Choosing the Proper Tool

Choosing the proper tool for the job is key for all endeavors. That said, sometimes, when dealing with food, your standard cooking utensils and array of sharp knives may not offer the horsepower required for a job. On rare occasions, you may be forced to drag construction tools into the kitchen as part of the culinary process.

When Desiree mentioned she needed to cut some whole frozen fish she’d retrieved from one freezer into sections so she could store them in a smaller freezer, I instantly recognized the required tool: my hacksaw

The saw performed well and provided quick, clean cuts. But I already had in mind applying my corded reciprocating saw to the fish if the hacksaw failed.

—Mitchell Hegman

The Peckish Pirates Complete

We finished our quirky Peckish Pirates puzzle. Toward the end, Desiree fell into something strikingly near an obsession to finish piecing it together, which gave me ample room to sip on a single-malt Scotch and throw a piece in now and then.

I must admit, I enjoyed the mental steeplechase the puzzle put us through with all of its unique features. And once we had the puzzle fully assembled, we opened a sealed package and tackled a second round with puzzle magic.

Good stuff, that!

I won’t divulge details on the second round with The Peckish Pirates. It’s a scoundrel-of-the-seas secret. But I can share a photograph of the puzzle before we applied the magic and a photograph of the unopened magic packet.

Finished Puzzle

Magic Package

—Mitchell Hegman

The Rocky Mountain Papaya

Papaya trees are botanical oddballs. For starters, they aren't really trees. They are giant herbs pretending to be trees, capable of reaching 30 feet on a soft, somewhat hollow trunk. They cluster enormous leaves at the top while the fruit grows directly from the trunk, as though the plant forgot to grow branches and decided to improvise. They are also in a hurry, sprinting from seed to producing fruit in about a year.

Papayas also have an unusual reproductive arrangement. Individual plants can be male, female, or hermaphroditic, with some capable of pollinating themselves. Unfortunately, papayas have zero interest in challenging a windblown Montana winter. Papayas crave heat, sunshine, and tropical conditions.

Now, the strange thing: Desiree sliced open a papaya a few days ago and stuffed a few sections with seeds intact in the refrigerator. When I grabbed a slice for a snack, I discovered that one of the seeds had germinated, pushing forth a miniature tusk of a thing.

I think it likes Montana.

I put the sprout in a bowl with a wet paper towel for a bed. I’m considering giving the papaya a run in the sunroom if it doesn’t perish.

Germinating Papaya Seed

Full-Grown Papaya (Wikifarmer)

—Mitchell Hegman

The Sapphire Thing

Montana is America's sapphire state, home to the nation's only major deposits of gem-quality sapphires. Most are found in four classic localities: Yogo Gulch, Rock Creek, Dry Cottonwood Creek, and the Missouri River gravels northeast of Helena. The Missouri River deposits quite literally extend through the property on which I constructed my house. Given my feral obsession with rocks and my proximity to precious gems, I am regularly compelled to purchase bags of sapphire pay gravel from one or another of the nearby mining operations so I can glean a few stones.

Just yesterday, we poked through a bag of gravel processed from the Spokane Bar Sapphire Mine.

Good stuff.

We found several larger sapphires I like to think of as "tink-tinks" because of the distinctive sound they make when dropped into a holding bottle. Most of the gems ranged from green to blue. The largest, though not of perfect quality, I would estimate to be around 4 carats. I'm sharing a photograph of the gems we found.

Looking for Sapphires

Our Precious Finds

—Mitchell Hegman

The Tin Cat

If someone or something is just trying to make a living and they are not directly doing harm to me in doing so, I extend them latitude. This includes mice.

I recently discovered that mice have taken to making something of a rodent condo in the warm, enclosed spaces of my outdoor hot tub. Obviously, I don’t want them there. They are messy, disease vectors, and they poop everywhere they go. But, at the same time, they are simply trying to make a living, and there is no direct harm to me.

My measure of giving them latitude is live-trapping them and then driving them down the road to release them. To that end, I purchased a new live trap called a Tin Cat. It is designed to capture more than one mouse once set. The very first time I used it, I was astonished at how well it worked.

I caught three.

I also like that the trap is fully enclosed. After each use, I can hose the inside clean without exposing myself to the mess the mice have left behind after release.

Good stuff, that.

I’m posting a photograph of the Tin Cat (open) next to a requisite Cold Smoke beer.

—Mitchell Hegman

The Balvenie 21 Year PortWood

The making of The Balvenie 21 Year PortWood Scotch is less a straight line and more a long, patient waltz between wood and time. It begins at The Balvenie Distillery in the Dufftown area of Speyside, Scotland, where the rhythm is set early and never rushed.

The process begins with malted barley, mashed, fermented, and distilled in copper stills into a bright, eager spirit. That spirit is then laid to rest for many years in traditional oak casks, where it gathers honeyed warmth, soft vanilla, and a gentle structure. In time, the signature turn arrives: the whisky is transferred, or “finished,” in casks that once held rich ruby port from Portugal, drawing in notes of dried fruit, spice, and a quiet, wine-dark sweetness. After 21 years of this slow exchange between spirit and seasoned wood, the result is a Scotch that feels composed, balanced, and just a touch indulgent.

The taste of The Balvenie 21 Year PortWood is smooth and layered, with honey and oak giving way to a soft, earthy sweetness that lingers without overstaying its welcome.

Many would describe this Scotch in a much simpler, unsubtle manner: expensive! For my birthday, a group of Desiree’s Filipina friends, whom I affectionately call my “sister wives,” chipped in and purchased me a bottle of The Balvenie 21 Year PortWood.

Let me assure you, this is a big deal. Thank you, girls!

—Mitchell Hegman

The Sapphire Bucket

One look inside my garage will tell you I’m a fan of 5-gallon buckets. On my last count, I had 17 of them in some form of use. Still, none of them quite compare to the “sapphire bucket” I received as a birthday gift.

This one-of-a-kind, customized bucket was fashioned by fellow rockhound Tad St. Clair. It serves as a complete kit for gleaning sapphires from pay gravel gathered from deposits along the Missouri River near my house, a simple idea turned elegant.

The kit includes a clear glass plate that rests on the rim of the bucket, a battery-powered LED light glowing up from within, and a small plastic container with tweezers and compartments for the safekeeping of any promising finds. Gravel is spread across the glass, and with a little patience and a careful eye, the light reveals what the river has chosen to keep hidden.

Tad also included a small bag of pay gravel from a trip we made to the local gem and mineral society dig near Lakeside. I am posting photographs of the bucket and of Desiree making a run with a handful of pay. No sapphires surfaced this time, but that feels beside the point. We will gather more gravel soon and let the light try again.

The Sapphire Bucket Complete

The Kit on Display

Desiree Looking for Sapphires

—Mitchell Hegman

Things I love About the Philippines

I love the ringing voices of the half-feral children in provincial Malabugas.

I love the families that bind parent to child, brother to sister, cousin to cousin.

I love the elders receiving the respect they deserve.

I love the soft weight of freshly picked Philippine mangoes.

I love the sting of flavor delivered by a thumb-sized calamansi lime.

I love the city street cats and the curly-tailed dogs commanding the province.

I love the muscular fish, metallic and fresh from the sea.

I love the hum and crawl of the city forty stories below me in my tower.

I love riding tricycles in Bayawan.

I love the sea grasping at, but never claiming, the white sands on the beach.

I love the palm trees.

I love my island wife,

         and her girls

               and

everyone they hold near.

Rain in Malabugas (2024)

Fish at the Market

Catching a Tricycle in Bayawan

—Mitchell Hegman

Venice Grand Canal Mall

The American singer-songwriter Roger Miller famously proposed, in the form of lyrics, “you can’t roller skate in a buffalo herd.” As someone who has seen my share of buffalo herds, I would suggest this is sage advice. Along similar lines, you would not travel to the Philippines to see Venice, Italy, but it’s actually more plausible than the skating thing.

As a point of fact, you can find a small chunk of Venice in Metro Manila.

If you happen to land in the bustle of Taguig’s McKinley Hill, you might bump into the Venice Grand Canal Mall. The mall is a playful, pastel-tinted echo of its Italian namesake. Inside, you’ll find cobblestone paths, arched bridges, and Italian-styled architecture gathered around a winding, aquamarine canal. Here, gondolas drift beneath striped mooring posts while gondoliers occasionally break into song. It is part theme park, part shopping haven, part daydream, where cafés spill out onto the water’s edge and your mind can drift untethered.

It’s Venice.

The day before yesterday, Desiree, I, and her girls spent an afternoon in the mall. We wandered along the canal, nibbled goodies from a few small eateries, stopped in a few shops, and, of all things, Desiree had her feet checked for possible orthotics. I enjoyed the time there. We interacted with several street performers, including one of the stilt walkers, who graced us with a selfie for a modest tip. All enjoyable.

The Canal

Heart, Desiree, and Bea, at a Crane Drop Game

A Stilt-Walker

Selfie (With the Lot of Us Below)

—Mitchell Hegman

Graduation Day

Education in the Philippines does not swing to the same schedule as that in the U.S. In the Philippines, basic education is divided into three main stages under what’s often called the K–12 system. Students first complete Grade School (Elementary), which runs from Kindergarten through Grade 6. This ends with a formal graduation, marking the transition into secondary education.

Next comes Junior High School, covering Grades 7 through 10. This is roughly equivalent to what Americans would consider the sophomore year of high school. At the end of Grade 10, students graduate again, closing out their foundational secondary education.

Finally, students move into Senior High School, which includes Grades 11 and 12. This stage is a bit more specialized, with students choosing tracks such as academic, technical-vocational, or arts-focused paths. After completing Grade 12, they have their final graduation, which is comparable to a traditional high school diploma in the U.S.

Shanaia, Desiree’s youngest daughter, graduated from Guadalupe Catholic School at the junior level yesterday. Guadalupe is a small but highly regarded private school known for its academic rigor. She graduated with honors, of course. 

Graduates Standing

Graduates Gathered for a Class Photograph

Desiree and Her Girls (Left to Right: Heart, Shanaia, Bianca, Desiree)

—Mitchell Hegman

The Blind Band

Market! Market! sits just a few minutes away by Grab from where we are staying, a sprawling mall that seems to contain every kind of store imaginable. Just outside it, under a vast canopy, is an adjacent stretch claimed by small vendors, each one adding a note to the low, steady hum of the place.

Concerts and other festivities find their way here as well, the space doubling as a kind of open-air stage.

This is also where you’ll come across the blind band, a group of musicians who play throughout the day, their instruments working on your attention until you realize you’ve stopped to listen.

It’s good stuff. Desiree has a maxim for people like those in the blind band, people doing everything they can to help themselves. She says they are “stretching their bones.”

On a recent visit, I stood in front of them for a while, taking it all in. I had Desiree pass me a few peso bills, which I slipped into the collection box.

There’s a lot here worth admiring.

The Blind Band

—Mitchell Hegman

My Buddy Ashwin

Today, I’m sharing a photograph of Ashwin, also known as Win-Win. Ashwin is the provincial Filipino version of a 15-year-old boy. He is also Desiree’s nephew. I’ve been hanging out with Ashwin for the last two weeks, but yesterday he flew back home to his province.

I’m going to miss him. He’s a bit goofy at times, but Ashwin’s a really good kid. He’s respectful, pretty good with English, and not afraid to laugh at himself. You can’t ask for much more than that if you’re an old guy from Montana visiting the islands and looking for pleasant company.

I hope to see you again soon, buddy!

Hanging Out with Win-Win

—Mitchell Hegman

Apple and Star Apples

One of the servers at the resort tiki bar was a diminutive girl of perhaps twenty named Apple. I love the name. It’s a simple twist on a common word, but for some reason it stays with me. Unfortunately, I did not get a photograph of her to share.

But I will be sharing a couple of photographs of another kind of apple: the star apple. It is a rather softish fruit I had not encountered before coming to the Philippines, known locally as caimito. From the outside, it does not look particularly remarkable, usually a smooth purple or green sphere about the size of a small apple. But when it is sliced across the middle, the seeds inside form a small, natural star, which explains its name.

The flesh is soft and slightly jelly-like, with a gentle sweetness that reminds me a bit of grape and custard combined. It is typically eaten chilled and scooped from the rind with a spoon, as the skin itself is not eaten. It’s one of those simple tropical treats that seems perfectly suited to a warm afternoon, when something cool, mildly sweet, and refreshing feels exactly right.

Star Apples and Tangerines

Star Apple Ready to Eat

—Mitchell Hegman

Boracay

In the central Philippines, in the province of Aklan, lies a small island that has fully embraced all that makes tropical destinations warm to the soul. Boracay sits just off the northwest coast of Panay, a sliver of land surrounded by clear, seemingly jeweled waters. Its shoreline is famous for powder-fine white sand that feels almost like sifted flour underfoot, while turquoise waves shuffle in and out without particular hurry.

Boracay has long been a favorite destination for tourists from the Philippines. In recent years, travelers from all corners of the world have discovered its charms as well. 

Morning Calm

Desiree at the Ocean’s Door

Desiree and Her Girls

A Storm Brewing on the Other Island

At the Grotto

—Mitchell Hegman

The Mountaintop Retreat

One of the most beautiful places I have seen in the Philippines is a small retreat owned by one of Desiree’s cousins. The retreat is very literally built on a mountaintop overlooking sugarcane fields and agricultural lands that stretch outward until they meet Bayawan City and the ocean just beyond. I also appreciate how it was constructed using a mix of new and traditional methods, including bamboo wall panels that give the place a natural warmth.

We visited the retreat yesterday evening, just as the light softened all around us.

From the top, even the sound of barking dogs and thundering lorries on the main road below eased into something near a whisper.

I’m sharing a few photographs from that visit.

The Retreat

Climbing to the Top

Desiree and Me at the Overlook Rail

All the World Below

—Mitchell Hegman

A Day in the Province

In the U.S., living outside a city is simply called “living in the country,” and extremely remote places are thought of as “the wilderness.” Here in the Philippines, the equivalents would be “living in the province” and “living in the jungle.”

The province is an interesting, if not compelling place. At a minimum, you should expect to be surrounded by someone’s chickens. Several skinny dogs are practically guaranteed, and pigs and goats are never too far away. The whole place also seems to brim with fruit trees of every imaginable variety.

While spending time at Desiree’s family home in the province, we were welcomed by all of the above. I also encountered a few of the requisite gecko lizards inside the house and discovered a pretty good-sized toad in the bathroom.

We are talking about what would have been absolute paradise to me as a kid.

And I like it just fine now. Turns out the kid in me still approves.

Below are a few photographs from a day of province living.

Desiree’s Family Home

Laundry Drying in the Jungle

Owl-Eyed Fish (Lunch)

Desiree Checking on Pigs Tended by Her Uncle Carlos

—Mitchell Hegman

My Food Request

While Desiree has her Jollibee chicken urges to satisfy upon arriving at the islands, I have my own food craving to slake.

My craving is for a bright green, rather branchy-looking seaweed called guso.

I love the stuff.

Along the coasts of the Philippines, guso is an everyday food, sometimes called sea grapes, harvested from shallow coastal waters and sold fresh in local markets. You will usually find it in small, damp bundles, its tiny beadlike clusters still crisp from the sea.

Preparation is simple. Rinse it gently in cool water and serve it raw. Most often it is combined with tomatoes and onions and dressed with vinegar or calamansi limes. The flavor is clean, light, and not particularly salty. The texture offers a light snap when chewed. There is no need to complicate it. Guso is best when handled lightly and eaten fresh, a straightforward reminder that good food does not have to be elaborate to be satisfying.

I also find guso to be gorgeous in appearance. I think a heaping bowl of guso looks like an intricate carving of the finest jade. I am happy just to sit and study it.

Guso

A Heaping Bowl

—Mitchell Hegman

A Snapshot in Time

Some of the most beautiful moments are those that pass quickly and remain uncaptured, existing only in memory. Moments you alone can testify to. I experienced one yesterday as a driver carried us along the ever-bustling, truck-filled highway out of Manila.

At one point, a small paddock appeared beside the road. In it were five or six children and a single horse.

The scene was joyous. They were running and playing together. The horse pranced, tossing its long, flowing mane. The children ran alongside it, smiling and laughing, some with their hands lifted high.

I saw them for only a moment before another row of concrete block and tin-roofed buildings slid into place and the paddock was gone.

But I know what I saw, and that is enough to sustain me for several dry years.

—Mitchell Hegman

In the Name of Cooking

As I mentioned before, Desiree and I have been watching a Korean cooking series called Culinary Class Wars. It’s a cooking competition where 80 local cooks (the “Black Spoon” contestants) go head-to-head with 20 renowned celebrity chefs (the “White Spoon” contestants) for a shot at culinary fame and respect.

Some of the dishes prepared are not exactly to my taste, but the variety of ideas and cooking methods is impressive for every challenge. I also get a kick out of the nicknames given to some of the competing chefs. The following are a few examples:

Culinary Monster

Witch With a Wok

Barbecue Lab Director

Three Star Killer

Iron Arms

I told chef Desiree we need to come up with a tag for her. I like the name “Pancit Queen.” Desiree favors “Cooking Godzilla.” Either way, I think she would have a serious shot at winning a cooking competition like this, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the judges learned her name early.

—Mitchell Hegman

Emergency Lights

I am forever dazzled by the simplest solution to a problem. The leap from can openers to pull tabs is a perfect example. Now consider the familiar problem of losing power at night and being plunged, without ceremony, into darkness.

The old solutions: kerosine lamps, flashlights, maybe an emergency generator with some manner of power transfer. But what if the same LED bulb you screw into a lamp for reading, knitting, or botching your crossword after a second glass of wine could also serve as an emergency light? What if it quietly charged itself every time you used the lamp as usual?

That solution already exists.

Yesterday, Desiree and I picked up a pack of Power Reserve light bulbs, each capable of producing up to ten hours of light when the grid fails. I’ve posted a photograph of Desiree holding one of the bulbs, lit entirely by its own battery.

The Emergency Bulb at Work

Power Preserve Box

—Mitchell Hegman