Jeannie Watt

Jeannie Watt raises cattle in Montana and loves all things western. When she's not writing, Jeannie enjoys sewing, making mosaic mirrors, riding her horses and buying hay. Lots and lots of hay.

Modern Conveniences and a Give Away

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My house. I loved it.

I lived off the grid for twenty-two years. We only lived two miles from power lines, also two miles off a main road, but the power company wanted $500,000 to take a power line to our house. We chose not to do that, so we created our power with a generator, first propane with a wind backup, and then diesel. I learned a lot of basic mechanics over the years because the one rule of generators is that they will fail, and usually at a very inconvenient time. Ask me why I flinch when the lights flicker. My fridge was propane and a whopping 7.7 cubic feet. It too failed every now and again, so I am now quite adept at fixing propane fridges.

Now that I have “regular” power, I have it easy. At my old house, I had to schedule laundry, ironing, showers, TV watching, hair drying, cooking with the electric oven, and using the microwave around the times that the generator was running–from whenever we got up to 10:00 in the morning, then from 4:00 in the afternoon to bedtime.  I could not use a crockpot. I did not charge my phone at night. Oh–I also had one of the first cell phones because the telephone company took eleven years to run a line to us. It was so big that it was mounted on the wall, and if you took it somewhere you had a special carrying bag like a brief case to hold it. All calls, incoming and outgoing, were 60 cents a minute. If a telemarketer called you, it cost you.

I did love the “simple” life and it was a great way to raise kids.  That said, it’s so nice to take a shower without tuning on the power. To cook when I want, sew when I want, make a phone call that doesn’t cost 60 cents a minute (that did change to a more reasonable price as cell phones became more common).

Would I go back? Let’s say this–I could go back. It’s a tougher life, and expensive, but doable, and there are some definite advantages. It’s really peaceful and at that time, before phones and battery powered laptops, you looked to other things to fill your time. And even though it was a challenging life in some ways, it was nothing compared to how rural people lived in the first part of the last century. Now those were tough people.

My question to you today, for a $10 Amazon gift certificate, is an offshoot from my topic.  Let’s say you have a cooking stove that needs no electricity, an ice box, and (wonder of wonders) indoor plumbing. No communication or entertainment devices. What modern convenience would you like to add to the mix?  For me, it would be electric lights.

Taming the Wild Cowboy Preview and Give Away

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The second book of my Bad Boys of the Rodeo series, TAMING THE WILD COWBOY, is about to be released. The official release date is April 28, but it is available now for preorder. I had a lot of fun writing this book. The hero, Trev Matthews, is one of my favorites and he plays a part in all four books of the series. Here’s an excerpt:

Trev put his phone in his pocket, studying the truck as it approached and wondering where he’d be directing the driver to. When the truck got close enough to read the Montana plate, he could see that a woman was driving with a smallish dog bouncing on the seat beside her.

The truck lurched when it crossed the cattleguard, as if its suspension was shot, then continued across the wide gravel yard that separated the houses from the barns and outbuildings, pulling to a stop a few yards away from where Trev stood. She turned off the engine and started to open the door, only to stop abruptly when he pushed his hat back, giving her a good look at his face. He might have been mistaken but it looked like she’d silently mouthed a curse word.

Trev’s first thought was that she was nervous, being miles from the public road and quite possibly lost. His second thought, when she once again raised her chin, was no  way.

Maclyn Kane.

He felt like rubbing his eyes to see if she disappeared when he opened them again. What was she doing here? And why was she driving a truck that looked like the front quarter panel would fall off if someone breathed too heavily on it?

They faced off through the gravel-pitted windshield for a few more seconds, then Maclyn squared her shoulders and pushed the truck door all the way open, telling the little dog to stay. The door remained ajar after she’d stepped to the ground, making it easier to jump back inside, he figured. The dog danced on the edge of the seat but followed orders and stayed put.

So, again, why was Maclyn Kane on his ranch?

She appeared to be wondering the same thing as she stopped a few feet away from him, perhaps waiting for him to make the first move. That wasn’t going to happen.

A breeze came up and caught hold of her dark hair, which was about a foot shorter than during their rodeo days, falling to her shoulders instead of to her waist, and her clothes were remarkably utilitarian. The loose-fitting jeans bore signs of wear that were not part of the manufacturing process, and her scuffed boots spoke of actual ranch work. No glitz. No bling. No visible jewelry. If he’d passed her on the street, it would have taken him a few seconds to recognize her. That said, she still had that air about her, as if she were royalty masquerading as a cowgirl.

Or she’s nervous.

She had reason to be.

“Long time,” Maclyn finally said, hooking a thumb in her pocket.

“Six years,” he acknowledged.

Her eyebrows lifted. “Five and a half since you tanked my job chances with Buckley Livestock, but who’s counting?”

Yeah. That. Not his fault. He’d been asked his opinion of Maclyn Kane as a potential employee and had explained his personal experience with her, every word of which was true. He had not sought out the hiring manager of Buckley as she seemed to imply, and was about to correct her, when he thought better of it. Nothing good came of arguing the past, and beyond that, there was something about the way Maclyn held herself, as if about to wade into battle, that stopped him.

“What can I do for you?” he finally asked.

“I’m here about the job you posted in the feed store on the highway.”

Trev tried to hold back the laugh. Failed. Mac’s expression shifted from defensive to pure ice at the choked sound.

“Sorry to have wasted your time.” She turned toward the truck and jerked the partially open door until it bounced on the hinges. The little dog scrambled into the passenger seat.

“Wait.”

Mac turned her head, Sam Elliott style, to wordlessly meet his gaze as he took a few steps forward, making him wonder if he’d imagined the crack in her voice.

“For?” she asked.

He shifted his weight, buying time as he tried to find a place of mental equilibrium. This was weird. “You’re here about the job.”

Her jaw shifted sideways. “I was.”

“Why?” It made no sense.

“I didn’t know that you’d be here.”

She climbed into the truck then and pulled the door handle. Trev caught the frame before the door closed, dropping his hand as she shot him a look. Right. What was he thinking?

He was thinking that he wanted answers. “Mac.”

She abandoned the battle for the door, letting her head drop back against the split vinyl of the headrest. “Yes?”

“What’s going on?”

She closed her eyes as if shutting out a bad memory. It took her a long moment to say, “I need something temporary. A few days even.”

“Why?”

Her eyes came open. “I’m in a spot.”

“What kind of spot?”

“The kind I didn’t expect.”

He raised his eyebrows.

She shifted her gaze to the windshield. “I got fired from my job. I have two horses and a dog to feed.”

He waited for more, but she reached for the ignition instead of explaining. Trev wasn’t ready to let her go. Not just yet.

“Mac.”

She kept her hand on the key as she once again glanced his way. “I don’t expect you to believe me, given our history.”

She gave the word history a nasty twist, which in turn caused something to shift uncomfortably in Trev’s brain. She had been so adamant when he’d confronted her about paying for the damage to his truck. Damage she’d caused, yet refused to take responsibility for.

“Won’t your parents help you out of the spot?” The parents everyone assumed bankrolled her back in the day. Someone had paid for that flashy truck and trailer and one of the best barrel horses on the circuit. Since Maclyn had been barely into her twenties at the time, the assumption was that it wasn’t her writing the checks.

“Not an option.”

Her tone spoke of bridges burned, and he realized how little he knew about this woman. What he’d had was assumptions and amusing anecdotes from Brooke, who had admired her travel partner’s quiet grit. Grit that Trev had secretly pegged as privilege and the knowledge that she could get away with stuff.

“Sell the horses.”

Maclyn gave him a dark look. “Also not an option.”

“Then it appears you’re low on options.”

“Thanks for pointing that out.” She pulled the door shut then and started the engine. Trev stepped back as the truck rolled forward a few feet, then stopped. After a brief hesitation, Maclyn lowered the window.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Here it came.

“I was not driving your truck that night.”

She did stick to her story.

And now for the give away. My book has heat in places (nothing crazy mind you) and some salty language. I know many of our readers are sweet romance readers, so instead of giving away the book, I’m giving away a $10 Amazon gift card so that the winner can buy any book they’d like. Hopefully two books. Hopefully books written by me or my fellow fillies. 🙂

This is a second chance romance, which is one of my favorite tropes, so I write it often. To be eligible for the gift card, tell me one of your favorite tropes or story themes. Winner will be announced on Sunday.

Fun Town Winner!

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I had a great time reading all the fun town names! I’m pleased to announce that the winner of the Amazon gift card is Rhonda Pierce, who shared the name Toad Suck, Arkansas. Congratulations, Rhonda!

Here’s a list of the fun town names collected from the comments. Thank you for sharing!

Fun Town Names and a Give Away

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It seems like every state has a few towns with truly unusual names. I wonder sometimes what it’s like to write ZZyzx, California as a return address on an envelope (and this is from someone who wrote Winnemucca, Nevada for 30 years.)

Idaho, the state where I grew up, has a lot of interesting names–Slickpoo, for instance, named after a man who gave land for a Jesuit mission. Washington state has many fun names that are impossible to pronounce unless you’re from the area.

Below I’ve listed a few of my favorites from around the country:

Why, Arizona  — named after a Y joining State Routes 85 and highway 86. Arizona law requires that a town’s name have three letters, so Y became Why.

Big Sag, Montana  — named for a large sag or dip in the landscape

Atomic City, Idaho — named after its proximity to the National Reactor Testing Station

Skookumchuck, Washington – means water in the Chinook language

Truth or Consequences, New Mexico — named after the Ralph Edwards radio show.

Hygiene, Colorado — named in the 19th Century by the National Cleanliness Society for a sanitarium nearby

Rough and Ready, California – named during the Gold Rush

Boring, Oregon – has a sister city in Scotland named Dull

Chicken, Alaska – named because the miners couldn’t spell ptarmigan.

Now it’s your turn. For a chance for a $10 Amazon gift certificate, add a  fun city name in the comments. The only caveat is that it has to be or have been populated at some point in time. I’m looking forward to reading the additions!

UPDATE: I’m reading the fun town names in the comments and loving them! I’m amazed at how the names evolve and stick. Thank you for making me smile and adding to the list! WINNER WILL BE ANNOUNCED ON SUNDAY MARCH 29 along with a compilation of the names. I think we need a summary. 🙂

Pot or Kettle?

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I was in my forties before I knew that people didn’t call  pots and pans “kettles”.  Embarrassingly, I was writing a book with a cook as a hero and my editor gently pointed out to me that kettles are used for tea. Sometimes they’re used for things like rendering fat during the butchering process or making soap. They are not used in everyday cooking. That was news to me because I grew up cooking in kettles.

One of my favorites was the mush kettle, which was a one quart aluminum “pot” (as some people call it) with a handle. We cooked oatmeal, cream of wheat and Malto-Meal in the mush kettle. It was all mush. According to my husband, it’s actually hot cereal. Right.

The mush kettle wasn’t the only specialized kettle we had. There was also the rice kettle and the stew kettle, both stainless steal and the perfect size for the stated purposes. Sometimes we used the stew kettle for other things, such as soaking beans, but it was always the stew kettle. Oddly we didn’t have cast iron kettles, even though we had cast iron everything. Cast iron kettles are, of course, called Dutch ovens.

Speaking of cast iron, we had a lot of perfectly seasoned frying pans. (Occasionally called skillets in my house, but not often.) We had enough of them that I think I took four when I moved out and no one seemed to notice. Yes, we used soap in our frying pans, but only after meat was cooked in them. If there was no meat, it was a wipe-clean situation. If we washed them in water, we put them on the stove to dry, hopefully remembering to stay nearby so as not to wonder about that nasty hot metal odor permeating house a few minutes later. If the pan was not red hot, there’d be a quick application of Crisco on a rag if mom or dad were in charge, and no Crisco if my brother or I were in charge . I still have my pans. They’re still perfectly seasoned and I use soap.  I haven’t turned one red hot by forgetting it in the drying process in a long time, and have finally reached the level of maturity where I do wipe them with Crisco after washing.

Long story short, I occasionally use soap in my 100-year old cast iron and I still cook in kettles. Do you?

Jeannie Watt has a Winner!

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I loved all the butter churning ideas and the tidbits of information from those who actually churned butter. I learned a lot! The winner of the creative butter churning post is:

ALICIA!

Congratulations, Alicia. I’ll be in touch shortly!

Churning Butter and a Give Away

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When I was eight years-old we started getting our milk directly from the local dairy. After the glass gallon jars sat in the fridge overnight, there was a good two inches of cream at the top. I’m sorry to say that I thought cream was gross. I’d scoop it off when mom wasn’t looking, instead of shaking it up as directed, so that the “good” milk didn’t get contaminated with butter fats. Silly child. But the one good thing about all that cream was that sometimes my dad would scoop into a quart jar and make butter by simply shaking the jar. He had pretty good stamina because I remember him shaking for a long time. Then with a little salt, you had a very decent glob of butter. I loved butter.

All this came back to me the other day when I was whipping cream for a frosting and overwhipped it and came up with, you guessed it, whipped butter. I still put it on the cake, but it was a little greasier than it should have been. My husband is not particular, thank goodness.

Butter churning has been around for thousands of years. The earliest butter churns date back around 6,500 years to Israel. They were ceramic vessels that mimicked animal skins. Why? Because that was how nomadic cultures churned butter and made kefir. They put the cream in a vessel made of animal skin and shook it, very much like the way my dad would shake his quart jar, or even easier, simply tie it to a pack animal. The butter would churn as the animal walked. The ceramic churns were made to lay on their sides and rocked back and forth, sometimes with the aid of a rope.

The plunge churn was used in early America and is the churn I think of most often. It consists of a wooden contain into which the cream is poured, a flat lid with a hole and a plunger, which is worked up and down until butter forms. After the butter forms, the buttermilk (yes, that’s where it came from) is poured off and the butter is placed in a shallow trough called a butter worker. A fluted roller was rolled over the butter, water was added, then drained off. This process continued until all the buttermilk was removed from the butter.

 

The paddle churn is what my dad should have had. It’s a container, sometimes glass, that has a lid and a handle that turns a churn, which creates the butter.

The barrel churn appeared in 18th century Europe and works on the same principle as the paddle churn only on a larger scale.

There were of course many variations on these themes, including one in which the churn was attached to a rocking chair and the churner rocked their way to butter.  Someone else came up with a treadmill upon which a sheep or dog would walk to turn the crank and churn the butter. One of the more realistic designs involved a foot treadle like those on old fashioned sewing machines. That would have been my go-to.

Now let’s get silly. For a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, what is the most creative way you can think of  to churn milk into butter?

Petticoats & Pistols