We enjoyed a homemade dessert last night: fresh-baked lemon pound cake topped with vanilla ice cream and raspberries from the garden.
Ever since we visited a coffee shop in a little town in Ireland last year where I had a similar dessert, I've yearned to try making the combination myself.
Well, it's raspberry season and a perfect time for giving it a try.
I tried a pound cake earlier this week but didn't have any lemon extract. The results were okay, but last night's version with real lemon extract for flavoring turned out much superior to just "okay."
I like to think that my edible dessert was followed by another summer evening delight of visual enjoyment, driving around the neighborhood during the "golden hour" for photography and snapping some photos.
All the truly rural images except the cow below (one of the Woods herd, seen along Selle Road yesterday afternoon) were taken during the hour between 6:30-7:30. I think that bovine is ready for a Kentucky Derby party.
As you scroll down and get past the farm field photos, you'll see some train shots, taken by my daughter-in-law.
Last night's photography excursion led me to a lovely roadside delight reminiscent of what Annie and I saw quite often in New Zealand several years ago.
This concept of displaying home-grown or home-produced goodies at the end of a driveway for sale on the honor system is a cool idea. Plus, the perishables at this particular venue are kept cool in an ice chest.
I do think that the folks on Colburn-Culver Road (one of which is a former student) have outdone themselves with their visual presentation and their offerings.
So, if you're out and about and one to buy directly from the producer, here's your chance.
They were pretty low on inventory by 7:15 last night so I think I'll have to take another drive that way earlier in the day.
Getting closer to home, I was pleasantly surprised to see my neighbor Gary Finney's herd of Percherons enjoying their evening in the field.
Twas a lovely day, with lots of picking in the garden, a visit with an old friend, a summer dinner and the grand finale of a pleasant drive around this place we love to call home.
Enjoy Debbie's thoughts below and my friend Liz's contribution for the literary minded.
Happy Wednesday!
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| Nice Hat! |
Our daughter-in-law Debbie and her hubby Willie took their first-ever train ride last night. Talk about a special experience!
Debbie serves as director of the Bonner County Food Bank, which received recognition on last night's ride sponsored and coordinated by Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railroad.
Both Debbie and Willie texted us photos of the Great Northern Road farm and the Colburn farm where they live as they rolled north on the rails during the two-hour excursion which included a lovely meal and an awards ceremony.
I guess it was about time for Willie to take a train ride since he spent his entire youth with a switch crossing just across our driveway where 40 trains a day carried their loads and occasionally some peeps.
Debbie's words below, posted on Instagram, say it all.
- deblove3As our journey this evening comes to an end - we enjoyed a wonderful dinner and train ride provided by BNSF Railway.
- It was such an honor to accept the BNSF Railway Heritage Award grant on behalf of the Bonner Community Food Bank.
- Thank you to the Bonner County Commissioners and BNSF for believing in our hunger relief efforts. Thank you for allowing me to speak this evening on behalf of those in need.
- Together we will continue to make our community a place where children, teens, adults, and our older adults do not need to worry about where their next meal will come from. Nobody will go to bed hungry.
Finally, for my "figuratively speaking" friends, let's raise a glass for all these "literary lovelies-- or not" who kept showing up at a bar.
Thanks to my former English student Liz McNeil Runte for sharing this clever list.
Maria Carter
A dangling participle walks into a bar. Enjoying a cocktail and chatting with the bartender, the evening passes pleasantly.
A bar was walked into by the passive voice.
A bar was walked into by the passive voice.
An oxymoron walked into a bar, and the silence was deafening.
Two quotation marks walk into a “bar.”
A malapropism walks into a bar, looking for all intensive purposes like a wolf in cheap clothing, muttering epitaphs and casting dispersions on his magnificent other, who takes him for granite.
Hyperbole totally rips into this insane bar and absolutely destroys everything.
A question mark walks into a bar?
A non sequitur walks into a bar. In a strong wind, even turkeys can fly.
Papyrus and Comic Sans walk into a bar. The bartender says, "Get out -- we don't serve your type."
A mixed metaphor walks into a bar, seeing the handwriting on the wall but hoping to nip it in the bud.
A comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves.
Three intransitive verbs walk into a bar. They sit. They converse. They depart.
A synonym strolls into a tavern.
At the end of the day, a cliché walks into a bar -- fresh as a daisy, cute as a button, and sharp as a tack.
A run-on sentence walks into a bar it starts flirting. With a cute little sentence fragment.
Falling slowly, softly falling, the chiasmus collapses to the bar floor.
A figure of speech literally walks into a bar and ends up getting figuratively hammered.
An allusion walks into a bar, despite the fact that alcohol is its Achilles heel.
The subjunctive would have walked into a bar, had it only known.
A misplaced modifier walks into a bar owned a man with a glass eye named Ralph.
The past, present, and future walked into a bar. It was tense.
A dyslexic walks into a bra.
A verb walks into a bar, sees a beautiful noun, and suggests they conjugate. The noun declines.
An Oxford comma walks into a bar, where it spends the evening watching the television getting drunk and smoking cigars.
A simile walks into a bar, as parched as a desert.
A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking to forget.
A hyphenated word and a non-hyphenated word walk into a bar and the bartender nearly chokes on the irony.
*(I can’t take credit for these, but the malapropism is my favorite. Enjoy!)
To Liz, I vote for the dyslexic!
Two quotation marks walk into a “bar.”
A malapropism walks into a bar, looking for all intensive purposes like a wolf in cheap clothing, muttering epitaphs and casting dispersions on his magnificent other, who takes him for granite.
Hyperbole totally rips into this insane bar and absolutely destroys everything.
A question mark walks into a bar?
A non sequitur walks into a bar. In a strong wind, even turkeys can fly.
Papyrus and Comic Sans walk into a bar. The bartender says, "Get out -- we don't serve your type."
A mixed metaphor walks into a bar, seeing the handwriting on the wall but hoping to nip it in the bud.
A comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves.
Three intransitive verbs walk into a bar. They sit. They converse. They depart.
A synonym strolls into a tavern.
At the end of the day, a cliché walks into a bar -- fresh as a daisy, cute as a button, and sharp as a tack.
A run-on sentence walks into a bar it starts flirting. With a cute little sentence fragment.
Falling slowly, softly falling, the chiasmus collapses to the bar floor.
A figure of speech literally walks into a bar and ends up getting figuratively hammered.
An allusion walks into a bar, despite the fact that alcohol is its Achilles heel.
The subjunctive would have walked into a bar, had it only known.
A misplaced modifier walks into a bar owned a man with a glass eye named Ralph.
The past, present, and future walked into a bar. It was tense.
A dyslexic walks into a bra.
A verb walks into a bar, sees a beautiful noun, and suggests they conjugate. The noun declines.
An Oxford comma walks into a bar, where it spends the evening watching the television getting drunk and smoking cigars.
A simile walks into a bar, as parched as a desert.
A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking to forget.
A hyphenated word and a non-hyphenated word walk into a bar and the bartender nearly chokes on the irony.
*(I can’t take credit for these, but the malapropism is my favorite. Enjoy!)
To Liz, I vote for the dyslexic!
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