Batten down the hatches. Sit tight.
August 27, 2011 § Leave a comment
The storm’s a-raging.
Here in Colorado, we have still grey skies after a cooker of a morning. Life as I know it goes on. Things happening in other places seem so distant as to be stories, not realities.
But out of sight, out of mind isn’t always a good thing.
As Hurricane Irene flails along the eastern U.S. coast through the weekend, I hope all those far away from my mountain/plains home remain safe, warm, well-fed.
Let us know what you need when you climb out, and see what damage may or may not have happened.
Prayers and thoughts are directed east tonight.
Smoke, rails, and hay bales
August 27, 2011 § Leave a comment
I got my first kinda-close look at Wyoming last week on my jaunt to and from the Black Hills. And I liked it. A lot. Most Coloradoans I’ve met rather rag on Wyoming, as Minnesotans often do of Iowa, and so I had prepared myself for a dull drive.
It wasn’t dull. The landscape, with its few scattered homes and ranches and acres and acres of wide open, felt like peace. Like a rest for thought. Like those yoga-moments of focused breathing. I looked around and watched as the mountains disappeared and reappeared briefly off to the left, as the landscape stretched out flat and rolled into hills and sometimes rocks, caught sight of windmills and hay fields and felt so happy that there are still places where you can be alone, surrounded by so much earth.
At one point I had to go to the bathroom so badly it couldn’t wait for wherever the next town might be. I left my car idling on the side of the road and stepped carefully down into the ditch.
The wind. The sound of it covered the idling of the engine and yet it seemed like a version of quiet. It tossed my hair towards me in a way that is both pushy and comforting, like a friend giving you a playful shove on the arm or slap on the back. Hello, a greeting, familiarity.
I found a sort-of hill and grasses to hide behind, but still I had an audience of red Herefords and black-baldies, two small herds on either side of the road. I laughed. “I bet you don’t see people out here much.”
It’s such a funny feeling to go from that wild quiet expanse back into the car, where you have the radio and your iPod and your cell phone. These things connect you to the wider world and yet at the same time shut out the much wider one immediately around you. For awhile I pulled out my earbuds so I could just be in this place while I drove. It wasn’t quite enough. I needed to be walking through those yellow grasses, climbing the rocks and bluffs, riding on horseback over the roll of the land.
So that is where I was. A place traveled through, not known well. Yet. Perhaps. I often think about places and if I could live there, and how I would live there. In Wyoming, I imagine a worn-wood horse barn, dusty boots and leather gloves, and a pot of herbs on a kitchen windowsill.
But that is imagination. Real sights: Smoke from, maybe, a wildfire. A slow-moving train. A small town where, at the gas station, a well-dressed man walking by asked about my license plate and if I was familiar with a certain place he’d been in Iowa. Crooked fences, dirt roads. Hay bales against the horizon.
Words and The New World
August 25, 2011 § Leave a comment
Today I am in and away from the sun. In the shade, on the couch, with coffee. A day for writing and editing. A little cleaning, and watching The New World.
Each time I watch this film I wonder why it isn’t better known. It seemed hardly publicized, and perhaps that’s because it isn’t the sort of movie that aims to please the mass market. This is not the next thriller or chick flick, though those have a kind of place in our enjoyment of things. But this is pure art.
A gentle, quiet exploration. Stunning scenes and scenery. Understated, powerful emotion.
It is a gift, this sort of film. I want to send notes of thanks to the director. Watch it! But not late at night, or when you’re tired . . . at times it’s so soothing in its beauty that it might lull you to sleep, like a good story. Like a well-crafted poem.
You’ll see the stark contrast between the colony of the white man and the nature-life of the Native American.
You’ll feel love and its aftermath.
You’ll visit the New World in its brilliance.
Enjoy.
Summer sunlight
August 23, 2011 § 2 Comments
I am glad for the evening sun.
Right now it is making the living room pink and gold, filtering through the railing, the blinds and windows, the white curtains. It isn’t burning. It seems gentle.
Tamed. But only for a few short moments, and the night of sleep. Tomorrow, the sun will be back up in its high throne of sky, sending its beams down to Boulder County. I will hope for a shelter of clouds.
This has been my second summer in a row of hating the sun. I used to curl up in sunlight, crave it, those Minnesota years, when summers were short and hot days were, relatively, few. Now I hide from it. I do want to be outside, but I do not want to be baked, fried, or scorched.
I spent the past week in South Dakota with my family. And there, I seemed to learn to love summer again. Was it chance or is it simply so much cooler up there? I don’t know, but the days were how I remembered summer days being, with some heat and light but not in a way that assaulted you; frequently now and again a cool breeze; a chilly cloudy day and afternoon thrown in just for good measure. This. is. summer. It felt like relief, to know that I wasn’t crazy, that I hadn’t passed some un-fun grown-up marker that makes you not find the fun in summer anymore.
I just don’t like summers in states any further south than, well, Minnesota.
Where, or where, is my wintery home? My red cabin in Wisconsin or Vermont? My piles-of-snow winters and loons-on-the-lake summers? I can’t seem to stop longing for them.
Everyone else in my family is tired of long winters and would prefer to move south. And I would prefer to live by my family. (I cried for an hour this morning when I left them at the campground. If you count on-and-off again crying, more like three. Yes, it’s true.) So where will we be? It’s sad for me to think of future summers where I hide inside during the high afternoons, and only venture outdoors in the mornings and evenings. I’m remembering summer camp and how the afternoons were free time, so out we’d go tromping down the hill in swimsuits, our brightly-colored towels flung over our arms. Sometimes even shivering before we got in the water! Sure enough, there could be hot stretches. But not hot months after months.
Maybe I will adapt. And maybe summer vacations to northern climates will have to become a routine.
Meanwhile, I am glad for this one.
(I can’t wait to share all the pictures with you! Soon.)
An afternoon’s happiness
August 14, 2011 § Leave a comment
Happiness is sliding into a nap on the couch.
Silent rain on the patio, an open door, window blinds tapping one another.
The sound of the wind pushing around corners.
A yawning dog.
Peaches and cream pie
August 13, 2011 § 1 Comment
Last Saturday at the market, I bought a bag of Red Haven organic peaches from Farmer John. I wanted to do something with them, but wanted it to be good, and kept feeling tired or lazy and so they were taken out of the fridge to ripen, then put back in, several times, until I said finally, “All right!”
I found an easy “pie” recipe that actually reminds me a lot of the fruit pizzas that were the thing to have at high school gatherings and graduation parties. I started by looking through the recipe, then went on to make it as I wished, with so many changes it wasn’t the original recipe anymore, after all. (I’m still not entirely convinced that it’s pie and not pizza, but the boundaries are blurry here.)
Here’s an idea: when a recipe calls for a graham cracker crust, try using windmill cookies instead. They are a bit more substantial and can offer a richer flavor. I am sorry to note that the packaged windmill cookies from my local grocery store really, noticeably, do not measure up to the ones at The Dutch Bakery where I worked throughout college. But what can you do? I added some spice.
Miss T. and I both quite like the cream cheese/whipped cream/confectioner’s sugar filling. Throw in some cinnamon and maybe nutmeg and this would also make a nice dip for apples, especially Granny Smith.
How satisfying to layer the peaches on top, pretty as you please.
It is worthwhile to take a moment to appreciate this fruit. Today I bought a flat box full of the same peaches to bring on our upcoming family vacation, and what a pleasure it is to take off the lid and look inside at the golden-red, and to smell the warm sweetness, and to start thinking about tasting it.
***Want the on-the-go or in-a-hurry version of this treat? Make the cream cheese mixture, spread it on a windmill cookie, top it with a couple of peach slices, and you’ve got almost the same thing!
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RECIPE
Ingredients:
2-4 peaches, ripened so they are soft, juicy, and delicious!
16 windmill cookies
1 stick butter
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 (8 oz) package cream cheese
3/4 cup heavy whipping cream
1/2 cup confectioner’s sugar
Directions:
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Place windmill cookies in a sealed plastic bag, and crush with a rolling pin until the cookies become crumbs. Pour the crumbs into a medium-sized bowl and stir in the granulated sugar and cinnamon. Melt the butter, and stir into mixture until all crumbs are saturated. Press into a 9″ pie pan and bake for 7-8 minutes, or until edges brown slightly.
Whip the heavy cream until it begins to form peaks. In a separate bowl, beat the cream cheese and confectioner’s sugar until well mixed, then add the whipped cream.
Remove crust from oven and let cool. As it cools, slice the peaches.
When the crust is cool, spread the cream cheese mixture on top of it, being careful not to pull up any loose crumbs from the bottom. Arrange the peach slices on top. Cover and chill for 2-3 hours, then serve.
First giveaway: And the winner is . . .
August 11, 2011 § Leave a comment
For commenting on the PFI/Honeybee post last Thursday, readers got entered into a drawing to win a copy of C. Marina Marchese’s book Honeybee: Lessons from an Accidental Beekeeper.
So I tossed all y’all’s names into a hat.
Closed my eyes and drew one out. Opened it.
And here’s who won:
This lucky winner is actually my best redhead friend. We’ve known each other since college, nannied for the same family, shared our first out-of-college apartment in a suburb of Minneapolis, and have spent our twenties supporting and encouraging each other as we figure out how to be grown-ups (kind of). I’m super grateful for this girl in my life. Renee, congrats! I’ll get the book in the mail to you this week. I hope to hear reports on how the honey lip balm turns out.
Height of summer lamb stew
August 11, 2011 § 2 Comments
Around here, everyone is getting ready for school to start. Most elementary and high schools started this week or will start next week, and the colleges commence their fall semesters soon after. This suggests that summer is over, and it feels like it as families scramble for a few last weekends in the mountains and kids schedule final playdates at the pool. According to the calendar, though, we still have another good month. And in the vegetable farming world, we are hitting peak season. This is not the end but rather the middle of things, and now tomatoes and peppers and summer squash and beans are coming into full production. Pumpkins and winter squash are putting on some color. Second plantings of peas and lettuces are going in the ground. There is still plenty – plenty to be eaten, plenty of time.
I’ve been craving meat these days, and my grocery bill shows it. Even on hot summer days, you sometimes want something hearty. I have been getting so much Swiss chard from the farm, so I decided some lamb stew meat and chard and onions and crooked neck squash might simmer well together.
Garlic and butter make so many things taste richer. I dug the garlic, and also snipped rosemary and basil from the farm last week. Came home smelling like a soup sachet.
I frequently worry about broth tasting dull, and wondered as I threw things together if I ought to have used vegetable stock. It turns out that I needn’t have worried. I immensely enjoy a good broth and it turns out I can make one, too!
The stew was exactly what I had been craving. This morning I woke up next to an open window, and I felt – gasp – cold! Nights have been hot in the apartment but now and then a good rain cools things down and there is the slightest briskness of fall in the air. A summer stew becomes just the thing.
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RECIPE (loosely, as I really did toss things together as I pleased):
Ingredients:
Lamb stew meat (approx a pound)
1-2 Tbs. olive oil
1 stick butter
1-2 yellow or crooked neck squash
1 large or two small red onions
15 leaves Swiss chard
several cloves of garlic
2-3 bay leaves
1-2 sticks rosemary
7-10 leaves of fresh basil
1-2 tsp. of cumin, to taste
1/2 lemon
salt & pepper to taste
water
Directions:
Brown the lamb in olive oil with several cloves of garlic, in a skillet on medium heat. Meanwhile, place butter, onions (sliced into rings), and minced or crushed garlic in a large pot and bring to simmer; heat until onions become clear. Add meat to butter and onions, add about six cups of water, and add rosemary, bay leaves, salt, pepper, and cumin. Add more garlic if you wish – minced, crushed or whole cloves. Let simmer for about 30 minutes. Slice the Swiss chard into 1-inch strips. Add the chard, squash, and basil, and squeeze in the juice from the half lemon. Let simmer until the chard and squash have softened and the meat is tender. I’d recommend tasting the broth periodically and adjusting seasonings as you wish – I found I liked quite a bit of salt and pepper in mine. This would also be good with potatoes added.
Along the gravel drive
August 9, 2011 § Leave a comment
Just about every week I drive to a little town between Boulder and Longmont to pick up my milk, from a small farm where I have a share in the herd. I am obsessed with this milk. The icing on the cake (cream on the top?) is that in order to obtain it I get to go out to a farm and smell that dairy smell, see new kittens lingering the doorways with their dewy glassy eyes, say hello to the curious gray goat, and watch the hens pecking around and making feed bags crinkle.
The last two times I’ve gone to the farm, I’ve gotten some additional glimpses of the good ol’ country life in this state of Colorado. (Something I am always glad to see persisting despite the influx of wealthy outdoor adventurers and trendy corporate professionals.) Two weeks ago (I missed a week between), as I was pulling around a corner to go out the long gravel drive, there in front of me were two girls on horseback. They were probably in their early teens, on chestnut horses, just ambling down the way and laughing with each other. Such a scene I’ve imagined or read about so many times I can’t count. Every horse-crazy girl imagines long rides on horseback with her best of friends and her best of horses. It made me happy to realize that this does still happen, in real life, not just in the imagination. Despite the blur of speeding-up technology and speeding-up society, and also the speeding-up of growing up, there can still be these slowed-down, timeless, quiet, enjoying-childhood moments.
I wanted to wish those girls all the good that life can hold. It’s strange to be older now, a real grown-up, not living on so much hope of the future as you used to, having fulfilled some dreams and abandoned others, having reworked perspectives, having come through difficulty and sought after strength. It’s strange to see these young ladies in the thick of girlhood and to remember how that was, to rather miss it, to hope that their choices and experiences are as good as some of yours, and much better than others.
Then, today, as I drove away from the little shed with my half-gallon jars full of whole milk, down that same drive, I saw to my left that a horse camp or group riding lesson was happening. There is a small paddock on the farm, just past the shed where I pick up the milk, and I’ve noticed before that it seems the farmer’s wife or some other relative must regularly offer riding lessons there. Today a collection of probably 8 – 10 year olds were lined up with their horses – mainly chestnuts and bays, all prettily matching – and they watched as one after another worked at circling barrels. I laughed – I did – I couldn’t help it. Cowgirls and cowboys are not the same, quite, as they used to be back in the height of the Wild West and all the myths that surround it, but they are still alive and well out here, a new version based on the old prototypes. They hold onto certain passions, practices, and, to some extent, a set of values. Cowboy boots and hats and Wranglers are worn shamelessly, even proudly. Just the other day I made a new acquaintance who has a seven-week-old baby girl. She said to me, while nursing her daughter in the seat of her pickup, “When we were naming her we went with Kylie Rose over Kylie Grace, because my husband says it’s a better cowgirl name.”
Oh. It’s just too good. And my little-girl dreams of being a Colorado cowgirl have never been so close. I was a wishful, pining dreamer, and to think all this time God had this up his sleeve. Life is incredibly interesting. And even when I’m broke and trying to figure out the next step and wondering if I’m wasting my talent and am yet still so full of ambition, there is so much to be grateful for, amused by, and celebrated.
Right now, I am especially thankful for this cup of coffee, bacon in the fridge, a swimmed-out sleeping dog, several articles to be written and published, the best sister in the world, and the likelihood of riding lessons in the near future.
Me gustan los tomatillos
August 6, 2011 § Leave a comment
Aren’t they the cutest? If you haven’t grown tomatillos before, one of the fun things about them is how they start out like balloons. Or like those paper lanterns you hang for outdoor parties (something I plan to do frequently when the farm happens). Then the airy center gets all filled in with the tomatillo, and you peel off the paper part to get to the edible good stuff inside.
Salsa verde may be on the schedule for this week!
***Don’t forget to check out the farmer/beekeeper post prior to this one, and be sure to comment if you’d like a chance to win C. Marina Marchese’s book, Honeybee: Lessons from an Accidental Beekeeper! You don’t have to want to keep bees to enjoy the book – it’s also just a great read with sweet recipes and nutrition information for honey lovers.
Kinds of Honey 