Rosettes

2 eggs
1 tablespoon white sugar
1 cup flour
1 cup milk
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon salt
pinch of nutmeg (optional)

Rosette Iron
Oil at about 375 degrees in deep pot

Combine eggs, sugar and salt and beat well with a mixer.  Add remaining ingredients and beat until mixture is smooth.  Heat Rosette iron in oil for about a minute or two, drain well and dip iron into batter slightly below top of iron.  Dip immediately into hot oil for about 20 - 30 seconds or until golden brown.  Push cookie off iron with a fork or butter knife onto paper towel.  Reheat iron and repeat.  Sprinkle with icing sugar.

Macintosh Cornflake Cookies

2 bars Macintosh toffee
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons cream
2 cups Cornflakes

Break toffee bars into smaller pieces (melts easier, try chilling bars in freezer first, then smashing on counter).  Place toffee, butter and cream into large saucepan and melt on medium low heat.  Remove from heat and add Cornflakes.  Spoon onto wax paper and let cool.

A Shelterbelt Christmas Eve

Excerpt from Shelterbelt, by Mary Ann Seitz   

 "Christmas Eve was very special.  People worked in the morning, but the late afternoon became a holy time, so the boys did the chores early.  Mum helped Francie and the little ones clean the wheat for supper.  All the wheat was poured on the big table and divided into small areas with their fingers.  Then the grasshopper heads and chaff were removed.  The wheat was very important.  It was the Life, and it wold be the first thing they ate that night.
     In the Christmas Eve twilight a knock sounded on the door.
     "Come in," Mum called in a soft, respectful voice.  Harry, the oldest son, carried in an oat sheaf and spoke for it.
     "Dobra vachi," he said to them all.
     "Die Boza zdrowla," their mother replied.
     "Dobra vachi," the sheaf repeated.
     "Die Boza zdrowla."
     After the sheaf had spoken for the third time and received the proper greeting, Harry carried him to the corner of the kitchen and set him on a chair.  No one could move him until New Year's Day when he would be carried to the barn and spread for the cows to eat, the old year no longer of any use.
     "Go feed the old jeedo," their mother directed.  They hid apples and nuts and candies in the sheaf's beard.  The old year had to have his supper first.  Old people always ate first.
     Then Joe came in with the hay.  With the proper words he greeted his mother, and she replied again.  She took the hay from him and lifted the tattered oilcloth off the table.  Over the scarred wood she spread the scented grass in thin wisps, then replaced the cover.  Jesus had been born in a barn with hay all around Him.  Could little babies smell?  Francie thought that she would have liked to be born in a barn too, where the hay smelled so fresh and clean."

Cranberry Sauce

1 cup sugar (white, or for a more distinctive taste, you can use brown)
1 cup water
1 1/2 cups (12 oz) fresh cranberries, rinsed

Combine the water and sugar into a saucepan on the stove.  Bring to a boil.  Add in cranberries, return to a boil and then reduce heat, simmer for about ten or fifteen minutes, stirring occasionally.  When thickened, cover, cool and serve.

First Snowfall by Edna Jaques

First Snowfall

The kids are racing up the street,

Squeeling and jumping up and down,

While snowflakes weave a magic spell,

As lovely as a wedding gown,

'Broidered in pearls with spangled lace,

To frame a happy girlish face.

Two little tots went riding by

On a new sleigh that seemed to glide

On silent runners up the street;

The baker's horse careened and shied

At every step and covered post,

Decked in white garments like a ghost.

The cars went by on muffled wheels,

Like coaches wrapped in carded wool,

The postman looked like Santy Claus

With his old knapsack bursting full,

And every street and boulevard

Was lovely as a Christmas card.

Here in a corner of the fence

A clump of scarlet berries glow,

Like jewels at a pagan feast;

The roofs are quilted down in snow,

And the old house across the way,

Is decked in royal robes today.

- Edna Jaques

Bacon and Maraschino Cherry Appetizer

Jar of Maraschino Cherries
Sliced bacon cut in half
Toothpicks

Roll one maraschino cherry in bacon.  Skewer toothpick through end of bacon and through center of cherry.

Place on parchment paper on baking sheet.

Bake at 350 degrees for approximately 30 minutes or until bacon is crisp.

'Tis The Season!

"As a young girl growing up in rural Saskatchewan, the mail being picked up was always an exciting time.  This usually happened during Saturday; so Saturday evening had the whole household scurrying about for letters, newspapers or cards - mail from friends and family abroad.

The events were usually shared in this writing method and one usually felt loved and certainly thought of by a stroke of a pen, seeing your name written across an envelope.

One's worth was measured by writings inside these envelopes where you were told how much you meant to someone, news of birth, marriage, death or activities.

However, your worth was never more evident than at Xmas time when many, many cards came rolling in from family, parish priest, government, business or neighbours close to you or just an acqaintance who knew you.  I remember running for these and stringing them along the wall near the Xmas tree or kitchen table so as they can be reviewed over and over again.

There were cards from grandma and grandpa, uncles, aunts, godparents, close neighbors, friends and Joe Who??  

What a lost art!  Joe Who even reflected for a moment, at least long enough to sign his name across an envelope, stamp and mail it.

How special we were!"

- Georgia Churko

Elie Wiesel: NIGHT

ELIE WIESEL: Author, Nobel Peace Prize Winner, Auschwitz and Buchenwald survivor.


Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp, that turned my life into one long night seven times sealed.
     Never shall I forget that smoke.
     Never shall I forget the small faces of the children whose bodies I saw transformed into smoke under a silent sky.
     Never shall I forget those flames that consumed my faith forever.
     Never shall I forget the nocturnal silence that deprived me for all eternity of the desire to live.
     Never shall I forget those moments that murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to ashes.
     Never shall I forget those things, even were I condemned to live as long as God Himself.
     Never.

Taken from the novel, Night by Elie Wiesel

On November 11th, take the time to remember all who were affected by war. 

Wear a poppy.

Choux Paste (Cream Puffs)

1/2 cup butter
1 cup boiling water
1 cup pastry flour (all-purpose will do)
3 unbeaten eggs

2 cups whipping cream
1/4 - 1/2 cup sugar

Measure 1/2 cup butter into a saucepan.  Add 1 cup boiling water.  Bring to a rapid boil.  Add the flour all at once and mix thoroughly.  Cook, stirring constantly, until the mixture leaves the sides of the saucepan.  Cool but do not chill.  Add eggs, one at a time beating the mixture.  Cover and chill.

Set oven at 425 degrees.  Drop chilled dough by the spoonfuls on greased baking sheet.  Bake at 425 degrees until puffed, about 15 minutes.  Turn oven to 375 degrees and continue baking for about another 15 minutes longer.  Remove from heat and let cool.  Slice across and fill with whipped cream.

Whipped Cream:

2 cups whipping cream
Mix on high in medium glass bowl.  Add sugar according to desired sweetness of cream.

Stories of War: Rural Saskatchewan

"On August 10, 1914, a seven o'clock in the evening King George formally declared war upon Germany.  'When England is at war, Canada is at war,' Sir Wilfrid had said when he was Prime Minister.  So Canada was at war."

"In 1914 bad news shook the world.  War broke out and all the terrible things connected with it kept up for four years and put so many mother's sons in early graves, besides the many wounded and crippled ones that were left to be taken care of."

"The use of sugar, wheat flour and some other commodities was regulated so that each person was only allowed a certain quantity."

"November 11, 1918, the war came to an end.  I will never forget that day.  We had moved into town a few day before.  On the 11th in the early morning hour the fire whistle blew loud and long.  We though there was a big fire in town, but soon found out it brought glad news.  The war was over."

"During 1918 the war had come to a victorious end.  Our boys would come home, but now we were confronted with another matter and that was unemployment."

"In 1939 the great calamity of a major war broke on this world again.  After 21 years of peace the futile, merciless slaughter of mankind must go on again because the appeals of peace and sanity had gone unheeded.  Canada answered the call and declared war on the German Reich on Sunday, Sept. 10, 1939."

"As a war measure tea and coffee had already been rationed in 1942.  The rations were one pound of tea and two ounces of coffee per person per week."

"There were 450 volunteer workers looking after the needs of 900,000 people in Saskatchewan.  A member of the Local Rations Board was just as important in one's life these days as a doctor, undertaker or minister.  Your local Ration Board received applications for a book for the new baby and kept him supplied as they were issued."

"When 1941 came our biggest and only concern was that of winning the conflict and bringing the war to a successful end.  While our boys were fighting, the men and women at home were doing their part to help by way of organizing such as the Red Cross, I.O.D.E. and others.  One of the most active was the Independent Order Daughters of the Empire.  These ladies were constantly knitting socks, fixing clothing, collecting magazines and arranging to have them shipped."

"The war with Germany and Japan had now been brought to a successful end.  Germany surrendered unconditionally on May 8, 1945; and Japan August 14, 1945.  Our boys were now able to come home, but too many had paid the supreme sacrifice.  This merciless slaughter of mankind was over.  We are justly proud of our men and women who answered the call of their country."

Source: A History of Canora and District by J.F. Paul Barschel
Photos: The Second World Wary by Richard Overy

Buttermilk Cheese Biscuits

2 cup flour
2 tbspns. sugar
1 tsp. salt
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. cream of tarter
1/2 cup cold butter
1 cup buttermilk

1 cup shredded cheddar cheese for cheese biscuits.

Mix first six ingredients into bowl.  Rub in butter with hands until crumbly.  Pour in buttermilk.  At this point, fold in shredded cheese if desired.  Dough should be soft. 

Roll out on floured surface to about an inch thick or so.  Cut into squares and in small greased rectangular baking dish, place so sides are slightly touching.  Brush with milk and/or top with shredded cheese if desired.  Bake for 12 to 15 minutes in 450 degree oven.

Banana Bread

1/2 cup butter or margarine
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
3 medium mashed very ripe bananas
2 cups flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt

Cream butter and sugar together.  Beat in eggs until smooth. add mashed bananas and mix in.

In another bowl, stir flour with baking soda, baking powder, salt and nuts.  Add banana mixture stirring only to moisten.  Transfer to greased loaf pan.  Bake in 350 degree oven for about an hour until inserted toothpick comes out clean.  Let cool 10 minutes.  Remove from pan to completely cool before slicing.

Variations: add 1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips or walnuts to final batter.  Also, top with chopped walnuts, pecans, butter and a bit of brown sugar.

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead.  Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe.
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold if high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

- John McCrae