Friday, January 29, 2010 by Hodding.

I finally got that damned pot clean–well, almost.  There’s still some rough, tenacious residue but considering the enamel on those much-vaunted Le Creuset pots and pans isn’t as durable as their price warrants, I’ve given up.   In other words, about a decade ago, I ruined one of those $200 pots by believing the hype.  It’d been a wedding present from my first, failed marriage so in a way, it was only fitting that it failed so miserably.

I’ve decided to start posting again for three reasons: 1)I missed it and more importantly, I missed the connection to my readers.  You guys were so supportive and involved and helpful.Of course, I’ve probably lost all of you during the hiatus but at least for a while I’ll be able to pretend you’re still out there. 2) Taking a break from blogging did NOT get me farther along with my book.  In fact, I sort of went backwards, deleting much of what I’d already written and replacing it with 20,000 words that I then deleted yesterday. 3) It turns out this blog was keeping me honest–providing a center from which I had the confidence and drive to keep on frugalin’.  Yes, since I no longer had the pressure to come up with yet another creative way to save money, I lost my way: Counting restaurant and store-made pizza, we’ve eaten out SEVEN times since my last post.  We’ve gone to the movies three times–and even bought popcorn and candy at the theater!  And we’ve used credit cards to buy groceries and presents.

I failed you all.

However, if America is the land of one thing above all others–above the land of freedom, the home of democracy, capitalist aggression, and even the American Dream–it is the land of second chances (Admittedly, I’m not the first to recognize this trait.  In his 2004 State of the Union Address, President L.G. (Little George) Bush told us that this is the “land of the second chance.”  While I don’t often find myself seeing eye-to-eye with the former president, he’s the perfect living testament to this statement’s veracity.) Not only does our society provide ample opportunities for second chances, but this provision, this empowering kick-in-the-pants, is the essence of all the good that we offer ourselves and the world.  At least, that’s the way George and I see things.

So, I’ve done it before and I see no reason to do otherwise now; I am going to take her up on the offer and begin again.

We will eat out no more forever.*

To be perfectly honest, though, that’s not entirely true, having learned a thing or two from recent experiences.  It’s time to strike a balance between some of our more extreme behavior of the past 16 months and our old spendthrift, unsustainable ways.   We will eat out again but infrequently–and only if we pay in cash and stay within our monthly budget.  Before we made an about-face in life and slashed our spending to next to nothing, dining out had become a humdrum, every-other-day affair (on average, Americans eat out roughly 4 times a week, when you include outings like grabbing a slice of pizza or a coffee/muffin combo ), not surprising considering it was more knee-jerk fallback than a planned, special event.

The inescapable feelings of delight and excitement we experienced during those first two meals in a restaurant were a wonderful surprise.  The kids behaved beyond our wildest dreams, every bite was divine (even the chewy calamari–inexcusable since any good cook should know that as long as you keep the cooking time under three minutes or over twenty, you’ll always have tender squid), and we held actual conversations: If there were a Star Wars VII, would Princess Lea learn to use the Force and would she and Hans Solo get married?  And, if Luke had kids, would one fall to the Dark Side and the other the Good?  By restaurant excursion number-seven, however, all had reverted to experiences similar to when our Dark Side reigned: the food was boring, the girls picked on each other while Angus cried and refused to eat, Lisa left the table (and the restaurant) to take care of some work, and VISA wouldn’t accept the charges (I still cringe when I picture Anabel’s face turning red with shame; luckily I had a check).

I’m not surprised that we so easily slipped into our former behavior.  Christmas has always been our weak point and using the eating-out as an excuse to cut loose, Lisa and I gladly overdid things.   Then, shopping over the last few weeks for both Anabel and Eliza’s 14th birthday and Angus’s 7th, which fall at the end of January, we felt we had to match the fervor of Christmas.  Right?

Like I said, though: no more.  Herewith, we return to the ranks of the Frugalista Revolution.  Long live Penny Pinching!

The astute reader, I hope, will at this point ask the obvious question: why?  It’s not because we’re broke.  That’s old hat and something we’ve grown accustomed to.  And it’s not because we overcharged on that credit card I mentioned earlier.  Being such reliable, long-term borrowers, we have credit cards coming out our behinds.

The reasons, actually, are quite simple.  We felt better about ourselves, and what we were teaching our children, when we spent only within our budget.  We missed the purpose that living so carefully brought to our every-day-lives.  Although we’re used to being broke, we do need to keep chipping away at our debt or we’ll lose our home.  And, mainly–the real reason, in fact–is because our Generation iApple-Everything offspring wanted us to.

PS–Some of you didn’t realize that I intentionally misspelled a number of words in my last post in a lame attempt to poke fun at both myself and my cyberspace editors.   Therefore, I spell-checked today’s offering.

*What famous Native American warrior am I borrowing from?

Posted in Frugal Dining, George Bush, Second Chances, Frugal writing, Extreme Frugality | 23 Comments »

Tuesday, December 8, 2009 by Hodding.

I’m posting my last post later tonight.  Tonight’s post will explain why I can’t post anymore for a while but I wanted to post this post so none of you gave up on ever seeing a new post from me again–although tonight’s post, as I just mentioned, will be my last post–until I get my book completed, that is.  That was supposed to happen this month.  It didn’t.  So now it has to happen next month.  Anyway, enough about what I’m going to post.  I’ll post this and then post my last post (again, for a while, that is, not “forever”) when I get back from coaching swimming.  Post-haste, I hope.

Meanwhile know this: Chicken Marbella (yes, the Chicken Marbella recipe found on page 85 from those wonderfully unfrugal Silver-Palate ladies) is NOT a good recipe for 8-month-old free-range roosters.  I’ve proven to my satisfaction that dishes like Coq au Vin really were developed for those tough, strong young birds.

Now we know.

Posted in Extreme Frugality | No Comments »

Tuesday, November 17, 2009 by Hodding.

I promise I am posting an entry later today… well, tonight most likely.  I have no excuses beyond the fact that swim season has begun.  I’m the head coach and now have 80 swimmers.  We only had 40 when I began coaching two years ago.

I’ve also been overwhelmed with fall-type mini-farm chores.  It’s amazing how long it takes to distribute 3 (8 X 5 X 3) trailer-loads of composted horse manure.  Yes, you read it correctly.  Lisa and I did strike the motherlode of perfect, ready-for-planting horse poop!  A few weeks ago I casually mentioned (be careful what you casually mention, considering my very tired back) to our family doctor that I was looking for a greenhouse.  I’m not sure why I told him.  he live sin town and certainly doesn’t have the time for hobby-planting.  Well, his eyes lit up, his face said, “Ah, a sucker at last!” and he gushed, “Yes, Hodding, I do.  We have a greenhouse!”

He quickly got  controlled himself, though, and continued in a carefully controlled manner: “Uh-hhhmmmm. My wife and I just might have what you are looking for.  I’ll have to check with her to make sure she really doesn’t want it anymore.  I’ll call you later in the week.”

Ok, ok.  He didn’t really get a hold of himself.  Instead, he made it very clear that he would do just about anything if I were to take it off his hands and even admitted that it was a bit beat up.  I told him I didn’t care.  It’d be a starter greenhouse and how could I be choosy?  He was giving it to us.

Sensing this was “my moment” I went fro broke and asked him for the other item we’re desperate for: “You don’t happen to know anyone who has some extra horse manure, do you?”

And that’s when he almost fainted.

“Well, let me see how I should put this, Jesus, my savior (ok, he didn’t say that but I could tell he was thinking it).  I should contain my utter glee at the thought that somebody wants to come over and remove even a smidgen of this accumulated waste but I can’t.  So, in short, yes, Hodding, I do have manure.  Way too much manure and you can take as much as you’d like.”

It turned out that the greenhouse has seen better days but I think I can get it up and nurturing again.  If not, I can use the metal pipes to make a roof for our various broken-down very small boats so they can be safely stored for the winter.  Thank Man for global warming! Tt’s been the warmest November in Maine that I’ve ever experienced and I’ve had extra weeks to winterize everything.

Back to my story: The greenhouse may or may not get us growing things this February but teh manure.  I’ve never seen such perfect, aged manure my entire life.  Admittedly, I’ve never been on the lookout for quality, aged manure until now but even so, even subconsciously, I’ve never seen such perfect, fluffy aerated garden-candy (should I trademark nickname?  Lisa?).  As I waded past the mounds of fresh, greenish briquets of horse manure to stab what looked like a mound of topsoil, I furtively glanced around to make sure nobody else was witness to my discovery.  When my shovel entered the mound like it was stabbing a hill of popcorn I actually squealed with delight.  This was it!  The gift from heaven that I’d been hoping for.  With this mother-nature-processed poop, our gardens are going to make leaps and bounds into a totally different, higher class of gardens.  I wanted to shout for joy–and did, of course–but then I got back to loading up the trailer.  Boy, if there’s one thing a lifetime of writing has prepared me for it’s shoveling shit.  I scooped the poop for two hours straight (and am going back for more as soon as I’m done writing this.  I don’t think I could ever get tired of doing it.).

With this poop, Lisa and I will enter the realm of–dare, I say it? yes, yes, I do.  this manure is simply too superior not to crow a bit.  With this poop, Lisa and I will rival Evan Coleman, the current reigning king of all that human’s grow.

Yeah, okay.  I just went too far but I’m so excited.  I can’t wait to post pictures of what we grow next spring and summer with this stuff.

Now if I could only get that greenhouse back together…

Postscript:  Like I said at the top, I promise I’ll make an entry later tonight.

Posted in Frugal winterizing, Perfect manure, Extreme Frugality, Gardening, Hens | 9 Comments »

Tuesday, October 13, 2009 by Hodding.

I can’t post the blog I wrote this morning because I want to load a photo with it and I can’t take the photo until my rechargeable batteries are ready.  Sorry.  But, I can take this moment to thank all of you for checking in and seeing what we have to offer this past week.  I also appreciate all the comments–encouraging and critical alike.

Anyway, the batteries should be ready in a couple of hours and I’ll upload everything then.  But don’t get your hopes up–although we did make something really cheap and yummy.

Posted in Extreme Frugality | 6 Comments »

Thursday, October 1, 2009 by Hodding.

I like the Frugal Hodding better,” Lisa announced last night, with a slight smile and crooked frown. I’m not sure what prompted this opinion—the Gatorade I bought Angus to keep him quiet while I searched three stores for the cheapest peat moss*, the bag of candy corn bought on a spooky whim, or the box of discounted Capri Suns for the kids’ lunches. Oh, wait. Now I remember. She’d just discovered the cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee I’d carelessly left on the counter.

Honestly, I didn’t set out on a spending spree to celebrate our return to the capitalist fold. It just happened. By the end of the day—two days before the month was over, actually—I’d spent $270 on groceries, pet supplies, and a couple of “necessary” things for our mini-farm. There was just so much stuff out there, beckoning like free hooch to a booze hound.

The funny thing is, except for the dog food, we could have gotten by for at least another month without any of it, as long as we could barter.

Which brings me to my point: I like Frugal Hodding better, too. Out of all the things we’ve done during the past 12 months to make ends meet, this no-spending experiment was the most difficult, exacting aspect, as well as the one of the most rewarding, successful, and life-changing. As it turned out, we didn’t make it the whole month—we bought a tank of gas so our whole family could go to Helen’s soccer game 90 miles away, and then we chose not to miss the Common Ground Country Fair, an annual festival (and Carter Family ritual) celebrating Maine’s organic farmers and growers—but we went plenty long enough to make our whole family glow with pride and knowledge. We already knew there was a much better place than the Land of Excess, but now we felt it deep inside.

The kids kept telling me there was no difference between what we’ve been doing all year and this past month, besides my opportunistically coasting in neutral on every downhill. Their opinion, in itself, signaled success to me because it meant they didn’t feel deprived, but it wasn’t completely true, at least from my viewpoint. Although the kids have their own money, they didn’t spend any this month, either. Also, unlike most middle-class kids, they were made very aware of what it takes to not only get by but to feel satisfied. They took part in the scramble to pull this off, suggesting meals that could be made from the garden, baking cookies, and coming up with more things to barter. They even asked me to make more sumac tea.

To show my appreciation, I may have gone a little overboard on getting things I know they like, eliciting Lisa’s remark, and I purposefully bought a number of items that we had been bartering for because every time we barter using our eggs, we’re taking away the kids’ spending money. That said, after I stock up on a few more things—six gallons of milk (yes, we have an extra, smaller fridge), a gallon of half-and-half, and ten pounds of butter—I’m going to continue the “no money out” policy for a while longer. We still are getting plenty of vegetables from the garden. I’ve picked two bushels of apples from friends’ trees and plan on getting at least that much more, meaning that we will have fruit for months to come. I can’t seem to stop bartering, so who knows how stuffed the pantry is going to be? I’m also starting to forage. When I went on a two-hour wild-edibles walk at the fair, I discovered that wild mustard, a relative of broccoli, has many times more vitamins and tastes like a superior arugula. Better yet, Angus and Helen love the stuff.

*I just learned that I can grind up dried leaves to use in place of peat moss, and once fall has done its thing, I’ll never have to buy peat moss again.

Frugal Tip of the Week

Forgive me if you’ve seen this elsewhere or already thought of it yourself, but I only figured this out ten days ago: Reuse your paper coffee filters. I don’t use a metal mesh filter because it lets the oils through, and I’ve always mindlessly tossed out each filter after a single usage. Well, I ran out during our zero-spending experiment. “Just reuse it, Dad,” Anabel suggested. I shook the last filter over the compost tin, rinsed it off, and then after carefully setting it in the filter holder, filled it with more coffee. Eureka! It worked! I’ve now used the same filter 19 times and can complete the entire cleaning process faster than I can separate a fresh filter from its mates and put it in the coffee maker. Hey, it’s time for another pot of coffee. Let’s see … it worked—20 reuses and counting.

Posted in Extreme Frugality, Outwitting Children | 4 Comments »

Thursday, September 24, 2009 by Hodding.

“Hi, Hodding. I need a favor,” the desperate housewife blurted out suddenly, her voice husky with need.

“It’s gonna cost you. Big time,” I replied just as quickly, seizing this unexpected opportunity. It didn’t matter what she desired. I knew I could deliver—and get what I needed in return.

She giggled—was it nervousness or confidence? Impossible to tell over the phone—before revealing what she had in mind. Apparently, she’d been waiting for quite some time.

When she was done, I hesitated a good 30 seconds before responding, hoping to gain the upper hand. “I want a gallon of milk. One-and-a-half percent—not just any old kind. By tomorrow, or it’s no deal. Annnnnd … a box of Froot Loops. Got it? Otherwise, Madeline [her daughter, who I coach on the Y swim team] will not be excused from Monday practices, clarinet lessons or no clarinet lessons. Understand?”

Both the milk and cereal were delivered by hand the very next morning.

God, I love bartering, and, to my happy surprise, so does everyone else. We’ve made four or five exchanges in the past week alone (How was I to know we’d consume five pounds of butter in less than two weeks? What kind of family does that?), and I just heard from someone who wants turnips. Perfect. We’ve got so many turnips that I’d been thinking about using them as landfill.

Until our friend Polly emailed me recently saying she’d be happy to bring over some half-and-half in exchange for chicken poop, I’d been ready to throw in the towel on our zero-spending experiment. Last week, I complained how I couldn’t drink coffee because we’d run out of half-and-half, and even though we had plenty left over after making cod chowder, I have a suspicion that much of that went to feeding the new kitten.

Knowing we needed more than cream, I expounded at length on how great our chicken poop was and how it was worth much more than a mere quart of half-and-half. In the end, Polly brought over three pints of designer coffee ice cream; a fresh, ripe pineapple; both frozen and bottled juices; milk; and the aforementioned cream. When we gave her a five-gallon bucket of manure in return, she flashed the biggest I-just-made-a-killing smile I’ve ever seen.

It’s uncanny. We run out of something, and, the next thing you know, somebody who has heard that we’re fledgling barterers calls for a different something we have too much of—like turnips. It just keeps growing and growing, and I think it’s because bartering is this natural, age-old instinct that stubbornly refuses to die, even after decades of cookie-cutter shopping. All it takes is just one bartering exchange, and you just can’t stop. You don’t want to stop.

The only problem I have is, how many turnips equal a pint of fancy coffee ice cream? Some jerk was so overwhelmed with barter-induced fervor that he ate the entire last pint in the house while his wife and children trustingly watched a movie.

Frugal Tip of the Week

Our kids were bumming out today from a lack of junk food, so we whipped up a batch of homemade tortillas, chapatis, whatever-you-want-to-call-them. A bag of eight can cost anywhere from $2.50 to $5, but making an equal amount at home only takes around 3 1/2 cups flour, 1 1/2 cups water, 1 tablespoon olive oil, and 2 to 3 teaspoons salt, at a fraction of the cost. Make the dough just as you would no-knead bread (slightly drier than usual so you can handle it), roll the dough into just larger than golf-ball-size shapes in your hands, and then either roll out with a pin or use a tortilla press. We have an electric tortilla press, which is a modern marvel. After slightly cooking them in the press, I put them directly over an open flame on the stovetop and flip them over a few times with tongs until they’re lightly browned (or charred, if I mess up). The kids down them, hot off the fire, like candy for breakfast, at lunch, and after school. Better yet, double the recipe, and, after making the tortillas, cut them into small wedges, coat lightly with olive oil, and toast in the oven at 375°F until they’re the desired color and texture—about five minutes for my family. Even if you don’t have a tortilla press (electric or not), give this a try because they don’t have to be shaped perfectly, especially if you turn them into chips.

Photograph by W. HODDING CARTER

Posted in Extreme Frugality | 1 Comment »

Thursday, September 17, 2009 by Hodding.

As each day reduces our stock faster than we had planned, our cupboards do not runneth over. We did not go out and buy enough of what we consider to be essentials to carry us through the entire four weeks; that wasn’t the point. But I must admit, since each day seems to require more and more ingenuity to craft a tasty meal and provide the kids with what they need, I sort of wish we had. While we have enough protein—as well as fats, grains, and vegetables—to last much longer than a month, more than two weeks in, we’re losing the kids. They’re not complaining, but when they ask for something that we might usually have for a treat—squeezable yogurts, for example—and Lisa or I say they’re all gone, they go screaming from the room, tears flowing, raving something along the lines of, “I can’t stand it! This was the dumbest idea in the world!! I hate you! I hate you!”

Oh, wait, that was me, when I realized that not only had we run out of half-and-half, horror of all horrors, but the substitute—condensed milk—was practically gone as well. I can’t wait for October. It’s not just the h-and-h issue. I like variety, the spice of life, even the kind allowed on a frugal budget.

I guess that’s why the phone message from my friend George almost brought me to tears. Okay, that isn’t quite true: It did bring me to tears.

“Hodding, I’ve got a proposition for you,” George had said. “It concerns food. Lots of free food, and all you have to do is call me back. Come on, Hodding. I know you can’t pass this up. But it has to be now—not the usual two or three days it takes you for to call me back.”

Okay, so maybe I’m not all that prompt at returning calls. I used to be—before the kids got older and seemed to need my time even when they weren’t around, before we had two warring chicken flocks that were always trying to cross the demilitarized zone, before the new kitten took to waking me up at all hours with a flying leap to my blissfully unconscious skull, before ….

Anyway, I called him back immediately, and, ignoring his shocked demeanor, pressed for details. I was not disappointed. He had cod—almost 70 pounds—and he needed help in processing it. He knew I’d been obsessed with smoking fish a couple of years ago, and was up for anything when it comes to food.

While I’d rather George had caught a species less threatened than Atlantic cod, he did use hook and line, which, unlike other methods, doesn’t destroy fish habitat, lead to overfishing, or kill bycatch. Greenpeace, via an animated fish singing like Amy Winehouse, reminds us that, “The only fish that’s fine … is caught on a hook and line. They try to sell orange roughy, but we say no, no, no.”

With Mark Kurlansky’s Cod as our bible and A. J. McClane’s Encyclopedia of Fish Cookery in reserve, for the next 24 hours we smoked, chowdered, salted, and made pâté to our hearts’ content. It’s amazing, in fact, what you can do with a fish when you really put your mind to it. To celebrate our ingenuity (and ensure nothing was wasted), George also decided to host an impromptu cod fry.

But what does all this have to do with needing half-and-half for my coffee, you might wonder? Well, the chowder idea was mine. One of the essential ingredients—of the New England variety, at least—is cream, which is what I suggested when people started asking what they could bring. “But make it half-and half,” I added. “We don’t want to clog anyone’s arteries, right?”

So thoughtful.

Sadly, they brought too much. George suggested I take home the extra.

Now, we just need somebody to throw a yogurt party.

Frugal Tip of the Week

If you’ve gone way overboard (like deciding to spend no money for an entire month) and are using candles to read by at night, make them last longer by freezing them. Once this month is over, we’re going to make our own candles—yes, I’ll write about it—and then compare frozen ones to unfrozen ones to see how much of a difference there really is.

Photograph by W. HODDING CARTER

Posted in Extreme Frugality | 1 Comment »

Thursday, September 10, 2009 by Hodding.

Ah!!!! One week down and so far, I’m happy to report it’s been a total success. I haven’t spent any money. Zip. Zero. Nada.

I can’t imagine the last time my whole family has gone an entire week without buying something. Oh, wait, I remember. Never.

That said, I don’t see how we’re going to make it until October 1. Although I bought two-and-a-half gallons of milk on August 31, we ran out two days ago. I had planned to stock up on powdered milk but I just couldn’t do it, although not for the reason you might imagine: I’m convinced Angus never would have noticed as long as I chilled the water in the fridge and added a couple of tablespoons of Nestlé Nesquik to each glass. No, I didn’t go for it because—drum roll, please—it cost more per gallon than fresh milk. Go figure.

I was expecting this milk thing to be the breaking point. Chocolate milk, after all, is Angus’s favorite food group. It’s where he gets all his calcium, most of his protein, and quite a few needed calories. The first morning after running out, he asked for it repeatedly, and the same thing happened the next day. He gave up yesterday, and all is bliss, especially since I’ve found a friend who will barter milk for eggs.

On the other hand, fuel conservation isn’t going quite as smoothly. On Day 1, I only drove 5 miles. Day 2 topped out at 22 miles, with nary a blink from the fuel gauge. Day 3, I drove 35—thanks to two different soccer practices, a play-date, and a school meeting. Even so, I was using less gas per mile than usual, thanks to my new driving techniques and, more importantly, a newly acquired, more accurate sense of self-importance.

The first morning, as I pulled out of the drive and reflexively pushed down the accelerator to reach the speed limit—50 mph—when going to the Y, I just as quickly released the accelerator. What was the rush? I could get up to speed a few seconds slower and probably save some gas. I then very gradually brought the car up to speed, and repeated this slow-acceleration routine after each stop, arriving at the Y only one minute later than I would have. These days, I also slip into neutral at the slightest downhill grade, and have worked it out so I can coast the last mile home, complete the turn into our driveway at 20 mph, and make it to the end of our 200-foot-long driveway without any help from the engine². Psych!

A week later, though, the car I was driving³ the most is already under the half-tank mark, as is our other car, because Lisa has so far refused to change her driving habits; she continues to accelerate like an average American.

In other words, it looks like I’ll be using my bicycle even more than I anticipated. In fact, I just glanced at the seven-day forecast—clear skies, warm days—so this is ride-my-bike-almost-everywhere week. It’ll take longer to get places, but then again, what exactly was I going to do with all that extra time?

If anybody else is giving zero spending a try, by the way, please write in and let us know how it’s going. Personally, I’ve wanted to go to the grocery store almost every single day, and I have an ever-growing list of things that I might buy when the month is over. It’ll be interesting to see what I cross out after I’ve had some time to think it over.

Frugal Tip of the Week

Fall is my favorite time to forage, with nature offering up everything from apples in abandoned orchards to mushrooms in every patch of woods, but if you want a mostly free, vitamin-C-rich beverage, then track down the nearest staghorn sumac and make some tea. Don’t know a staghorn sumac tree from an oak? Well, at some point, sumacs were the darling of suburban landscapes. They can be found in practically every neighborhood and certainly along most highways—they’re those short trees with the bright red cones pointing skyward. Once you’ve made a positive i.d., grab a dozen of the cones (about 4 cups when separated from the stems) and scrape off the fruit. Pour a gallon of boiling water into a nonreactive container and steep the fruit until you get the flavor and color you prefer; ten minutes is about right for me. Strain the tea, add sugar (that’s where the mostly-free part comes in) and, perhaps, a sprig of mint, and enjoy. The taste is hard to describe—it’s like a tangy berry of some sort. Lisa and I learned all we know about sumac from Euell Gibbons’s Stalking the Wild Asparagus, which we used when we went on foraging dates in the early ’90s.

¹ Okay, “bliss” might be stretching things just a bit. We did, after all, have to get through a holiday weekend without a single trip to the grocery for last-minute picnic items. Also, since we entered our town’s annual free build-a-boat-in 24-hours contest—materials (two sheets of plywood, two tubes of caulk, one box of nails, two 2-by-4s, and four 1-by-3s) provided—we had to pass through town, and thus the store with slushies, numerous times. The first time Helen asked if she could have one, I looked at her like she’d lost her mind. When she asked again, I reminded her we weren’t buying anything. She looked surprised, then giggled and said, “Oops, I forgot.” Angus got into the act, claiming that he was going to die unless he had a slushy. Once we got home, to get things back to, or at least closer to, bliss, I quickly made slushies, using frozen kiwi-raspberry punch concentrate as the flavoring and sweetener. The kids claimed they were better than the ones at the store. And perhaps adding to our bliss, Lisa and I have gone through two bottles of mead with friends during this first week. And no one has made a this-is-yucky face yet.

² The first time I tried this, I had to fight the impulse to go back into Drive when I noticed my speed slipping from 49 mph to 44. Then in the driveway, when I was creeping along at 5 mph, it was a struggle not to go into gear so I could get home 20 seconds sooner. I’m not exaggerating: It’s funny how important we think we are. What was I going to do with those extra 20 seconds? Save the world? No, in all honesty, I’m guessing I would have plopped down at my computer and take one more look at wunderground.com.

³ Not “my car.” Our family’s vehicular fleet operates under a communist system in which neither car belongs to either of the two drivers. That has its bonuses and drawbacks. One plus: You can always blame the mess on the other driver. Minus: When you’re trying to save money on gas, the other driver can negate all your hard-won conservation in a single acceleration.

Photograph by W. HODDING CARTER

Posted in Extreme Frugality | 1 Comment »

Thursday, September 3, 2009 by Hodding.

Usually when I split firewood—as I was doing this morning after seeing all four kids off to their first day of school—I enter a peaceful, sweaty zone where everything becomes clear and life seems like an easy jigsaw puzzle. I work my tail off, and, in return, gain some much-needed clarity.

Not today—at least, not at first.

Instead, with every successive swing of my eight-pound maul, I grew more and more confused. Why was I talking about painting our living room, even bringing home color chips from the hardware store, if we’re swearing off all purchases for an entire month? When I told Lisa I was having a hard time choosing between “Itsy Bitsy Bikini” yellow ¹ or “Wild Blue Yonder” blue, she shot me a look that immediately caused me to assume a defensive position. Since the kids were present, she didn’t let me have it the way she should have, but, all the same, I quickly lost interest in a new paint job.

But where had Home Improvement Hod come from, I wondered?

I split another 24-inch-long chunk of bartered oak², and Angus’s worried, anxious face floated into my mind. About half an hour earlier, I’d been driving him to his first day of first grade when he croaked, on the verge of tears, “Why does Mom have to work?” Lisa had lingered at home longer than she should have and was now racing to court in Belfast, 30 minutes away. Judges do not like being stood up.

Boing. The maul bounced off green-hard wood. What? It didn’t split? I’m One-Swing Charlie. This doesn’t happen to me! I swung again and it bounced off, again. I really don’t want to tell Lisa that Angus and I were a minute late and that he wouldn’t even look at me to say good-bye. He was so completely absorbed in doing the right thing in front of the rest of the class. Is that why this wood isn’t splitting?

When I had tried to answer Angus’s question about his mom, he jumped ahead to an even tougher subject. After all, he knew why his mom was working. Somebody in our family has to make enough for us to get by on. “Why does anybody have to work?” he asked. “Who started that? Why’d they do it?”

My answer ran, something along the lines of “Well, at first, people just shared. Next, some genius thought of bartering. You know, like how we got the firewood for eggs ….” And that is when, thank God, he lost interest and told me he knew he had friends waiting at school, concluding, “I’ll be okay.”

But as I finally split that piece of oak in two, then split it again, I got back to Angus’s second question, remembering that his sister Eliza had asked me a similar question this past weekend, somewhat angrily. “Why does it cost money to eat? It doesn’t make sense that it costs money, does it?”

I’d agreed with her because it doesn’t, does it? As I continued splitting wood and feeling less and less satisfied, I realized I didn’t want to paint my living room or even spend this next month doing everything humanly possible not to spend money. What I really wanted to do is sell the house, buy a big sailboat, and refuse to take part in all this madness, except for buying food at port-of-call after port-of-call.

I felt great for a dozen or more swings, until I reminded myself that I would still be paying to do something we have to do if we want to be living, breathing human beings. It was about then that I went into a wood-splitting frenzy, whacking pieces that were laying on their side, whacking ones right beside my shin, whacking pieces simply to keep moving—hoping, I guess, for some kind of wood-whacking answer.

Eventually, it happened: Maybe the best thing, after all, was to stay at home as planned, not spend any money, and eat what we’d grown this summer—just for the month, or maybe a few weeks longer if our veggies held out—so we could feel almost-free for at least a short while.

I stood another piece of oak on end, squared my shoulders, and even before maul hit wood, I knew my wood-splittin’ zen was back in the palm of my hand.

Thunk!

And that’s when I realized the first day back at school wasn’t only hard for the kids.

Frugal Tip of the Week
Ethanol has been pushed down our fuel tanks as if it’s the Great Green Hope (which in itself is more than debatable) but it turns out to be one of the most harmful things imaginable for small engines. In a perfect world—that is, one without contaminants—where everyone’s gas tank is spotless and the ethanol is used the same day it’s bought, then it’s not such a bad fuel (besides lowering engine performance and increasing fuel consumption). But because ethanol has turned out to be highly corrosive and also highly water-sensitive, it must always be used with a stabilizer. Otherwise, it strips every bit of dirt and moisture out of your fuel tank and lines and sends it into your engine, which will then go into shock and decrease considerably in performance and/or die. Trust me, neither option is a good thing when you’re in the middle of felling a two-foot-thick oak tree, for instance, or are a family of six crossing a windswept bay in a small motorboat. So, remember, if you’ve decided to save money by doing things yourself, be sure to add stabilizer to your fuel tank every single time you fill up.

¹ Admittedly, I wasn’t really considering “Itsy Bitsy Bikini.” I just liked the name. Now, “Fuzzy Duckling,” on the other hand ….

² We got four cords of firewood by agreeing to deliver three dozen eggs a week—for a year.

Photograph by W. HODDING CARTER

Posted in Extreme Frugality | 1 Comment »

Thursday, August 27, 2009 by Hodding.

Lisa took a swig of Hod’s Mead, Batch Number 2, and passed the bottle. Without saying a word.

“Well, whad’ya think?” I said.

“It was … fine,” Lisa answered noncommittally.

“What do you mean?” I persisted. “Is it strong enough? Do you like the ginger?”

“Yeah.”

“ ‘Yeah’ ” I repeated. “So it really isn’t good enough to give as Christmas presents? That’s okay. I’m not an expert yet.”

While the mead I made back in June is already drinkable—meaning it’s finished fermenting—most of the literature on the subject suggests waiting a while to improve the flavor. Given Lisa’s reaction, I’d say the literature is correct, although I liked my effort a lot. It tasted like a sweetish, alcoholic ginger beer with very few bubbles (I’m sure there’s a market for that somewhere). But then again, I wanted to like it a lot. Maybe I shouldn’t have used that honey from China that I got at Caswell’s, but at $1.60 a pound, it produced five gallons of mead for $16.40.

Mead-making has turned into a near obsession, and I’m not really sure why. I don’t drink that much, and while it will make nice, frugal presents, we can come up with other, more practical inexpensive presents. There’s simply something about making and perfecting mead that is unusually compelling. I think it’s because it’s such an ancient tradition; I’ve come to think it’s in our DNA. Some historians believe its production is one of the things that marks the advent of civilization—the proof being the discovery of mead-making in Mesopotamia.*

Which perhaps explains why I feel I should keep making mead. I’ve only gotten back in touch with it by happenstance—specifically, by being broke—but I’d recommend attempting your own batch no matter your financial circumstances, unless, of course, you have other things your spouse might want you to do in your free time—like clean out the chicken coop, fold the laundry, and make some money.

In that case, stay as far away from mead making as humanly possible.

* Check out Got Mead.

Frugal Tip of the Week
Remember those ubiquitous shampooing instructions: Wash, Rinse, Repeat? Well, drop the Repeat part, and watch your shampoo last twice as long.

Photograph by Anabel Carter

Posted in Extreme Frugality | 2 Comments »