The January Yard

 

I first noticed my friend here a week or two ago when he landed with a thud one morning on the railing of the patio steps.

I looked up where I was working at the table to see this potbellied Robin.  Every day, now, he settles into the bush, eating the little berries and basking in the sunshine when it is available.

I have found that I look for him in the mornings, now, and enjoy his presence.  Company!  (Perhaps he is really a female and will be nesting here come spring?  Every summer when I trim this bush I find a nest hidden deeper within the branches.

 

The garden and yard are so brown and frozen now.  Noticing these Rose Of Sharon seeds yesterday lifted my spirits!

Released

I served my one day of jury duty yesterday.  I spent my morning on a panel for a criminal case.  After questioning, I was sent back downstairs, told to go to lunch for an hour and report back.  After my Chinese lunch, I took a seat in the main room, only to be handed my $9.00 check and released until the next time I am called, perhaps in a year.

As I made my way down the stairs of the train station to return home, I was overwhelmed by the need to bake something.  To work with my hands in a familiar environment.  Walk in my garden, pick flowers for my table with the dogs at my side.  To find color and warmth.

 The Criminal Justice Center environment disturbs me on so many levels.  There's the good, at least let's hope, and then there's the sordid, the ugly, the pathetic.  I sat in a small room with total strangers for two hours, while one by one we were taken into the courtroom for questioning.  Everyone is complaining.  No one wants to get picked.  I am fearful some may be untruthful in attempt to dodge the responsibility.  Two point out that at least we live in a country where it's possible to be given a trial.

In that little room there was a table top artificial Christmas tree, fully decorated. It's September 18th, at this point it may as well remain; a couple more months, and it will be the season.  That bit of decoration lent nothing but strangeness to the sterile, colorless place.

But you can tell, this environment makes people want to talk because there is nothing else encouraging you to feel human and alive.  We would have been a chatty bunch after four days together, the expected duration of this trial.  

Lucky me, I came home in time to pick Olivia up at school at the regular time.  I kicked off my flats, walked barefoot in the garden, picking flowers, cherry tomatoes, jalapenos, and eggplant.  I made cornbread to go with a vegetable soup for dinner.  This morning we toasted leftover cornbread for breakfast. 

 

Today I am home, sitting at my kitchen table writing, with sunshine pouring in, flowers on the table, one dog outside, the other one sleeping on the couch.  My sourdough starter is fed and is on it's way to becoming bread dough.

My good fortune at being released is ultimately about being spared stories of gun violence and kids, and the burden of deciding the fate of two young individuals.  Instead I sit in sunshine, in the company of snoozing dogs.

Buttermilk Cornbread

adapted from Bill Neal's Southern Cooking

1 1/2 cups yellow or white cornmeal

1 cup all-purpose flour

3 teaspoons baking powder

3/4 teaspoon baking soda

1 tablespoon sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 1/2 cups buttermilk 

3 eggs

4 tablespoons melted butter

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.  

Combine the cornmeal, flour, baking powder, baking soda, sugar, and salt  and sift well.  Beat the buttermilk and eggs together with 3 tablespoons of the melted butter.

Brush a 9-inch cake pan with the remaining melted butter and preheat in the oven for 5 minutes.  Combine the liquid and dry ingredients, and stir until just mixed.  Pour into the hot pan and bake 30 minutes in middle level of oven.  When done, it will be golden brown and the cake will have pulled away from the sides of the pan.

Serves 8 generously.

August Thirteen

 

August Nine

August Eight

 

A soggy morning in the garden.  

August Four

August One

 

It rained all day.

Week of May 27th: In the Garden and Kitchen

Clockwise from top left: Radishes from the garden, Peonies from the garden on kitchen table, Rhubarb chutney, Chive blossoms, Lavender ready to bloom, Rhubarb for chutney

Waterdrops

 

Hot.  Storms.  More rain. Cool.  Sunny and warm.   That was our week here.

 

 I took a turn around the garden every morning looking for waterdrops!  Week 5.

Squares

 

 Just fooling around.

Making a few photos square.

Sometimes it's inspiring to look at things in a different way.

It doesn't feel like being inside a box if this is actually an outside the box way of seeing for me.

April's Garden

Every spring I resolve that I will improve upon the previous year's garden.  Weed and mulch more, plant with forethought, not just plunk in a seedling where's there's space.  Create garden rooms, design.  Try a new method.

 

This year I am densely packing my beds following the suggestions in this book.  I am also planting by the biodynamic system.  

I couldn't resist these illustrated seed packets I found when we were in Hillsdale.  The Spotted Trout lettuce is coming up nicely.

Once the daffodils came up around Easter, we reached the point where there will always be something to snip for a vase on the kitchen table until October.

Now I just have to keep Charlie out of my flower bed.  He is drawn to the organic fertilizer I put down!

My Favorite Place

It's hard to pick just one favorite place.  In the company of Olivia would truly be the one.  Cape May where we have vacationed every summer for twelve years never ceases to win my heart.

Yet, the physical spaces that I reside in daily, my kitchen and it's table, and my garden are the places that nurture me day in and day out.

When the garden is prosperous, it graces our table.  A dinner inspired by what is plentiful on that evening.  Sweet, simple flowers grown from scattered seed adorn.  I photograph the light spilling across them endlessly, grouped by color or variety.

I am easily entertained.

This early April week it is suddenly unseasonably hot.  I ventured out barefoot this morning in the familiar, yet strange oasis.  Such heat by 9:00, 10:00 a.m, like a typical summer's day where I would be out before camp and pool activities.  Yet, the trees have no foliage.  The cherry trees are budding and beginning to bloom.

Weeds are already everywhere!

 

Just this past weekend did temperatures rise enough to begin planting the cool season crops.  Greens of every variety, as I love them all, radishes, turnips, beets and peas.  Tomorrow the rains will come and sixty degrees will send us shivering, yet knock us back to where daffodils, weeds and trees with tips of green make sense.

This place, within a city's limits, gives me purpose, a place to dig and work things out.  It's my road map to dinner.

Garden Party

I will invite New Girl back to my garden next summer.  She was a good producer.  These are the last of her fruit for the season, as yesterday I pulled her up.

She may invite herself back, however, as seems many of my plants do.  Yellow Pear tomatoes, Brandywine, celosia, cilantro and watermelon all decided my garden was a good spot to hang, and planted themselves this year.  It's not a recipe for a tidy garden to let unknowns sprout and trail this way and that and down stone walls, but the surprises do provide a bit of fun.

 

My zinnia's are quite obedient, however, and only come up where I have planted them that season. They have kept my vases full since July, and they provide relative order to my reluctant open-house garden party.

Hearing my complaints, my friend N. said, "you can pull things up."  Saying no to another bud to water has never been my strong suit. 

Biscuits

Yesterday was a day of mother conflict and spinning wheels.  I become angry with my indecisive self and frantic at the prospect of having little to show for my day.  I wrestled with both sides of the equation and pushed harder to drum up results. 

There was a talk that evening at Olivia's school by an educator and author who I wanted to hear, but with Olivia returning home past 6:00p.m. from her first away soccer game, I felt disinclined to gobble down dinner and run out the door, only to return at bedtime to her bouncing around.  All day, I asked myself, do I want to go and potentially learn something valuable about issues such as "the curse of the good girl", or do I want to hear about her day over a leisurely dinner, and have chatting time while she puts on pajamas?

In short, do I want information that might shed light on a middle school girl's world, or do I want to spend time with my daughter?

By late-morning I was having computer problems to the point where I started imagining  myself living a life without them.  My laptop had some sort of temporary glitch that didn't seem so temporary in the moment, and our desktop screen went blank.

I had also spent an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out how to put social media buttons in my sidebar.  With no accessible computer that attempt was put on hold until Mr. Savory came home to save the day.

Instead, I gardened, exercised, walked the dogs, worked with Charlie on "heeling" and "down".  Hesitantly, I took my neglected starter out of the fridge and fed it, with an eye towards making biscuits for dinner.

I had lingering sadness from the previous evening when I had been standing in the kitchen in a lull before dinnertime, thinking about how it was about that hour when I might call Beatrice.  It is in moments like these that you really feel a loved one's passing.

The shadow of loss carried through to the morning when my computer frustrations led to feelings of simply going nowhere, making no progress, nothing happening.  I searched through boxes upstairs in our guestroom, hoping to locate the one that I thought might have a few of Beatrice's handwritten recipes.  I couldn't find it, just boxes of more odds and ends to go through, and reminders of Aaron that I knew held only the potential of making me feel worse.

I came back downstairs and knew I needed simply to find something comforting to make.  Biscuits for certain and my favorite sandwich loaf.  Olivia ate two and a half biscuits for dinner, super hungry after her soccer game.  They were warm and buttery and soothing.

In the end, I decided to stay home, and I spent the evening with her in our usual routine of practicing violin and reading.  The house smelled like homemade bread that we would use for toast and sandwiches.  Once she fell sleep with Harry on her bed, Mr. Savory and I worked through the process of installing a button.  We stopped at one and will do the rest later in the week.

The baking and hugging Olivia when she came home saved me. They nurtured and calmed and grounded me on a day that felt like I was chasing air. 

Melon Madness

Melons can be maddening to grow.  See this cute little one up there?  I found it in the grass yesterday, and after checking to make sure the little curlicue looked brown, I plucked it from its vine.

I left it at Olivia's spot at the patio table, excited for her to find it as a surprise.  She loves watermelon!

When Michael cut it open it looked like a radish inside.  Pale pink and white.  Disappointment blanketed the moment.

Did I focus on the wrong curlicue?  My farmer taught me last Summer.  You know when a watermelon is ripe when the closest curlicue to the fruit turns brown.  We followed that advice last Summer and it worked.

Aaargh.....

Meanwhile, I'm holding out hope for this big one.  I check on it daily and feel my impatience pressing close.  Amazing how those vines hold such a heavy fruit hanging over the stone wall like that.

I took this photo of a cantaloupe a few weeks ago.  It looks more like a cantaloupe now, and I check it twice daily in anticipation.  We've had two of them so far this Summer, both ripe and juicy.  Cantaloupe is ready when it releases easily from the vine.  This one has a tight grip still.

We leave for a few days vacation day after next and I want it to be ready before we go. I can't bear the thought of it rotting on the ground after watching it grow for so long.

This evening a gift rolled down to me from some hidden place.  A cantaloupe sat at the bottom of a little hill, near several other melons still growing on their vine.  This one I never saw, and I thought I knew them all.  It cheered me up considerably, and just about made up for yesterday's watermelon disappointment.

One of those moments of synchronicity it seemed: "sorry about the watermelon, would you accept this cantaloupe instead?"

(Nobody in particular was saying that, by the way).

Packing My Appetite

I went to Cape May with a good appetite.  Judging by the non-clothing items I packed, I would say I brought with me an appetite for inspiration.  I stuffed totes with magazines, non-fiction and fiction books, camera, sketchbook and colored pencils.

I wanted to be ready for Cape May to seep into my mind.

Into my book bag I tucked In The Kitchen With A Good Appetite, which had been my pool reading.  Enjoying it so much I didn't want to leave it behind for two weeks, it became my vacation bedtime book. I devoured it, finishing before our trip's end.

I knew I wanted to start cooking some of Melissa's recipe's as soon as we were settled back home. The stories preceding each recipe, however, were what pleased me most.  She is at once serious and amusing, and deeply confident in seeking her vision of a dish.

It made me laugh, how she repeatedly admitted how she can never leave someone else's recipe alone, she can't help herself from tweaking it to meet her own tastes and desires. 

Perhaps what surprised me most lies in the types of foods she excludes.  Pasta, grains, muffins, scones, soup, these clearly never played a role in her growth as a cook.  Her preferences shaped by her upbringing and early professional experiences, she holds fast to what she likes.

Her confidence and focus inspire me to pay more attention to flavors and textures I hope to replicate.  Sometimes I think I need to nudge myself beyond my starting points, which tend toward focus on the most perishable items in my kitchen, and be more like Melissa--in-tune with my appetite, deciding what I want to eat and going after it.

Given then, how Melissa cooks according to her own tastes, I shouldn't have been so surprised when I wanted to slightly alter many of the recipes I tried.  I truly expected each to stand perfectly.

It taught me to trust in my own tastes and create a personal vision, using her version as inspiration.

So, I don't toss off the granola recipe I found too sweet and sticky or the fennel frond pesto that caused me to say too salty, instead I have tried again with the season's last fennel bulb in my garden and plan to return to the granola when we have emptied the jar.  The kale salad cried out to me for hazelnuts, but alas, I experimented with the last of my Tuscan Kale until the Fall.  The chicken fingers said meatballs, and I plan to give that a try this coming week.  I don't think Melissa would be offended, I expect she would consider my deviations perfectly in order.

The chocolate ice cream, however, churned beautifully before our eyes and turned out to be one of the best ice creams I have yet to make.  Olivia and I made it together, and then sat on the couch savoring our puddles of richness on a hot Summer family movie night.

I have a bag full of fennel fronds, and may be making fennel frond pesto for some time to come, no doubt finding different ways to use it.  The lovely bed of caramelized fennel bulb and onion will hopefully reappear in Autumn.

Fish Fillets with Fennel Frond Pesto

adapted from In the Kitchen with A Good Appetite

1 fennel bulb with fronds attached

5 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

2 garlic cloves, minced

2 tablespoons pine nuts or slivered almonds

1 small onion, halved and thinly sliced

2 fish fillets, such as Tilapia or Arctic Char

1.  Chop off the fennel fronds and coarsely chop enough to measure 1 cup (discard or save the rest for another batch of pesto).  Put the chopped fronds in a food processor.  Add the garlic, nuts, 1/8 teaspoon salt, and a generous pinch of pepper, and process until finely chopped.  Add 4 tablespoons of the oil and continue to process until the mixture looks like pesto.  Adjust salt to taste.  Set pesto aside.

2. Halve the fennel bulb and pull off any browned outer layers.  Using a small knife, cut the core out of the bulb, then slice the bulb as thinly as you can.

3. In a medium skillet, heat 1 tablespoon of the oil over medium heat.  Add the fennel slices, onion, and a large pinch of salt and pepper.  Saute the vegetables until caramelized and softened, about 20 minutes.  (After 15 minutes, you may need to add a tablespoon at a time of water to keep the mixture from drying out while it finishes cooking).

4. Cook 2 fish fillets simply, according to your preferences.  We have both baked and grilled Tilapia and Artic Char with olive oil, salt and pepper.  Spread the fennel-onion mixture onto two plates, and place the fish fillets on top.  Top with dabs of pesto or serve at the table.

Serves 2

 

Getting Out The Door

We're leaving for vacation in a few days for two blissful weeks at the beach. Packing is almost an afterthought. I bring the same sorts of clothes every year.

I spend more time worrying about my choice of books and magazines. The bookstore in our shore town closed during the year. I feel almost panicked; I am going to a town with no bookstore!

Truth be told, however, my thoughts are on my garden. Everything is running about two to three weeks early this year. I'm already picking blueberries, tomatoes are forming, snow peas are coming in abundance.  Do I have time to try making lavender sugar?

I'm debating about pulling up all my turnips and salad greens, and planting more.  They will have gone to seed by the time we get back. I want to cut the last two rosebuds on my tea rose. I can't just leave them there, they are "Aaron's roses".

This morning I looked at all the weedy areas and gulped. They'll be waiting for me, fuller than ever, when I return.

Now is the time when I get angry with myself for not having everything more maintained.  What was I doing all Spring?

It's hard to leave a garden behind at this time of year.  It feels a little like getting everything ready to go out for the evening, leaving your children behind with a babysitter.   You have a good time once you get out of the house, but until then, it doesn't feel worth it.