Anyway, here is little G fishing out the dried up grasshoppers, chaff, and whatnot.
And here he is grinding it.
Much of this and he'll have arm muscles like Popeye!
The first relative to comment or email me regarding this post, may find a loaf (or mini loaf) of bread priority mailed to their doorstep. (Sorry to limit it to relatives, but I'm not so sure that anyone else could appreciate the brick-like qualities of such bread without the pleasant memories of making and eating it with Grandma H. But if you're not a relative and are the first to leave a really convincing argument about why I should send a little loaf your way, you might get lucky, as long as little G's arms don't give out.)My aunt was telling me about going to visit her grandparents in southern Indiana when she was a little girl and how they didn't have electricity and her mom would have to cook everything without it. Sure would love to have the details of that story. I have grown to love and appreciate history much more as an adult.
There is way too much to be done around the house to be sitting here indulging in blog time.