salt for Pickling. J Good quality salt is indicated for jgood pickles. Table salt or dairy • ait tusea tor butter making) •re good, but salt to which a lot of chemical has been added to prevent tt from caking is not recommend ed. Chemicals may interfere with the pickling proc !*»»• Equipment. • Pickles may be cured in large atone crocks, if desired. They are usually stored in glass jars with caps, of the same type that are used for canning fruits and vegeta bles. •Spiced Cantaloupe. ! Peel rind and cut cantaloupe into |l-4nch pieces. Soak overnight in vinegar. To each 7 pounds of fruit add 3 pounds of sugar, 8 sticks of cinnamon, and 1 tablespoon whole cloves. Cook about ltk hours or untU fruit becomes transparent. Place in sterile Jars and seal. •Apple Chutney. S quarts apples, cut In small pieces 2 pounds granulated sugar B cups seeded raisins Kind of 2 oranges, finely chopped K cup strong vinegar 44 teaspoon ground cloves 1 cup pecan meats, chopped line Boil all ingredients together until | apples and nuts are tender. Pour |Into sterile jars and seal at once. •Green Tomato Pickle. 4 quarts green tomatoes 2 sweet red peppers 2 small onions 2 teaspoons ground cloves 2 teaspoons ground ginger I \ Lynn Says: Ton Can Do It, Too! Readers write that they have hints to pass I on to other readers, and I'm sure * you’ll like them for your own foods. Careful seasonings make for good cooking—and that means first of all salt and pepper. Mixed poultry seasonings add accent to stuffings and stews. Bay leaf, thyme and sage are also good In ; stuffings and meats, f Spare the hand when using cur > ry powder, but do use it in any meat or fish dish If you like the i curry taste. It's especially good ; when you’re using any of these foods with rice. A pinch of nutmeg is indicated ; for spinach, for that occasional scalloped fish or oyster dish. Clove and cinnamon blend well with smoked meats—use in cook ing smoked ham or shoulder cuts. For Pickling Shelves •Spiced Cantaloupe •Apple Chutney •Green Tomato Pickle •Bread and Butter Pickles •Recipe Given Z teaspoons ground allspice 1 tablespoon ground cinnamon 1 tablespoon dry mustard *4 teaspoon celery seed 1 quart vinegar 1 pound brown sugar % cup salt Grind coarsely the tomatoes, on ions, peppers. Put spices in a small bag and boil in the vinegar with salt and sugar, for 10 minutes. Add the ground vegetables and simmer for 1 hour. Remove spice bag. Pack into hot sterile jars and seal. At summer’s end, you can look with pride on your canning shelf if you have been busy putting up fruits and vegetables, jams and jel lies, pickles and relishes. Bread and Butter Pickles. 25 to 30 medium-sized cucumbers 8 large white onions 2 large sweet peppers M cup salt 5 cups cider vinegar 5 cups sugar 2 tablespoons mustard seed 1 teaspoon tumeric H teaspoon cloves Wash cucuir.bers and slice as thin as possible. Chop onions and pep pers and combine with cucumbers and salt. Let this stand 3 hours. Drain. Combine vinegar, sugar and spices in a large preserving kettle and bring to a boil. Add drained cucumbers. Heat thoroughly but do not boll. Pack while hot into Jars and seal. Ripe Cucumber Sweet Pickles. 8 large ripe cucumbers H pound stick cinnamon 1 ounce whole cloves lii pints vinegar 3 pounds sugar Pare the cucumbers, take out seeds and cut in quarters. Cut quar ters into medium-sized pieces. Scald in salted water (2 tablespoons salt to 1 quart water), then drain and sim mer in clear water until tender. Tie spices in a bag and boil them with vinegar and sugar 5 minutes. Pour this mixture over cucumbers, cover jar and set away until the next day. Then, pour off syrup, boil syrup for 10 minutes and pour over cucum bers again. Flavor is improved by repeating this process several times. With last heating, place pickles in cleaned, sterile jars and seal at once. Dtlled Cucumbers or Green Tomatoes. 40 to 50 cucumbers, or green tomatoes , 2 ounces mixed pickle spices Fresh or dried dill 1 pint vinegar t pound salt 4 tablespoons sugar 2 gallons water Use fresh-picked cucumbers or green tomatoes of uniform size and free from blemish. Wash them well and drain. Into a 5-gallon crock place a layer of dill and spice. Fill the jar with the cucumbers or to matoes to within 4 or 5 inches of the top. Mix the vinegar, salt, sug ar, and water, and pour over the vegetable. Place a layer of dill over the top. Cover with a heavy plate and weight it down to hold the vegetable under the brine. Use only enough brine barely to cover, for as the liquid is drawn from the vegeta ble the jar may overflow. Each day remove the scum that forms over the top and keep the pickles at even room temperature, about 70 degrees or as warm as 36 degrees Fahren heit if possible. In about 2 weeks the pickles are ready to use—crisp, well-flavored with dill, and clear throughout with no white spots when cut. For storage, pack the cured pickles in sterilized quart glass jars, and add Vi cup of vinegar to each. Fill up the jars with the pickle brine, but first strain it, bring it to a boll, and cool. Seal the jars and store in a cool, dry place. Art you having a time stretching meals? Write to Miss Lynn Chambers for practical help, at Western Newspa per Union, 210 South Desplaines Street, Chicago, III. Don't forget to enclose a stamped, self-addressed envelope for your reply. Released by WaMtru Nawapapar Union. MY'FRIEND ■2iFLICKA;““' MARY O’HARA THE STORY SO FAR: Ten-year-old Ken McLaughlin, given an opportunity to choose any yearling on his family’s Wy oming ranch, picks the filly of a “loco” mare. Flicka, the filly. Is badly hurt try ing to jump the corral fence. She grows steadily worse, and Captain McLaughlin orders Gus, the foreman, to shoot her. Ken persuades Gus to wait, and when the others are asleep he goes out to the pas ture, where he finds Flicka trapped in a stream. He rescues her, but when Gus finds them in the morning, Ken Is un conscious and dangerously 111. Finally won over, Captain McLaughlin risks his life to save Flicka from a wildcat. Flicka and Ken both get well. Now continue with the story. CHAPTER XIX Gus entered the room holding the Winchester in one hand and one long shell in the other. “Dere’s only one shell, Boss.” “Where are the others? There was ■ a whole box of them.” “De officers shot ’em all off dat j Sunday dey vas here.” Rob snatched the shell. “One’s enough.” Gus said, “You’ir find de Ally in a sling on de far side de crik. Tim und I rigged it up for her ven we saw she still had life in her.” Rob got his flashlight from the shelf, and went out. Gus raised sor rowful eyes to Nell’s white face. “Don't take it so hard, Missus," he said softly- “De Boss is right. No gude to let sick animals live.” Rob thrust the shell into the rifle. Holding the gun under his left arm, he used the flashlight with his right. He knew the way as well as he knew the way around his own room, but the light picked out his footing for him. A blinding flash came, and anoth er and another, illuminating the whole pasture, while the skies ex ploded with thunder. Before the darkness shut the scenes out, Rob had seen three things. He saw the Ally in the sling on the far side of the creek, the rock-slide behind her. He saw, down at the end of the field, the cattle bunched together, on guard, frightened, staring. And he saw what they were staring at, something white lying on the ground near the three pines, with a huge mountain lion crouched over it. Rob stood motionless in the dark ness, thinking. He wondered if the mountain lion had seen him. The next flash of lightning answered him, for the lion had disappeared. What was that white thing lying on the ground? Rob wanted to investi gate, but he dared not move. Just one shell in the gun— He stood still for a long time, all his senses strained, listening, try ing to see through the darkness, the gun ready in his hands, cocked, hall lifted. The lightning flashes showed the cattle still bunched, watching, and the white thing on the ground with no moving creature near it Then McLaughlin saw two blazing green eyes fastened upon him. He could not tell whether they were near or far until a flash of lightning showed him that they were in the center of a mass of shrubs. The lion had hidden himself in those shrubs and was looking out at him from there. The eyes seemed quite steady. Rob raised his gun, took aim, and fired. It seemed to him that just be fore he had pressed the trigger the eyes had disappeared. He lowered the gun and stood warily, listening and looking. After a while, he strode bold ly over to the bushes, shouting and brandishing his gun. With the aid of his flashlight he looked all through them and found, as he had expeoted, that he had missed. There was no sign of the lion. “Well, we’re in for it, Flicka,” he said, stroking the Ally’s nose. “A night of it. You’re a drowned rat and I’m another. I’d feel better if I had a pocket full of shells—and a drink—and a fire—and some dry clothes—” He had barely reached this con clusion, when he saw a light ap proaching, swinging and bobbing down the path. “Hey! Nell!” “Rob! Are you all rl$ht? Where are you?" “Here—on the far side of the brook.” He swung the flashlight. Presently he saw her anxious face, lit from underneath by the light of the lantern in her hand. Un der her other arm she carried the big Express rifle. She was in old khaki pants and a sweater. "Good girl—” He went to help her cross the brook where there were some stones, and took the heavy gun and lantern from her. “What happened? I heard a shot —was that Flicka?” “No. The mountain lion.” "I wish he’d show himself this minute," said Nell, “and get him self shot. What do you think he’ll do?” “We may never see him again. He’s been shot at once, he sees me here, he may make for the woods.” "Well — if he doesn't — here is Flicka—” “Yes. Well, I’m spending the night with Flicka. I can’t get her up to the stables. She can’t walk.” Rob took Howard to school on the opening date and talked to Mr. Gib son about Ken. He returned to Nell, astonished and moved at what the boy had done. “Did you read it?” he asked Nell | in a low voice as they sat by the window in Ken’s room, The Story of Gypsy?” "No, We decided that it must be all his own. If I’d read it I'd have wanted to make suggestions, and as this was really an examination pa per, it didn’t seem right” Rob handed her the paper. When he had first read it himself it had given him the strange emotion with in his breast that his younger son sometimes caused. She returned to Rob. "What did Gibson say about it?" "Said it was a good piece of writ ing. Says Ken’s got a brilliant mind —asked me if I knew it—” "What did you say?” "I said No, I thought he was dumb; and he said sometimes bril liant people were very dumb.” In Nell’s worn and tired face the "Rob! Are you all right? Where are you?” dimple of the right cheek suddenly showed. "I didn't know Gibson was smart enough to say a thing like that," she whispered. "Did you know It, Nell—that Ken is brilliant?" “I suspected it.” "What on earth made you think that? He’s always failed at every thing—till this summer.” "Well—” Nell spoke slowly, thoughtfully, "a dreamer—you know —it’s a mind that looks over the edges of things—the way Ken can do what he calls ‘getting into other worlds’; gets into a picture; gets into a drop of water; gets into a star—anything—” Rob sat looking out the window. "What did Mr. Gibson finally de cide?” asked Nell. "Said that as Ken had made a sincere effort, he would take him back into his own grade on proba tion.” Some days later, when there had been a light fall of snow, and the whole world was an etching in brown and white, Rob wrapped the boy up, and telling Nell that there was something out on one of the hills he wanted to show him, drove down the road and stopped the car. Looking out the window, they could see, a short distance away, where the range rolled up to the woods. “Look,” said McLaughlin, point ing out the window. On the edge of the woods stood a great stag with a full-antlered head. Blending perfectly with the brown and white etching, he was hard to see at first. His whole body was in profile to the car, but his head was turned around to face them, held very high, the eyes in an unswerv ing direct gaze bent upon the car there in the road. The up-curving lines of his neck and head flowed out into the trunks and then the branches of the many-pointed ant lers in indescribable beauty. Ken’s mouth fell open as he looked. The stag was absolutely motionless. The word nobility might have been coined to embody all that the magnificent creature expressed. Or courage— McLaughlin glanced down at his son. The mouth was still open. “How did you know he’d be here, Dad?” “I just saw him, driving in from the highway.” “Why does he stay so long with out moving?” “He’s got a doe lying down there. He’s protecting her. That’s why he doesn’t move.” The boy looked a long time yet, then glanced up at his father. “Be cause she’s his responsibility?” “Yes.” McLaughlin started the engine, turned the car and drove toward the ranch. Ken watched the motionless stag as long as he could see him. The boy’s eyes burned; there was a choking in his throat, and all through his body a feeling as of rushing torrents. When he could no longer see the stag, his eyes roved over the hills and woods. He did not know what had ended the cold, weary detach ment and united him to the world again, he only knew that it was his own once more, that it was beauti ful and alive, that he wanted to see Flicka. And he pressed his face against his father’s sleeve and wept Late that afternoon Ken, bundled up in a heavy sweater, slammed the house door, thudded across the Green and opened the gate. He found a new pasture; snow on the ground, bare trees, the orange glow of a real winter sunset in the sky. And Flicka— Every day, for weeks, she had looked for him. She would stand at the corral gate with head up and ears pricked sharply; then, dis appointed, whirl about with an im patient nicker and trot restlessly around the hill, then turn, point her ears, and stand listening again. She had grown two inches in height and gave promise of being a big horse, with speed and power and Are. She had a thick, warm win. ter coat of long fur; there was no swelling on any of her legs. Cold mornings, she put her nose to the earth and kicked her heels in the air; or twisted her body and bucked; or galloped wildly from one end of the pasture to the other, her blonde mane and tail streaming. When snow fell, coming sometimes on a whining winter wind, she lilted her head high and sniffed at it with flaring nostrils. Now the slamming of the ranch door caught her attention and she trotted questioningly toward the cor ral. Ken’s quick feet thudded across the Green, the gate rattled; and when the boy came running down the path, crying, “Oh, Flickal Flicka!”, the neigh that rang out on the cold air was a sound the Ally had never made before. [THE END] W1 /TO MAKE, T ET’S welcome baby with the daintiest of layettes. 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