As we speak I am cooking up some potato sausages that I actually had to cut apart from eachother. Real, honest to goodness, homemade sausages cased in real intestine! They are steaming on my stove right now and they smell so good.
Is it weird to be excited about the casing on your sausages?
The best part about these sausages is that my dad made them! In his home! With a meat grinder! Using his own elk meat!
Doesn’t that just make you want to don an apron, pick up a chicken, twirl around and sing like Cinderella out your kitchen window complete with a pie cooling in the window?? No?
Yeah, me either.
Last weekend I visited my Dad. We made a delicious dinner and rhubarb strawberry pies with the overgrown rhubarb picked from his yard.
He showed me the latest happenings in his garden and his plans for the mossy appletree in his yard. He let me take the food from his fridge that was going to go bad since he is going to be in Seattle working on a boat this week. This included two packages of wild Alaskan smoked salmon. SCORE!
And yes, I ate it all already. It was all mine since I’m the only real fish eater in my house.
Which is weird because one would think my husband, a manly-Finnish man from a small town on the Columbia River whose dad, grandpa, and self worked in the fishing industry would be a fish lover. But, no. I am the one that must eat all the fish. Poor me 😉
When I spend time with my Dad like this it becomes clear how I have come to be the person that I am. This happens when I am with my mom too but alas, I did not get to see my mom last weekend (tear…)
My Dad is someone I would describe as charismatic, quirky, hard-working, curious, and completely capable of all things. He has the largest hands you will ever see in your life. And his fingers are all wacked-out from breaking them and not getting them properly set. He has a hot temper. He cares about this country. He fears God. He loves to cook and always has. His weakness is chocolate chips cookies. He’s perfected his recipe. It’s dangerous. He hunts, fishes, grows a garden, can fix anything, can build anything, and always has a new adventure to talk about. Since high school he has been a commercial fisherman who went on to ultimately live his dream when he bought his very own fishing vessel, Dreamland, and became it’s hard-working Captain for years to come.
He used to have a shirt that said “At the mention of my name, fish tremble.” Bah ha!
And this year he will go to Alaska for the 23484987th time.
This is not to say that I am as hard-working and capable as my dad because the Lord knows I am not movin’ and shakin’ at the pace of my Dad. (Which by the way, makes me feel very lame because for goodness sakes I am 27 years younger.)
All I’m sayin’ is it’s no wonder I’m such a cool person. Ha ha ha…I’m totally kidding.
But seriously, it’s no wonder that I get excited about the casing on my Dad’s homemade potato sausages. It’s no wonder I feel my hot temper rise when I read articles and learn about all the destruction of freedom going on in this country. It’s no wonder I daydream all day about our future homesteading goals and living off the land. And it’s no wonder I have the fear of God always with me.
I do wonder though, why I have such a serious case of sea-sickness when I so much as watch a boat in a movie on the ocean. That doesn’t fit the pattern.
This is not even to mention all of the things that make me like my Mom. I could go on about our poodle fetish (Standard Poodles, to be exact) and relentless need to put a bow on everything given as a gift. (Is not a gift without a bow, right!? Back me up here!)
I wanted to talk about sausages but this turned into a post about my dear ol’ Dad.
Thank you blog for allowing my thoughts to wander aimlessly.
I love my Dad. And I love my Mom. And I love these potato sausages.