Prairie Views

~ Dreamy abstraction in Four Square House on the Pairie

Month: May 2007 (page 1 of 2)

Smoked Baked Beans

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Smoked Baked Beans, originally uploaded by Lakenvelder.

You can adjust the ingredients for how you like this recipe. I do not measure so this is just a guide of the amounts I use. I used around 1/2 of a small onion.

1 large can Boston baked beans
2 teaspoons brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon Hickory smoke flavoring
2 teaspoons ketchup
2 teaspoons mustard (grey poupon)
Very finely chopped onions

Mix all the ingredients together. Cook for 20 minutes in the microwave or over low heat in a saucepan until the onions are cooked.

Twice Baked Potatoes

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Twice Baked Potatoes, originally uploaded by Lakenvelder.

4 baked potatoes
4 tablespoons margarine
1/2 cup milk
1 cup grated cheddar cheese

Bake the potatoes. Cut the potatoes in half. Scoop out the inside and whip with the margarine, milk and some of the cheese.
Mount back into the potatoes and Sprinkle with cheese. Bake 30 minutes at 350 degrees F.

Kiwi Fruit Finger Jello

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Kiwi Fruit Finger Jello, originally uploaded by Lakenvelder.

4 packages of unflavored gelatin (4 Tbsp.)
1 1/4 cups hot water
2 cups sugar
1/4 teaspoon lemon juice
2 green kiwifruits, peeled
green food coloring

Put the gelatin, water and 2 cups sugar in a heavy saucepan and stir over low heat until dissolved.

Place the fruit in a blender or food processor and process until the fruit is pureed but not he seeds.

Add the lemon juice and kiwi and cook over and increase the heat until a boil. Biol for 20 minutes.

Remove and let it cool for around 18 minutes. Stir in food coloring until you have the desired color. Pour into an 8 inch square cake pan lined with waxed or parchment paper.

Let it cook for around 24 hours in a refrigerator.

Cut into cubes and roll in sugar before serving.

Hum..that Smell

Hum..that Smell
Originally uploaded by Lakenvelder

Have a seat

Originally uploaded by Lakenvelder

What’s That Smell?

What’s That Smell?
Originally uploaded by Lakenvelder

Smelling the old wheel. Hummm,,,,,,

Bath Time!

Originally uploaded by Lakenvelder

Cleaning by my carport



The muffled drum’s sad roll has beat
The soldier’s last tattoo;
No more on life’s parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On Fame’s eternal camping-ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And Glory guards, with solemn round,
The bivouac of the dead.

No rumor of the foe’s advance
Now swells upon the wind;
Nor troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind;
No vision of the morrow’s strife
The warrior’s dream alarms;
No braying horn nor screaming fife
At dawn shall call to arms.

Their shriveled swords are red with rust,
Their plumed heads are bowed,
Their haughty banner, trailed in dust,
Is now their martial shroud.
And plenteous funeral tears have washed
The red stains from each brow,
And the proud forms, by battle gashed
Are free from anguish now.

The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle’s stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout, are past;
Nor war’s wild note nor glory’s peal
Shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that nevermore may feel
The rapture of the fight.

Like the fierce northern hurricane
That sweeps the great plateau,
Flushed with the triumph yet to gain,
Came down the serried foe,
Who heard the thunder of the fray
Break o’er the field beneath,
Knew well the watchword of that day
Was “Victory or death!”

Long had the doubtful conflict raged
O’er all that stricken plain,
For never fiercer fight had waged
The vengeful blood of Spain;
And still the storm of battle blew,
Still swelled the gory tide;
Not long, our stout old chieftain knew,
Such odds his strength could bide.

Twas in that hour his stern command
Called to a martyr’s grave
The flower of his beloved land,
The nation’s flag to save.
By rivers of their father’s gore
His first-born laurels grew,
And well he deemed the sons would pour
Their lives for glory too.

For many a mother’s breath has swept
O’er Angostura’s plain —
And long the pitying sky has wept
Above its moldered slain.
The raven’s scream, or eagle’s flight,
Or shepherd’s pensive lay,
Alone awakes each sullen height
That frowned o’er that dread fray.

Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground
Ye must not slumber there,
Where stranger steps and tongues resound
Along the heedless air.
Your own proud land’s heroic soil
Shall be your fitter grave;
She claims from war his richest spoil —
The ashes of her brave.

Thus ‘neath their parent turf they rest,
Far from the gory field,
Borne to a Spartan mother’s breast
On many a bloody shield;
The sunshine of their native sky
Smiles sadly on them here,
And kindred eyes and hearts watch by
The heroes sepulcher.

Rest on embalmed and sainted dead!
Dear as the blood ye gave;
No impious footstep shall here tread
The herbage of your grave;
Nor shall your glory be forgot
While fame her records keeps,
Or Honor points the hallowed spot
Where Valor proudly sleeps.

Yon marble minstrel’s voiceless stone
In deathless song shall tell,
When many a vanquished ago has flown,
The story how ye fell;
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter’s blight,
Nor Time’s remorseless doom,
Shall dim one ray of glory’s light
That gilds your deathless tomb.


Originally uploaded by Lakenvelder.


Originally uploaded by Lakenvelder.

He is suppose to be weeding

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