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Good morning, and yes, the world is still spinning… a touch slower, or so the scientists say if you believe them.

Port Loring, Ontario, Canada Weather:

Today (Tuesday, August 19): The skies are mostly cloudy with a 40% chance of showers. Expect a high of 67°F (20°C) and a low of 56°F (13°C) tonight. A perfect day to do some indoor work.

Tonight: Cloudy skies with a low of 56°F (13°C). Ideal for a warm cup of tea on the porch as the evening settles in.

Tomorrow (Wednesday, August 20): The clouds will part by morning, giving way to plenty of sunshine. Highs will reach 74°F (23°C), with a low of 53°F (12°C) at night. A great day to tend to the garden or take a canoe ride on the lake.

Only On The Walters Post

From my memories growing up on a dairy farm in Ontario, 1950s–1960s

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You know, back when I was a boy, life on the farm started before the sun and ended when the chores were done, usually well after dark. The kitchen was the heart of our home, and some of my clearest memories are of sitting in the wood box by the wood cook-stove,, watching Laura, the woman who raised me, cook supper while she talked.

The one thing i remember was that she never made cooking feel like a lesson.

Meat didn’t come easy in those days, even for farm families but Laura knew how to make the most of what we had.
“George,” she’d say, “if we add a few potatoes and some vegetables from the garden, we’ll have a meal that fills everyone without wasting anything.”

Her Meat and Potato Patties began as a way to make ends meet, as they were good and they brought everyone to the table.

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Ingredients (makes about 4 patties)

• Three-quarters of a pound of ground beef, whatever we had on hand
• A handful of grated potatoes, white or Yukon Gold worked best
• A small onion, chopped fine
• A couple of tablespoons of green pepper, chopped small (or whatever was plentiful in the garden)
• One egg, beaten
• A pinch of salt
• A splash of oil for frying
• About a cup of tomato juice or thin tomato sauce
• A spoonful of flour
• A little water to mix with the flour

Optional extras Laura sometimes added:

• A small carrot, grated
• A spoonful of breadcrumbs, for firmer patties
• A sprinkle of fresh parsley or thyme, if it was growing by the back door

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Directions

Mixing

She’d start by putting the beef, potatoes, onion, green pepper, egg, and salt in a big bowl.
“Mix it gently, George,” she’d tell me, “just enough to hold it together. If you mash it too much, the patties will be tough.”
That was her secret to tender patties.

Shaping and Browning

She shaped the mixture into four patties and flattened each one a little.
“Heat your pan,” she’d say, “and brown them on both sides. You want a bit of crust, but don’t let them burn.”
Once browned, she’d pour off any extra fat. Getting that golden crust brought out the flavor.

Simmering

Next, she’d pour the tomato juice over the patties, put the lid on, and let them simmer.
“About twenty minutes or so,” she said. “You’ll know they’re done when they look plump and the aroma fills the kitchen.”
Simmering made them tender and gave the sauce that rich, tangy flavor.

Gravy

She took the patties out and kept them warm on a plate.
Then, she whisked the flour into a bit of water and stirred it into the pan juices.
“Keep it moving, George, don’t rush it,” she’d remind me.
As the gravy thickened, it filled the kitchen with the smell of supper almost ready.

Serving

She spooned the tomato gravy over the patties and slid a plate my way.
“Here, try it with some mashed potatoes or fresh bread, whatever’s ready,” she’d say with a smile.
That first bite was always the best—simple, filling, and full of home.

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Why This Recipe Still Matters

Laura’s Meat and Potato Patties were more than just supper. They were part of the rhythm of our days and a reminder of how far a little could go with care and patience.

Every time I hear of someone making them, I’m right back in that farmhouse kitchen, watching Laura’s hands and hearing her voice.

I hope this recipe brings a bit of that warmth and comfort to your table, just as it did to ours.

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Until the next time, keep your minds open and your stories alive.
GW

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Only On The Walters Post

By GW

I can’t help but notice how, every time there’s a big meeting down south or some high-stakes deal being made, Quebec somehow ends up sitting closer to the front of the table. This latest run to Washington is no different. There’s Dominic LeBlanc right in the thick of it, smiling for the cameras and talking trade like he’s running the whole country.

But here’s the thing — LeBlanc doesn’t even represent Quebec. He’s from New Brunswick. Yet somehow, he’s always the one keeping Quebec happy. You’d think the rest of the provinces might get a little say, seeing as how we all share the same flag and pay the same taxes.

It’s the same old political dance: Quebec gets the spotlight, the rest of us get the speech about “national unity.” Meanwhile, the West, the North, and the Atlantic provinces get to sit on the sidelines and hope someone remembers they’re part of Canada, too.

Seems to me the Liberals are so worried about losing votes in Quebec, they forget the rest of the country has a heartbeat. I guess that’s politics these days — keep the big province smiling, and the rest can wait their turn.

But I’ll tell you something: folks out here are watching. And they’re not as quiet as they used to be.

Only On The Walters Post

You know, while I was working in my shop today, the radio was on and the news came on. Carney had just cut Trudeau’s tree plan in half… two billion down to one. I shook my head. The funny thing is, I don’t think any money should have been spent on it in the first place. We’ve got hospitals that need to keep running, roads crumbling, schools crying out for repairs… but apparently, trees take priority somewhere. With that in mind, I wiped my hands on my apron, picked up a carving chisel, and smoothed the edge of a flute block, wondering how any of this made sense.

Then another story came on: Orcas hunting young great whites just for their livers. Brutal, efficient, and…. if you think about it long enough, almost funny. It reminded me of fishing at the lake last summer. I tried to reel in a bass that was too big for the boat and ended up letting it go. Thing is, Nature doesn’t care about budgets or politics… just like those Orcas. I grabbed a fine diamond file and refined the flue ramp inside the flute, shaking my head at how weird the world can be.

By midday, the radio switched to talk of something called Eurovision. They were saying maybe Canada might get an invite this time around. From what I gather, it’s a big singing contest overseas — countries sending songs to see who can outdo the other with lights, noise, and enough drama to fill a week’s worth of TV. The kind of thing folks either love or can’t sit through.

Later, there was news about Hooters going back to more modest uniforms, calling it a “re-Hooterization.” They say it’s all about bad taste. That made me grin. I remembered walking past one years ago—neon signs peeling, a waitress rolling her eyes at my corniest joke. It was a small, ridiculous moment, but it stuck with me. I picked up a sanding dowel and smoothed the bore of the flute, thinking about how simple, honest craft feels better than all the big plans and announcements on the radio.

Then—CRASH & BURN. Moms petitioning Wheel of Fortune over some innuendo. Buy a vowel, get stuffed. Funny or depressing? I’m not sure. It reminded me of my own mother, trying to keep a straight face while doing crossword puzzles that were anything but wholesome. Humanity is ridiculous and relentless. I set the flute aside and looked at the block and chambers, shaking my head at how much nonsense we put up with every day.

Evening brought more absurdity. Thieves stole $80,000 worth of whipped cream from a fridge trailer in Guelph. Alberta wants to define what makes an Alberta whiskey—not antifreeze and Clamato aged in a Stetson hat, apparently. And there’s a 30-year-old Quarter Pounder asking for donations to the Home for the McAged. Even burgers get old, I guess. I wiped sawdust off the flute, adjusted the block strap, and thought about how the world never stops piling up little ridiculous things.

By the time I shut the shop lights off, the day’s news felt like a jumble of odds and ends—trees, orcas, Eurovision jokes, whipped cream heists, neon signs, and an aging Quarter Pounder. None of it makes much sense, but it’s all just the world piling up absurdities. All you can do is shake your head, maybe laugh, maybe grumble, and then get back to finishing the flute—sanding the final ramp, tightening the block, sealing the bore, and checking its voice before the next storm.

Until next time: Keep Your Minds Open & Your Stories Alive.