YOOPER ADVENTURES

A Gertie Christmas eStory only 99 cents!

2011-10-28T13:14:00.000-05:00

Gertie wanted to do something special for her readers to thank them for their support. Hope you enjoy.

Buy for your Kindle:
Murder Trims the Tree (A Gertie Johnson Christmas Novella)

Buy for your Nook

Other formats thru Smashwords

Murder Trims the Tree is a Christmas novella (15,000 words)

When Gertie and her cohorts decide to do their court-ordered community service at the local assisted living home during the Christmas season, they get more than they (plea) bargained for.

"A hoot with a heart." Cozy Library

"A delight to read. In addition to the engaging mystery, it's a wonderful story of the love of family and friends.” Mysterious Review

"One of the most memorable heroines in recent crime fiction." Lansing State Journal

What I Have To Put Up With!

2010-11-19T08:33:00.000-06:00

This month I’m going to get rid of my dearly departed husband’s mother if it’s the last thing I do!

Grandma Johnson is ninety-two and her tongue is poisonous, like a rattlesnake. She’s also my mother-in-law. I’ve never forgiven Barney for dying and leaving me to deal with her. The two of us get along like milk and orange juice. Mix us together and we curdle for sure.

Yesterday, I opened the screen door and walked into the living room. The door snapped shut behind me with a bang like my twelve-gauge shotgun going off, but Grandma didn’t hear it. She was watching the local news on television and had the volume cranked up as high as it would go.

Think I cook just for fun?” Grandma crabbed. “Where have you been?”

I could have told her the truth, that I was out chasing bad guys, but that would just set her off, so I said, “I’ve been around.”

You…” Grandma shook a crooked finger in my direction. “You will be the death of me just like you were the death of my boy.”

Grandma’s comments are outrageous, figments of a warped imagination. I’ve learned to ignore them.

All the while she was complaining, she gave me the evil eye. I helped her get up from the sofa after watching her rock back and forth trying to get momentum on her own. She gripped my offered hand with her own, cold and bony like the remains of a scaled fish.

Grandma Johnson is shriveled up like an old apple you’d find in the back of your refrigerator when you finally decide to clean it out. One that’s so old and moldy it takes a few seconds to identify it. And she smells like a nursing home, which is where I keep suggesting we put her. No one else agrees with me. Yet. That’s because they aren’t the ones having to deal with her all the time.

I don’t know why Grandma showed up on my doorstep with her suitcase. Unless she planned to drive me crazy.

The only thing that looks new on Grandma Johnson is her dentures, which really are brand-spanking new. She wore an old faded housedress with an apron tied around her waist and she snapped her new teeth.

“I better go check my bird,” she said, “before I go burning it up. Almost forgot.”

She sent one last glare my way and headed for the kitchen. I shut off the television, then followed her and watched as she opened the oven door. Holding hot pads in both hands, she carefully pulled the roasting pan out of the oven. My mother-in-law set it on top of the stove and removed the cover.

“See there,” she said. “I did almost burn it.”

I looked over her shoulder and couldn’t help noticing the chicken was so rare it could almost fly away. I also noticed that she had forgotten to turn on the oven.

Maybe after the family digs into this chicken, they’ll agree with me about that nursing home.
I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

~excerpt from Murder Grins and Bears It

Da Yoopers

2010-04-20T19:14:00.002-05:00

In the U.P. we love everything Yooper. Da Yooper Tourist Trap is cool. So is Da Yoopers. Deer camp isn't until November but we can dream, can't we?

How to Act Like A Natural Born Yooper

2010-02-23T09:15:00.000-06:00

My brand new squirrel proof bird feeder.

(That's a turkey, in case you couldn't identify the creature.)
It's still cold and white here in the Michigan Upper Peninsula. But it's beautiful. I just love it. The one thing we all have in common up here is a real love for nature and wildlife. And it's right outside our door all the time. Deer, rabbits, turkeys, birds of all sorts, a bear here and there, and a whole mess of others, including wolves and coyotes. But they aren't usually on my doorstep. Being shy, they keep their distance and sing to each other every evening. That's the only way we know they are neighbors. Although we see tracks in the snow when we go out in the woods.

You might not be a real Yooper, but you can act like one by caring about the wildlife around your house. Put out feed for them - bird seed and corn will do the trick. And ask more questions before you buy a bird feeder. Like what about being turkey proof?

Gertie

How To Look Like a Natural Born Yooper

2009-12-21T04:30:00.000-06:00

The snow is getting ready to fly and the temperature is about to plummet. In the Michigan Upper Peninsula we're ready for anything. Even the tourists (aka out-of-state hunters). We can see them coming a mile away, packed into mini-vans and station wagons and not dressed at all right for the climate. Here's what you need to wear to sort of fit in. Not to mention, stay warm:

1. Sorel boots.
2. A good wool hat with ear flaps. Try a Stormy Kromer.
3. Since we're into hunting season, wear a blaze orange hunting jacket, whether you hunt or not. Women, our men love a women in orange.
4. Snow mobile bibs. Pick them up at Fleet Farm.
5. Leather gloves.
6. Wool socks.

Okay, you're set. Just don't open your mouth or we'll know the difference, eh?

Blaze Orange Alert for Youse Tourists

2009-11-19T08:31:00.005-06:00

We Yoopers are smack dab in the middle of deer hunting season in the Michigan Upper Peninsula, which I write about with Deb Baker in Murder Passes the Buck. If you hang around this area long enough, you realize that hunting is more than a sport. It's survival for us; the way we make ends meet. So wasn't I surprised when Deb's editor told us we couldn't kill any animals in our story.

"What?" I shouted (that's me, Gertie)
"I can see her point," Deb said. "Some people aren't used to our way of life."
"But they buy meat at the grocery store," I pointed out.
"It's the killing part that bothers them."
"Okay, we won't kill any deer, but can we kill people?"
Deb nodded and smiled that wicked grin that told me she was thinking about murder. "As many as we want."

So that's how we ended up writing three hunting murder mystery stories without harming a single deer or bear or turkey and you know what, I kinda liked it that way myself.

Back to deer season, hunters are running all over the woods and some of them are from Chicago or places where they don't know safety rules, so WEAR YOUR ORANGE!

And to break you in to the season, watch Escanaba in da Moonlight, Jeff Daniel's funny movie about a guy from Escanaba who still hadn't shot a buck. There's even a song and here's a little taste of it.

"Reuben, he loved hunting but he never had no luck.
After 30 years of tryin', well, he still ain't bagged a buck.
Some say he's unlucky, some say he's just cursed,
Some say when he pulled that trigger, Reuben was the worst."
~The Ballad of the Buckless Yooper~ Jeff Daniels

Oh, and read our book, Murder Passes the Buck. You'll like it.

See you at camp.

Gertie

Albino Moose spotted!

2009-11-10T11:18:00.003-06:00

Some lucky traveler had the opportunity to snap this picture on a highway near Marenisco, Michigan. Here in the Upper Peninsula we love our wildlife, every color, every size, every temperament. These two albinos look gentle, but don't let that fool you. A moose will always stand its ground and watch you. If it starts stomping, you are in deep trouble. In that case, head for the hills or a tree or if you have no place to go, play dead.

And More Pastie Shops

2009-10-15T06:00:00.000-05:00

Can you guess where these are? Hint: M35 between Menominee and Escanaba.

Michigan Upper Peninsula Pasties

2009-09-24T08:04:00.005-05:00

Pasties!(pronounced pass-tees) We love them. For the uninitiated, pasties consist of folded pastry (like pie dough) about the size of a man's hand. It's filled with meat, potatoes, vegetables, and secret spices that vary depending on the chef's preference.
And you thought they were those little things exotic dancers wear, eh. Ha.
This is a photo of our favorite pasty shop in Escanaba. Gram's Pasties. 2418 Ludington. Anytime Deb is in the U.P. we meet there, sit on stools right at the counter, and dig in. The tradition is to douse your pasty with ketchup, but they offer gravy for the tourists, so you might as well try that, too, since you probably are just passing through. Otherwise, you'd know about Gram's already.

We (that's Gertie and Deb) have a knock-down tried-and-true recipe for pasties. If you want it, you'll just have to read Murder Grins and Bears It because the recipe is in the back. Enjoy.

Kitty's Fried Doughnuts

2009-09-17T15:39:00.001-05:00

My friend Kitty's favorite recipe from Murder Passes the Buck:

Finns and Swedes love their bakery. A cup of strong coffee and a doughnut will make them happy all day long. Kitty has been known to carry these around in her purse in case she gets hungry later. The secret to perfect doughnuts is the mashed potato.
Don’t forget to dunk them in coffee.

Makes a bunch

5 cups white flour
4 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1 cup mashed potatoes
1 1/2 cups sugar
2 eggs
1/4 cup melted butter
1 cup buttermilk
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 tsp grated lemon rind
oil for frying
powdered sugar or granulated sugar
cinnamon (optional)

Sift together flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon. Add mashed potatoes and sugar. Mix well. Blend in eggs and melted butter. In separate bowl, combine buttermilk, vanilla, and lemon rind. Add to flour mix, blend well, cover, and let stand for 15 minutes.

Roll out dough and cut with doughnut cutter. Fry in oil in pan or in deep fryer until golden brown, turn with fork, brown other side. Remove, lay on paper towel to drain and cool. Shake doughnuts in bag with granulated sugar or powdered sugar. Try 1/2 cup powdered sugar and 1 tsp cinnamon for a special treat. Serve warm.

Where Do Writers Get Ideas?

2009-09-10T07:31:00.004-05:00

From real life, of course. From experience. From melding and molding the personalities we meet along our journey to develop our characters. Maybe we exaggerate their quirks a little (or a lot), but it all starts with a solid base in reality.

Same with settings. This is Herb's Bar. Herb's is an integral part of the series. There was a bit of fudging going on during the writing, the owners are different, changed to Gertie's nephews. But every silence when the door opens while the customers size up the new guy - that happens. Without fail. The music playing when Gertie stomps in is the same as you'll hear if you go there.

And just like in the book, nobody can remember anybody named Herb ever owning the place.

Bars like Herb's are where the action happens in our small towns. It's where the locals have a beer together in the late afternoon, then skedaddle before the younger bunch arrives. It's where Gertie pumps customers for information and grills Red and Ed (her nephews) about strangers and what they might have overheard from the working side of the bar.

So next time you're in the Michigan U.P. and you drive past a place called Herb's (hint: it's on M35), stop in for a cold one and tell them Gertie and Deb sent you. You may even meet this guy.

I'm Back

2009-09-03T12:27:00.003-05:00

It's amazing how time flies when you're having fun. Or in my case, it flies when you're fighting for truth and justice. I didn't win my court case (the fine really hurt my pocketbook, as in ouch). But I've learned my lesson. Never flash a fake badge when the real law is around.

On a happier note:

Deb and I had a heck of a time getting Murder Passes the Buck out again. You wanted it. Here it is. And the Kindle addition is selling like hotcakes.

Deb's coming up my way this weekend and she's bringing her video recorder so we can shoot things. Like the places I hang out. We might even scoot down to the Escanaba River for some close ups. Stay tuned.

Gertie

2009-04-09T07:12:00.002-05:00

Dear loyal readers, I'm taking a hiatus (my word for the day) from posting while I work on my court case and get this year's gardening attended to. Skipper is a regular at our house, since Kitty adopted him.

Gertie

On The Road Again, final chapter

2009-04-09T06:57:00.003-05:00

By the time we dove into the truck and slammed the doors, some of Kitty's pin curls had sprung free. I also noticed two other strange events. One, the dog wasn't after us, he'd turned tail. Two, the cops arrived and parked me in.

"You're under arrest," one of them said to me, speaking through a tiny slit I'd made in the window.
"For what?"
"Impersonating an office, for starters."
The woman pitched in. "She tried that on me. She has some kind of badge."
"Step out of the truck."

Since I was surrounded by legal weapons I did what I was told.
"Real vicious dog," I mentioned to the woman in passing.
"Any word from Marvin?" the cop asked her.
She shook her head. "Looks like he cleared out. With that hussy."

Right then, Skipper came around the side of the house and guess what? He was carrying another boot. He dropped his find in front of the woman, who turned out later to be Marvin's common law wife.

"Stupid dog," she said.

After that, things heated up. Turns out she'd clunked Marvin on the head and buried him in a back field. Skipper was trying to communicate with the world just like Lassie used to do. He's my hero.

I'm still in trouble over the badge, but like I said earlier, Kitty is studying online to get her lawyer's degree. She'll get me off.

Gertie

On The Road Again - part 3

2009-04-02T04:30:00.001-05:00

Marvin Mattila lived on a dirt road next to the railroad tracks in one of those older prefab homes hiked up on concrete slabs. Wet clothes hung on the clothesline and when we pulled up a woman pushed her way through a row of bed linens. A dog the size of a small pickup loped toward us.

"Nice doggie," Kitty said out loud, then stage-whispered, "holy man, we're dog meat."

Nice Doggie licked his chops and sat down not three feet from where we were standing and pretending we weren't scared almost to death.

"Don't move," I said to Kitty out of the corner of my mouth. "And don't look afraid. Dogs pick up on that."
Kitty sputtered something inaudible.

The woman glanced at the dog then at us, suspicion spread across her face. "What?" is all she said.

"Is that the dog that was downtown Marquette with the boot?" Talking without moving isn't the easiest thing in the world.

She nodded. "That was Skipper."
Skipper decided to lay down and lick his paw. Suddenly, he didn't seem quite so intimidating.
"We were wondering about the boot." I said. "Like who did it belong to and why did Skipper have it." I slowly reached into my pocket and flashed my fake badge. "We're following up on a tip."
"I've never seen you around here before," she said, still unfriendly.
"We were called in special. Where's Marvin?"
"Let me see that identification again. Hand it over."
Kitty and I looked at each other. The game was up, our cover blown.
"Run," I said.
"Skipper, get 'em," the woman shouted.

(to be continued)

On The Road Again, part 2

2009-03-26T04:30:00.000-05:00

The Marquette police were NOT helpful at all, even when I flashed my fake badge. We skedaddled out of there fast, and went over to my favorite bookstore run by Maggie Smith. She had plenty of Deb Baker's Yooper mysteries, which I got to sign since I'm the main character. She also had information on the dog and boot.

"I'm the one who nabbed the dog," she said. "He was hanging around outside the door, gnawing on the boot.

"Hot dog!" Kitty said, realizing we'd scored.

"What kind of boot," I wanted to know, although here in the Michigan Upper Peninsula there's only one kind.

"A black Sorrel," Maggie said, confirming my suspicion. "It's in the back. Want me to get it?"
That perked us up.
The boot was a plain old standard boot with gnaw marks on it.
Plain, except for the dark stain on the toe.
"Blood?" Kitty asked.
"Could be," I said. "That's why the dog was chewing on it."
"Extra flavor," Kitty agreed. "The cops didn't want the boot?"
Maggie shook her head. "All they cared about was the dog. It belongs to Marvin Mattila and we all know he breeds wolf into his dogs."
"Was it vicious?" I asked.
"Naw, it was like a little lamb. I gave him a chunk of my venison jerky and he gave me the boot. It wasn't any big deal."
Kitty and I gave each other a knowing eye. A wolf dog and blood on a boot could add up to a really big deal.
"Where does Marvin Mattila live?" I asked Maggie.
And we were on the road, again.

On The Road Again

2009-03-20T11:38:00.002-05:00

Kitty happened to be over the other day. She's one of the Trouble Busters, which is my investigative service. Kitty wears pin curls in her hair almost all the time, sits with her legs spread even in a dress, and is studying to be a lawyer in some online program she found. Anyway, we were listening to my police scanner when we heard an item come over the airwaves. A dog in Marquette was running wild with a large boot in his mouth. The police corralled him and returned him to his owner.

"What about the boot?" Kitty wanted to know.
"What about it?"
"Where did the dog get a boot? They aren't usually scattered along the street for anybody to pick up. Most boots are in closets or on somebody's feet."
I saw where she was going. "He could have taken it off a dead body."
"Right."
"Let's go."
And that's how we found ourselves on the open road in the Trouble Buster truck, headed for the top of the Michigan Upper Peninsula.

(to be continued)

Gertie

Cast Your Vote

2009-03-12T08:08:00.003-05:00

Now that the UP200 sled dog race and the Trenary Outhouse Classic are behind us. It's on to more important topics like deer.

This ten-month old albino deer lives at City Park in Iron Mountain and needs a name. You can cast your vote here. The winning name will be announced on Monday.

Here are some of the top runners:

Snowflake, Snowball, Bianco, Frosty, Blanco, Casper, Blizzard, Snow White

Here are a few that didn't make the short list:

Lansing, Mackinaw, Puff Ball, Goose, Krackerjack, Roger Rabbit, Bambie, Yooper

This is the main topic of conversation down at Herb's Bar. We're laying bets.

You have until Sunday. Go to it.

Gertie

What's Wrong With This Picture?

2009-03-05T07:30:00.003-06:00

I'll tell you what's wrong. That no-good squirrel is helping himself to seeds from my new "squirrel- proof" bird feeder. See those little metal pieces? That dumb-ass sales woman said that they would hold the weight of a bird, but as soon as a squirrel stepped on one, it would collapse and dump the squirrel on the ground. Yeah, right. I'm demanding my money back.

I'm sick and tired of new-fangled junk that doesn't work. Give me my old washing machine that cleaned clothes faster than the new one, give me my old toilet that you only had to flush once, not three times, give me a daughter-in-law that isn't always traipsing around getting herself in trouble (that's Gertie, I'm talkin' about), give me...

Oh, oh. Gotta go, here she comes,

Grandma Johnson

ps from Gertie - I don't know how she learned to post a blog, but now I'm in big trouble.

"Haul Your Arse to the Sweetest 16th Ever"

2009-02-26T04:30:00.001-06:00

Who says we don't know how to party in the Michigan Upper Peninsula?? Last weekend was the UP200 dog sled race. What an exciting time. And this weekend is the annual Trenary Outhouse Classic. This event is a race, too, only a little different. You still have time to register and race. Here are the rules:

Make a homemade outhouse out of whatever you want.
Put it on skis.
Add a toilet seat.
And a roll of toilet paper.

That's it. Now grab your best friend because you'll need two of you and get ready to push that thing down Main Street. The fastest pushers win first place.

To see some great photos of past outhouses, go here.
So take care of that cabin fever. See you there.

Gertie

Mushing Madness

2009-02-19T09:21:00.002-06:00

You can feel the excitement from one end of the Michigan Upper Peninsula to the other. This weekend has special meaning for my friend Deb Baker because she used to race dogs. Our family will find the perfect spot to watch them fly out of the chute. Whether its the 91 mile Midnight Run 8 dog teams out of Gwinn (Friday at 6pm) or the 240 mile trail 12 dog teams out of downtown Marquette (Friday at 7pm), this promises to be the best year yet. Snow everywhere! And the dogs are ready.

The Up 200 is a qualifier for the Iditarod so expect to see some fine drivers in town. Add 15,000 fans and 500 volunteers and you have yourself a fine party. Here is some insider info:

1. Mushers don't call themselves mushers. The rest of the world does though.
2. The dogs love running so much that it takes a slew of volunteers in the chute to hold them back. They'd leave their driver behind without a second thought. At this point in the race 'whoa' doesn't work.
3. While volunteers are holding the team, the driver will walk along the line encouraging each of his dogs before he gets back on the sled. That sets them off again. The howling is eardrum shattering.
4. The dogs leave the chute at an incredible speed. Nothing can stop them now. But then they even out and pace themselves. Although those crazy Midnight Runners like to run like nuts.
5. The colder the better for the dogs. Temperatures in the thirties are hard on them. So hope for cold.
6. Don't stay home because its freezing cold outside. A true Yooper knows how to dress. Don't be a wimp.

If you can't be there, you can check out race coverage, view photos, and even watch a video of the start, go to the UP200 website .

Gertie, all excited and ready to watch the finest dogs in the world compete.

Hats off to...no way, eh?

2009-02-11T15:32:00.004-06:00

Men in the Michigan Upper Peninsula love their guns. They also love their hats. A Wisconsinite I know complained that a visiting Yooper wore his ball cap right into a fancy restaurant and never took it off the entire night.

That's one of ours all right.

Our men will wear any kind of hat or cap they can get their hands on, but the real, honest to goodness U.P. cap was created way back in 1903 by Stormy Kromer's wife and it's still selling strong. It all started when Stormy asked her to modify a ball cap to handle the cold weather. That was one smart woman because the company sold 75,000 of them just last year.

The Lions Club winter banquet is coming up this weekend and I can guarantee you there won't be a bare male head in the whole place. Which suits the ladies just fine. We think it's kind of sexy.

Gertie

Cudighi, eh?

2009-02-04T14:23:00.005-06:00

The entire Johnson family will be in Negaunee on Saturday for the Knights of Columbus cudighi sandwich night. Cudighi (coo-dih-gee) is a spicy sausage sandwich served on a hoagi with mozzarella cheese and tomato sauce. It was invented by an Italian immigrant who settled in Ishpeming, which is in Yooperland, and you can’t find them anyplace outside of the Michigan Upper Peninsula except Green Bay, which is our Packer mecca.

Here’s what we all have to say about them:

Holy wah, dem cudighi are good, eh?

If you miss this important event, here are some places to get one any old time:

The Hideaway (Gwinn, MI)
Ralph's Italian Deli (Ishpeming, MI)
U.P. Chuck's Bar (Kenton, MI)
Rodney's Pizza (Gwinn, MI)
Thunder Bay Inn (Big Bay, MI)
Wayside Bar (Ishpeming, MI)
Lawry's Pasties (Ishpeming, MI)
Tino's Pizza (Negaunee, MI)
Vango's (Marquette, MI)
Congress Pizza (Ishpeming, MI)
Irene's Pizza (Baraga, MI)
Villa Capri (Marquette, MI)
Pasquali's (Negaunee, MI)
Pasty Land (Green Bay, WI)
Gay Bar (Gay, MI)
Buck's Restaurant (Ishpeming, MI)
Jasper Ridge Brewery (Ishpeming, MI)
Ambassador Bar (Houghton, MI)

Enjoy,
Gertie

Thinking Spring

2009-01-29T08:34:00.004-06:00

Now is the time for all you hard-core vegetable gardeners to order your seeds. I'm assuming you've been pouring over the seed catalogues for weeks, marking your favorites. It's no secret that those of us hardy enough to survive the Michigan Upper Peninsula like to live off the land. This year I'm planting:

spring stuff - lettuce (that gourmet blend with different colors and textures that get stuck in Grandma Johnson's new teeth), radishes, peas.
beans, cukes, onions.
root vegetables like beets, carrots, and potatoes that grow so big in our rich soil.
Squash and pumpkins.
And what we all love the most. TOMATOES. Beefsteaks, Romas because I can pop them in the freeze just as they are, and a new sweet seedless tomato just for fun.

If you haven't ordered, you better hurry before the best is gone. Check out the special deals at Burpee's or Gurney's.

I can't wait until St. Patrick's day when I fill my milk cartons with soil and plant those tomato seeds.

Gertie

The Shack

2009-01-21T15:39:00.002-06:00

There's a best selling book called The Shack, but that's not what I'm talking about today. When a Yooper says, "I'm going to the shack." it can be only one of three places. The deer blind or the outhouse or the ice shack.

Little Bay de Noc, the Kipling area to be more precise, is my favorite fishing hole. We drive out on the ice as soon as it's safely frozen and we stake our territory for the rest of the winter. Its a real community with some of the same neighbors coming back year after year.

Little Bay de Noc is known for its northern pike and perch, but nothing compares to the walleye we pull out of those waters. Walley are best pan fried in a little butter and wrapped in a light coating of flour, cornmeal, and salt and pepper. My mouth waters just thinking about it.

tip (as in tip-ups): the best lures are Swedish Pimples made right here at the Bay de Noc Lure Co.

Gertie

Deep Freeze

2009-01-15T08:34:00.008-06:00

Schools are closed today. We're dipping right into the deep freezer and closing the lid. Brrrrr. No one is in a big rush to go anyplace. We adults don't think much of the frozen tundra, but the kids...they woke up this morning to a free day. Time to stay in their pjs, watch cartoons, and make a lot of noise. I'm right there with them, wearing my robe, a pair of wool socks, cupping hot coffee in my hands, and watching wildlife come in for corn. The turkeys don't seem to know or care about the temperature. How do they stay alive? Aren't their feet freezing off? Why isn't this big Tom's hot breath rising in the chill? Questions I'll never have answers for. My advice is:

Take it easy today if you can.
Slow down.
Smell the coffee.
Read a good book.
Watch movies back to back.
Indulge.

Gertie

Killing Time

2009-01-09T08:10:00.002-06:00

The wood stove is crackling away, the snow is falling, and the days are long. Those of us who tough it out in the northern woods are biding our time - cooking, telling stories, playing cribbage, and working jigsaw puzzles while we watch the national news get worse and worse.

And we read our bible. No, not that one, although it wouldn't hurt any of us to pick it up and read a few passages now and then. I'm taking about the Farmer's Almanac.

Did you know that there are 'only' seventy more days til spring? Do you know the definition for the word of the day - whangdoodle (an imaginary creature) ? Or that the planting date for vegetables that grow above ground is different than those that grow under (light of the moon vs dark of the moon)?

You would if you had a Farmer's Almanac. Get your own or follow it here: http://almanac.com

Gotta go plan. The Almanac says the best time in January to start a diet is on the 13th. I'm on it.

Gertie

Yooper Resolutions

2009-01-03T13:52:00.002-06:00

My family and friends take the new year seriously. We have a lot of short, cold days to ponder the future. Here are some of our resolutions:

Cora Mae (my best friend) - "I'm going to get serious about my love life once and for all. No more dating every eligible bachelor and widower in Tamarack County unless they have commitment potential. That's going to narrow the field way down."

Blaze (my son, recovering from meningitis) - "I'm going to get my sheriffing job back just as soon as I can."

Kitty (my other best friend) - "Gertie and I are going to take back up our fancy word contest now that I'm out of the hospital after she almost caused me to be killed. And I'm going to beat her once and for all."

Grandma Johnson (my live-in mother-in-law) - "I'm gittin' my own place. Can't stand that dog Gertie drug into the house not to mention that man-hungry Cora Mae that's always hanging around."

George (my man) - "I'm going to take more hot and steamy saunas with Gertie. I see you blushing over there, honey."

Fred (my dog) - Fred can't talk but if he could, he'd tell us he's going to finally come out on top with the guinea hens that chase him around.

Me? I'm going to expand my Trouble Buster business and try to make a few bucks (as in cash) at it. And I'm going to help Grandma Johnson look for another place to live ASAP.

Gertie

A Yooper Christmas Mystery - Part Three

2008-12-17T07:50:00.006-06:00

** READ PART ONE AND PART TWO FIRST (SCROLL DOWN)

The snowmobile was parked up close to the cabin's door with the keys still in the ignition. I pocketed the keys, then crept up to the front window. Someone had pressed snowflake stickers against the pane. I peeked around them and spotted my best friend.

Cora Mae sat in a chair, crying, and this Ted person was hovering over her in a menacing way. I turned on the stun gun and wondered how I could barge in fast enough to catch him unaware. That seemed impossible so I did the next best thing.

I knocked on the door, holding my weapon hand behind my back.

The surprise on Ted's face turned to stunned when he opened the door and I zapped him with a giant bolt of electrical current. Right in the chest.

After a few moments of pandemonium, what with the guy flopping around and Cora Mae screaming, things settled down. After all, Ted now wore handcuffs, his truck was disabled, and I had his sled keys.

What a poor excuse for a bad guy!

"Cora Mae, call the sheriff," I said.
That's when she hit me in the shoulder. "Ouch. What are you doing?"
"Look at him," she stammered. "You've hurt Ted."
"I just saved you. Geez." I'm a good friend in spite of Cora Mae's lack of gratitude. She must be in shock or she'd be hugging me.
"I didn't need saving."
"But you were crying."
"That was a happy cry."

Ted had managed to scoot up against the wall. His eyes were uncrossing.

Cora Mae crouched beside him and looked up at me. "Does he look like one of my usual men? Well, does he?"

"He's a little younger now that I'm seeing him out of the dark bar lights." Cora Mae liked her men mature.

"I didn't want to tell you until later, but Ted's my son, Gertie. I gave him up when I was young and now we've found each other. Thanks for messing it up."

Cripes! She'd never told me about a baby. How could she not have told me? There was a slight resemblance. Wow.

Then I heard the sirens coming and I remembered that I'd told my nephews to send help. I was in such trouble. The sheriff would lock me up for assault or any other charge he felt like. We weren't exactly on friendly terms.

My best friend came through for me. "Run," she said. "I'll cover for you."

I tossed her the handcuff keys, ran out the door, and disappeared down the trail, roaring for home on Ted's snowmobile.

Grandma had turned on the outdoor lights, the ones I'd wrapped around the windows. They beckoned to me.

But I knew what else was waiting.

I had a feeling Cora Mae's Christmas was going to be extra special. And I hoped I would be part of it, in spite of my little mistake. I couldn't get over how even best friends have secrets from each other.

Grandma's face appeared in the window.
I went inside.
"About time you showed up," Grandma said.
Tomorrow I would spray canned snow in the corners of the window panes.
Merry Christmas, everyone.

THE END

A Yooper Christmas Mystery - Part Two

2008-12-10T13:59:00.006-06:00

** READ PART ONE FIRST (BELOW THIS POST)

It was seven o'clock and snow had started falling by the time I got to my house. Christmas tree lights twinkled through the window, a welcoming sight if only I didn't know what waited for me inside. Looks can be deceiving. I slammed in, stomping my boots on the rug by the door.

Grandma Johnson, my 92 year old mother-in-law, had infiltrated my home months ago, disrupting my peace and quiet and playing havoc with my head. She was listening to the police scanner while making rum balls for her card group.

"Anything coming over the airwaves," I asked her.
"Nothin' but junk." She formed a rum ball by rubbing it between her palms.
"Cora Mae's missing."
Grandma humphed. She didn't appreciate Cora Mae much. "What's she missing other than upstanding morals and decent taste in clothes."
"Really. I'm serious. She took off with...." I couldn't reinforce Grandma's sour opinion of my best friend. "...she, uh, is lost someplace in the woods. I have to form a search party."
"Probably slunk off with some man." Grandma pursed her lips and watched me with her beady eyes while I located my stun gun and handcuffs. "Here we go again," she crabbed. "Making trouble for everybody."

What could I say? That I had a funny feeling? That when she didn't show in Perkins, I knew she was in trouble? How would that fly?
Not high, I imagined.

Grandma listened in while I called around, leaving a message at Cora Mae's to call me the second she heard the message, another couple of calls to taverns along the snowmobile trail.
Nothing. No one had seen hide nor hair of her.

I rushed back to Herb's bar to interrogate Ed and Red, my twin nephews who ran the bar. Since I didn't see a snowmobile trailer in the parking lot, the stranger had to be staying in the area.
"He didn't just appear out of nowhere," I said, distressed.
I'd ignored the cardinal rule of girlfriends.
Don't ever let one of them leave with a strange man.
Finally, because Stonely is such a small town and everybody knows everybodys business, someone popped with pertinent information and I had a starting point.
"If I'm not back in thirty minutes," I said to my nephews. "Send a rescue party."
I knew the first thing I had to do when I pulled into the camp and saw the trailer hooked up to a truck with Wisconsin license plates.
I let the air out of both back tires.
The bad guy wasn't going to get away.

(To be continued next Thursday)

A Yooper Christmas Mystery

2008-12-04T09:35:00.004-06:00

PART ONE

I suspected trouble the minute my best friend Cora Mae hopped on the back of the snowmobile with the guy she met at the bar. Cora Mae, buryer of three husbands and on the hunt for number four, doesn't have any common sense when it comes to men. This one wasn't from the Michigan Upper Peninsula. Not that you can trust every Yooper you meet, but this one had a shiftier look than most out-of-towners.

And I tried to warn her.
"You can't just up and take off down the trail with him," I told her. "You don't even know his name."
"Ted," she said. "Have you ever heard of an evil Ted?"
"What about Ted Bundy. Remember him? Serial killer?"
Cora Mae shot me a withering glare. "We're only bar hopping for a little while. Next stop-Perkins."
"Where's he from?" I wanted to know.
"Relax," she said, meaning she didn't have a clue.

Herb's Bar was crowded since it was Friday night and that meant pay day. The locals were seeing if they could run through their entire week's pay all in one sitting. Cora Mae's new friend slapped some bills down on the bar and helped her bundle up in her black fake fur.

I followed them outside into the crisp December night. I hated to see her do this but I couldn't think of a way to stop her. Ted gave me a look. I didn't like it one bit.
Cora Mae let him put on her helmet and adjust the straps. She pretended I didn't exist while my breath steamed around my face and the frost air bit at my ungloved hands. Snow was falling fast, already starting to cover up Cora Mae's fake fur.
"She's going to freeze in that coat," I said. "I have bibs in my truck. Let me get them."
"She's fine," the guy said.
Then they left me standing in the sled's fumes.
I wasn't at all surprised when Betty, my contact in Perkins, informed me that Cora Mae and the stranger on the snowmobile never showed. I'd watched them head south on the trail. If they weren't in Perkins, where were they?

(to be continued next Thursday)

Happy Thanksgiving Weekend

2008-11-26T15:30:00.007-06:00

A Yooper didn't take this picture. You can tell because of the background. Green grass is a dead givaway. We're buried under a pile of snow, which is just how the hunters like it.

My neighbor down the road likes to hunt, but to really mix things up, he has a pet deer. Yup. He found Doey when she was a tiny little thing and he raised her. Now he's worried that someone will shoot her even though she's inside a high fence right next to the house. A distinct possibility. So we dressed Doey up in a blaze orange coat (modified, of course, thanks to Kitty's fine sewing skills).

Doey's a peach.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving and don't spend all your dough (the paper kind) this weekend.

Gertie

Snowing Cats and Dogs

2008-11-20T12:50:00.006-06:00

It might be raining cats and dogs where you live, but up here in the U.P. it's snowing cats and dogs. I love winter and this snow has me thinking about a few of my favorite winter events.

One of them is the UP200 sled dog race. That's Deb Baker in the picture. She doesn't run in the event but likes to show up and help out and watch. If you are in our neck of the woods on February 20th, don't miss the start right in downtown Marquette. I'll remind you again later.

Another is the Trenary Outhouse Classic on February 28th. Blaze and Mary already are scheming and planning to win this time. They'll mount their outhouse on skiis and they will have to push it 500 feet down the street and they'll have to do it faster than anybody else. So they better build it light.

I know you're as excited as I am! You don't have to tell a Yooper how to dress, but if you're a troll (from under the Mackinac Bridge, aka Lower Michigan) or from any other state south of us, you better plan well because it's a bit brisk.

Grandma Johnson is sweeping snow from the porch with a broom and she's eyeing up my dog, Fred. They don't get along and she likes to swat him when I'm not looking. Gotta go.

Gertie

The U.P.'s Favorite Holiday Starts With a Bang

2008-11-14T06:43:00.003-06:00

The start of deer hunting season is such a big event in the U.P. it deserves two posts in a row. My son Blaze's trigger finger is twitching, hardly able to wait for that moment at sunrise tomorrow. He and his buddies will be entrenched in their hunting blinds long before any light is visible. As I mentioned before, I'm not a hunter. While I enjoy all the excitement filling these days, I have a blind for a completely different purpose.

Years ago, I started using the hunting blind as a retreat from my family (sound familiar guys?). And now with Grandma Johnson living in my house and no signs that she's getting ready to leave, the blind is still my favorite place.

Tomorrow, I'll take my rifle (strictly a prop), plop on my hunter's orange gear, stick a mystery book under my jacket along with some snacks, and head out into the woods. The air will be crisp so I'll start the space heater, then I'll throw corn and apples out in case any critters are hungry, then I'll settle back in my easy chair for some personal time. Reading, watching, napping.

I probably won't see any deer since they know exactly what day it is and will change their patterns, but blue jays will visit and maybe turkeys. I might even finish the whole book. Yes, the hunting blind. My retreat.

Gertie

The Deer Hunting Countdown

2008-11-07T06:23:00.002-06:00

You can feel the excitement in the air, anticipation so thick it sticks to your clothes. November 15th is our target, but we've been ready for weeks, some of us for months. The entire year has been spent plotting and planning. Rye in the back field, an abundant apple crop (some for the family, but most for the deer), shelled corn, and sugar beets the size of my head. When I go into Stonely, every other truck has a trailer attached and its brimming with sugar beets.

Sugar beets aren't like the beets you buy in the store. They are grown commercially around the world and used for vodka, rum, as fodder, and are being tested as an alternate fuel source. But in the Michigan Upper Peninsula, we use sugar beets to bait deer.

Some of you might look on us with disdain. How can we shoot those beautiful animals? I'm with you on that one as long as you have given up meat and turned vegetarian. If you're headed to the grocery store for hamburger or pork chops, you can't judge us. Yoopers live in remote areas with few jobs and we count on a freezer full of wild game to make it through the year.

And the hunting season is a special event for other reasons, drawing everyone together for the hunter's dinner and to Herb's bar to tell stories that don't have a hint of truth to them.

One scary note - Walter forgot his rifle was loaded and stuck a cleaning rod down the barrel. When it discharged, the cleaning rod (and ammo) blew his chest of drawers to smithereens. Everyone is fine, though.

Gertie

Happy Halloween

2008-10-31T06:57:00.003-05:00

These little guys are mummy hotdogs.

I'm busy cooking and baking for George's Halloween party tonight.

Here the lineup:

George has tipped me off that he is going as Indian Jones. What a hunk!

Cora Mae is a Geisha.

Kitty's a tavern wench.

Blaze is going as the Joker. I'll paint his face white, his eyes black, and give him a scary wide red mouth.

Grandma Johnson could go as herself and scare the dickens out of everyone, but she's doing the second best. A witch.

Me? I'll be a female vampire and set my fangs on George.

Have a great time yourself.

Gertie

Trenary Cemetery

2008-10-23T16:30:00.002-05:00

My friend Cora Mae has buried three husbands in the Trenary cemetery. We stopped the other day to pay our respects and of course had to take Grandma Johnson along since she knew everyone buried there. Or almost everyone.

If you've never been to this particular cemetery, try to take a road trip in the spring for the best viewing possible. Grave moss carpets the entire cemetery with a rainbow of colors. Towering shade trees provide protection from the sun. Forget-me-nots are planted on one grave. A hydrangea on another.

Its a place where anything goes and nothing is regimented or required. I like that.

Gertie

An Apple A Day

2008-10-16T08:41:00.002-05:00

This picture came from Deb Baker's new apple orchard at her place in the Michigan U.P. She has several different varieties but you're viewing a courtland tree, which bears my favorite apple. In fact, in my books I have a money box buried under a tree just like this (security against a failing government).

The Yoopers haven't been affected by the bad economy as much as some, because we're so self-sufficient. Gas and food prices are up but we make do. This weekend, we'll pick the apples from the trees and get to work. Grandma Johnson will core a batch and bake them with brown sugar and butter. I'll slice rounds and pop them in the dehydrator for dried apples. And Cora Mae and Kitty will whip up the biggest pot of apple sauce you'll ever see.

If we have nothing else through the winter, we'll have apples.

Gertie

Creativity and Noise

2008-10-03T13:27:00.003-05:00

Boy it's been a while since I posted. The weather has been absolutely perfect, so I've been outside as much as possible. Clipping back the spent flowers, breathing in the crispness of a fine fall day, and in general goofing off.

I've also been thinking about life and directions and ideas for stories. I have more stories running around in my head than I know what to do with and it's because of nature. Any time I find myself in a creative rut, I turn off all the noise and start listening to life outside. The bees, birds, crickets, frogs, and the quiet of a breeze through the trees are the best things in life. Then I take a long walk. And it all comes rushing in. Not only murder plots for my who-done-its, but answers to current problems, big and small.

How can new thoughts find their way to the foreground when we are immersed in constant sound? Between watching football, baseball, the presidential debates, and the talking heads, my television could be going nonstop. When I get in my truck, I could turn on the radio. But I don't. Chatter has become such a constant in our lives, we have to get used to living without it in small steps. But it's worth it.

Just for me, turn it off for a few minutes. What do you hear?

Gertie

Tools are a Woman's Best Friend

2008-09-18T16:27:00.005-05:00

Building and repairing used to be man's work, but these days a woman has to know her way around a toolbox, because our men aren't around when we really need them. They only show up for food, football, and fondling. Otherwise, they are MIA.

So, like everything else, we have to do it ourselves. For all my sister do-it-yourselfers and wanna-bes, check out Real Women, Real Tools to get started on the path to total self-reliance by clicking here.

Manufacturers are even making tools designed just for us - lighter and better colors (like pink). What will they come up with next.

Gertie, who is building a new guinea hen house

The Packers Rule!

2008-09-09T09:52:00.005-05:00

Here in the Michigan Upper Peninsula we love the Packers. For those of you who don't know any better, we do NOT care about Detroit. The Lions are in the Lower Peninsula and that's like on another planet.

That new kid on the block really showed them last night! Didn't he? Aaron Rodgers is a hottie.

Last fall a bunch of us hopped in Kitty’s old rust-bucket and drove to the metropolis of Green Bay, Wisconsin for our first real live Packer game, thanks to tickets we won over the radio. The snowflakes were whirling through the nippy air and after the game we stopped at Chili John's Restaurant and had Green Bay Chili. This isn’t chili like you’ve ever had it before. It’s served over noodles and topped with cheese, onions, and beans. The flavor comes from the spices and the beef drippings. Here’s my made-up version that I whipped up yesterday for George, Cora Mae, Walter, Kitty, and Grandma Johnson.

Makes a huge pot for all your Packer company.

8 pounds ground chuck
2 large onions, chopped
8 tablespoons regular chili powder
1 tablespoon hot chili powder
6 tablespoons cumin powder
1/4 cup garlic, chopped
1 or 2 cans beef broth
1 pound spaghetti noodles, cooked
onions, chopped
sharp cedar cheese, shredded
beans

In large pot, brown ground chuck until pink. Add onions and continue to brown until done. DO NOT DRAIN unless you want to lose most of the flavor. Okay, drain a little if you have too much. Add spices and 1 can of beef broth. Simmer for two hours, checking and stirring often. Add another can of broth if needed. In last 15 minutes stir in garlic. To serve, place spaghetti noodles in a bowl, top with a large scoop of chili, onions, beans and cheddar cheese. Serve with oyster crackers or saltines.

p.s. you can let everbody pick their own toppings. Easy on the beans.

Gertie

Walking the Mackinac Bridge

2008-09-02T07:39:00.004-05:00

The Mackinac Bridge, all five miles of it, connects Lower and Upper Michigan. Every Labor Day for the last fifty years people have gathered to walk the length of it. This year 40,000 of us from all over the world joined together for this annual event. 7am. The sunrise was unbelievable. The weather was perfect. Kitty, Cora Mae, and I started out on our side of the bridge in St. Ignace with the rest of the pack.

We'd barely begun when Cora Mae started complaining that her feet were killing her. She never did learn to wear the proper attire. Her shoes were all wrong - little spiky, strappy things designed for footsy, not walking. Thinking back over some of our surveillance runs and my wasted efforts to offer sound advice, I knew it was no use telling her what she should have worn. Cora Mae ended up waiting for us in St. Ignace.

Kitty had sugar donuts and a large thermos of coffee in a backpack slung across her shoulders and a big cup of coffee in her hand. I mentioned the important fact that there weren't any rest stops (as in bathrooms) on the bridge but she didn't care at that moment. She cared later when her load became too much to carry and well...at her urging I went on and she headed back, convinced that she was closer to the U.P. side than the Lower. I thought it was a horse apiece.

So that's how I ended up walking the Mackinac Bridge by myself, not really alone considering the masses of people but without the chatter, laughter, and griping of my friends. With Lake Michigan on one side of me and Lake Huron on the other, with the early morning sun warming me and seagulls flying overhead, it turned out to be one of my best crossings.

Oh, by the way, for those of you not from these parts, Mackinac is pronounced MACK-in-aw.

Have a great day,

Gertie

Mother-In-Laws Can Be Murder

2008-08-26T07:39:00.005-05:00

This is a mother-in-law's tongue. It has sharp and pointed leaves and contains a poison that will swell your tongue if you're foolish enough to sample it. This spikey evergreen it also hard to kill.

Why does it remind me of my late husband's mother, Grandma Johnson (the kids called her that and I got in the habit, too)? She'd ninety-two years old, shriveled like an old prune, and doesn't resemble a mother-in-law's tongue at all, although she has all the characteristics. Grandma Johnson is more like stabbing yourself with barbed wire, like burning your hand at the stove, like porcupine quills stuck in your eyeballs, like...well you get the idea.

Here in the Michigan Upper Peninsula we take care of our aging family members. But sometimes, when I'm at my wits end, I imagine a nice assisted living facility in Escanaba. Not for her. For me! At times, dealing with her is just too much, especially when she's on the attack. I console myself with two indisputable truths. First, my mother-in-law gave birth to my deceased husband, Barney, and a better man has never lived. Second, she's mean to everybody, not just me.

Grandma Johnson disapproves of all my friends, thinks I was the cause of Barney's death (not true! He drowned while trout fishing and I wasn't anywhere near and if I had been I would have saved him if I could), and criticizes my cooking even though that hasn't stopped her from chowing down plenty of it.

Something happened last weekend, though, that got me thinking that there might be more to her than I know. The Johnson family attended a friend's funeral and I sat right next to my mother-in-law while we waited for the pastor to start speaking his piece. She had on her little black pill box hat and clenched a fist full of tissues, dabbing them at her eyes. I took a good look at her and for one split second I thought I saw something soft and kind beneath the layer of gravel she shows the world. Then the image was gone as quickly as it came.

"Gertie Johnson," she said in a loud whisper right after she noticed me eyeing her. "Couldn't you have worn better slacks. Look at the wrinkles. And your shoes. I wouldn't be caught dead in shoes scuffed up that bad. And...."

My three grown kids snuck me grins and eye rolls and the service started up. At the end while we were filing out, I felt extremely grateful for my family. My kids - Blaze, Heather, Star, and yes, even Grandma Johnson. If I'm ever strong enough, I'm going to try to get to know her better.

I can't believe I just said that.

Gertie

A Yooper Funeral

2008-08-21T09:18:00.003-05:00

We have sad news. Deb Baker's dad passed away. He was trying to lever a tractor wheel out of the back of his pickup when the tool slipped and he flew backwards, hitting his head. After surgery to remove a blood clot from his brain, he slipped away.

He went out while he was doing what he loved the most, which was puttering around at his camp (That's what we call our hunting places). Deb's dad was the ultimate Yooper - hunting, fishing, growing vegetables, and tending his apple orchard.

Deb says I have a lot of him in me.

Grandma Johnson's going to wear her best hat for the funeral on Saturday. We'll send him off the right way and I'll be back to posting later next week.

Gertie

Bug War

2008-08-15T06:51:00.003-05:00

No, these aren't turkeys. They're guinea fowl. How could I manage without them? Up here in the Michigan Upper Peninsula we have bugs bigger than you would believe. And they attack our gardens, feeding on the tomatos, gathering along the stems and vines of the cukes and peppers, snacking away. That's where my guinea hens come in. They love to eat bugs, especially the ones that hurt my vegetable garden. My hens think Japanese beetles are M&Ms. Aphids look out! Since guinea hens don't scratch like chickens, they leave my garden in the same shape they found it, minus the pests. They even eat ticks, and I hate ticks.

But they come with their own set of problems. These girls are a noisy bunch, making racket all the time, cackling and shrieking. You won't need a watch dog, because they are the perfect alarm system. And they have minds of their own, even though there isn't much in there. Guineas are free-rangers and you can't keep them constrained. I started mine as keets (babies) and worked hard to get them to stay put. But you know all this, if you've read my books.

Aren't they cute? Okay, maybe not, but they're my army in the battle against the bugs.

Gertie

August's Meteor Shower

2008-08-12T08:11:00.005-05:00

Early this morning in the wee hours, I drove over to my friend Cora Mae's house and dragged her out of bed. She crabbed all the way back to my house, with her hair smashed against the sides of her head and with one eye still closed. Cora Mae stopped complaining after she plopped down in a lawn chair behind the sauna, because our annual meteor shower was zinging at us so fast we couldn't find words to express the wonder. A little later when the meteor activity died down, I feed my friend scrambled eggs with a little chives from the garden mixed in. Then we dunked Trenary toast in our coffee.

You might have missed the peak, but there's still action to be found tonight. Did anyone else see it? And what about those green and red ribbons of light waving through the sky? As a special treat the aurora borealis gave us a light show. Right now Cora Mae's sound asleep in my bed. I'm staying up to feed the guinea hens and keep the images alive.

Gertie

August Beets

2008-08-10T13:13:00.003-05:00

So many of you have asked how my cookbook is coming that I decided to share some of the recipes with you. And it's coming along fine, thanks for asking.

I have a rain barrel on the side of the house nearest to the garden. It's connected to the gutter so every time it rains the barrel fills a little more. Sometimes I catch the toads lounging under the vegetable leaves and give them little swims in the barrel to fend off the summer heat. Then I fill a bucket with rain water and give the beets a drink. Yesterday I pulled some of the sweetest I've ever grown and made soup.

BEET SOUP

Serves 6

1 pound beets, peeled and diced
1 large carrot, diced
1 medium onion, diced
1 clove garlic, minced
3 tablespoons ginger, minced
red chili flakes if you like a little zip
2 cups chicken broth
2 cups water
2 tablespoons sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp pepper
heavy cream
chives

Combine vegetables, garlic, ginger, chili pepper, broth, water and sugar in large pot. Bring to boil and simmer for 15 minutes or until vegetables are tender. Add salt and pepper. Remove from heat and strain liquid into separate bowl. Puree vegetables in blender or food processor. Combine liquid and vegetables and chill. When ready to serve, place in individual bowl, swirl cream into soup and sprinkle with chives.