Wednesday, August 16, 2006
A Week at Gram and Gramp Camp...
We had so many things we wanted to do, a l-o-n-g list and great plans. But mostly what Baxter (8) and Katie (5) wanted to do was hang out picking blueberries, collecting eggs from the chickens, and playing many, many games of Blink, Uno, Skip-Bo, Labyrinth, cribbage and Chinese checkers. It all made for a wonderful week of memory making.
We started the week with a train trip to Boston and the aquarium with Baxter, while Katie got to go to Circus Smirkus here at home. In Boston we joined forces with the kids' other grandmother, Nancy, who led us to the very best pizza in the North End, with Baxter impressed as always at Nancy's mastery of Italian.
The IMAX movie, the aquarium, a stroll through Faneuil Hall, the much-considered purchase of a Blue Angels model airplane, and finally, supper on the train all rounded out a wonderful day. Arriving home to find Katie sitting on the front steps in her pajamas just bursting to tell us about her day was truly frosting on an already rich cake!
Gram and Gramp Camp, in its second year, has already begun to find a clear rhythym. There are ice cream sandwiches in the freezer and they can each have one a day, any time of the day, just ask. We go back-to-school shopping where they each pick an outfit completely of their own choosing. One of this year's projects was to count the coins in an old carboy we've been filling for the past few years. It was a huge pile of quarters, dimes, nickels, pennies and dollars as well as a number of foreign coins. And every day there is a quiet hour after lunch... guess whose idea this is!
There are "specials" after supper each night too. One night they wanted to play tag, another night we walked to a nearby playground, we watched a video one night, and had s'mores and sparklers out by the firepit the last night.
We read and cooked together, and they spent a lot of time loving our cat Sam and feeding the fish, Marco and Elizabeth. We went rockhounding where Baxter and Katie (wearing safety glasses) enthusiastically split rocks hoping to find tourmaline. And we had water balloon fights.
I had hoped we'd have time to find some monarch butterfly caterpillars, paint dowels for giant-sized pick-up-sticks, and... and...
We've already started a list for next year, ahhhh... great plans...
Mary
August 16, 2006
July 12, 2006
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Some Chickens and a Fox...
Although I know it's a fact of life, it's one I really resist accepting: If you raise chickens and you let them free range, there will be problems with predators. And today there was.
Earlier this spring we lost a couple of chickens to what I thought was a fox, but which several men at the school next door were certain was a coyote. Now I most definitely don't live in a rural area. We live next to our town's high school, seven tenths of a mile from Main Street, with plenty of houses right around us. BUT, there are also a few remaining fringes of woods.
I let the chickens out of their house and pen early each morning, and if I know I'm going to be away for more than a downtown errand, I put them back in the pen. But this morning I didn't even think about it as I'd had overnight company, an early run to the airport, and I left the house when the rest of my company did, about 10 am.
Without hesitation I knew what had happened when I turned into the yard an hour later. Seven of the hens were clustered by a lilac in the front yard, hyper-alert but at the same time... frozen. The only other time I'd seen them act like that was earlier in the spring when that hungry mother coy-fox stopped by for a hot chicken dinner.
Sure enough, red feathers all over the back yard, very, very upsetting. I managed to gather the remaining girls back into their pen and found that we'd lost one Rhode Island red and one of my two beloved aracunas. I wondered, I worried... had a dog come through the yard or was it the same earlier predator?
A beautiful small fox with a white-tipped tail circled the chicken pen this afternoon and I had my answer. And I honestly feel better for knowing. Somehow, it's less painful to think that a hungry wild animal did what it's beeen doing for centuries rather than a dog just... playing.
But it's still painful.
Mary
Some Chickens and a Fox...
Although I know it's a fact of life, it's one I really resist accepting: If you raise chickens and you let them free range, there will be problems with predators. And today there was.
Earlier this spring we lost a couple of chickens to what I thought was a fox, but which several men at the school next door were certain was a coyote. Now I most definitely don't live in a rural area. We live next to our town's high school, seven tenths of a mile from Main Street, with plenty of houses right around us. BUT, there are also a few remaining fringes of woods.
I let the chickens out of their house and pen early each morning, and if I know I'm going to be away for more than a downtown errand, I put them back in the pen. But this morning I didn't even think about it as I'd had overnight company, an early run to the airport, and I left the house when the rest of my company did, about 10 am.
Without hesitation I knew what had happened when I turned into the yard an hour later. Seven of the hens were clustered by a lilac in the front yard, hyper-alert but at the same time... frozen. The only other time I'd seen them act like that was earlier in the spring when that hungry mother coy-fox stopped by for a hot chicken dinner.
Sure enough, red feathers all over the back yard, very, very upsetting. I managed to gather the remaining girls back into their pen and found that we'd lost one Rhode Island red and one of my two beloved aracunas. I wondered, I worried... had a dog come through the yard or was it the same earlier predator?
A beautiful small fox with a white-tipped tail circled the chicken pen this afternoon and I had my answer. And I honestly feel better for knowing. Somehow, it's less painful to think that a hungry wild animal did what it's beeen doing for centuries rather than a dog just... playing.
But it's still painful.
Mary
July 4, 2006
Tuesday, July 4th, 2006
At Long Last... Summer!
And to celebrate, a poem from Nancy Forrest...
TINY PINPOINTS OF LIGHT
IN THE WOODS,
JUST BUGS, SEEKING MATES
IN THE TWILIGHT.
YES, BUGS, SEEKING
CONTINUITY
WITH NO REGARD
FOR WAR, GLOBAL WARNING
OR OTHER CALAMITIES.
JUST BUGS YOU SAY, BUT
PYROTECHNICS
MORE POWERFUL THAN THE
FOURTH OF JULY.
Nancy Forrest
6/06
At Long Last... Summer!
And to celebrate, a poem from Nancy Forrest...
TINY PINPOINTS OF LIGHT
IN THE WOODS,
JUST BUGS, SEEKING MATES
IN THE TWILIGHT.
YES, BUGS, SEEKING
CONTINUITY
WITH NO REGARD
FOR WAR, GLOBAL WARNING
OR OTHER CALAMITIES.
JUST BUGS YOU SAY, BUT
PYROTECHNICS
MORE POWERFUL THAN THE
FOURTH OF JULY.
Nancy Forrest
6/06
June 30, 2006
Friday, June 30, 2006
Picking Peas for the Fourth of July...
I wonder when the New England tradition of having new peas and fresh salmon on the Fourth of July started. Although I have several good food history books, all of which stress how very welcome fresh peas were as one of the summer season's earliest vegetable offerings, none mentions peas-and-salmon specifically.
Well, we certainly will have those peas this years; in fact, we've been picking peas for weeks now. And, while we're heartily sick of this cool, clammy weather, there are many things in the garden that have loved it, the peas especially. The early potatoes are also thriving as are the broccoli, cauliflower and Brussels sprouts, as I guess you'd expect.
But of course, the green pepers need heat, the tomatoes need sun, and, well... I need summer! Many of the herbs are doing just fine including the cilantro, fennel, and dill as well as the usual tarragon, thyme, sage, oregano and basil. I use the cilantro in flower bouquets for its feathery foliage, tiny white flowers and gorgeous citrus-y scent. Dill, which traditionally garnishes that holiday salmon, is absolutely one of my favorite cooking herbs.
The weather report holds out a tantalizing promise of clearing later today, but a certain scepticism does creep in on hearing such a forecast on the Friday before a long holiday weekend.
We'll see...
Have a glorious Fourth! Mary
Picking Peas for the Fourth of July...
I wonder when the New England tradition of having new peas and fresh salmon on the Fourth of July started. Although I have several good food history books, all of which stress how very welcome fresh peas were as one of the summer season's earliest vegetable offerings, none mentions peas-and-salmon specifically.
Well, we certainly will have those peas this years; in fact, we've been picking peas for weeks now. And, while we're heartily sick of this cool, clammy weather, there are many things in the garden that have loved it, the peas especially. The early potatoes are also thriving as are the broccoli, cauliflower and Brussels sprouts, as I guess you'd expect.
But of course, the green pepers need heat, the tomatoes need sun, and, well... I need summer! Many of the herbs are doing just fine including the cilantro, fennel, and dill as well as the usual tarragon, thyme, sage, oregano and basil. I use the cilantro in flower bouquets for its feathery foliage, tiny white flowers and gorgeous citrus-y scent. Dill, which traditionally garnishes that holiday salmon, is absolutely one of my favorite cooking herbs.
The weather report holds out a tantalizing promise of clearing later today, but a certain scepticism does creep in on hearing such a forecast on the Friday before a long holiday weekend.
We'll see...
Have a glorious Fourth! Mary
June 14, 2006
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Nephelococcygia and Other Summer Delights!
I was working in the garden this morning when I paused to admire the ever-changing, rapidly moving clouds, a brief break I take often during any outdoor day. I saw so many things in the clouds... a mountain, a swan, flowers, rolling ocean waves, a sundae topped with tons of whipped cream. Ahhh, back to weeding the peas...
According to the www.weatherworks.com website, nephelococcygia is the word that describes that day-dreaming phenomenon of finding figures, seeing shapes, in the clouds. Who knew! I happened across the word when Bert and I saw a summer home with that name. I HAD to find out what it meant!
According to the website, it's from the Greek play The Birds by Aristophanes. When the title birds see shapes in the clouds, they are told they are... well, in cloud cuckooland, which is essentially what nephelococcygia means.
Do kids today ever just loll out on the lawn looking at the sky, seeing shapes in the clouds? What a shame if they don't... And isn't nephelococcygia a neat word!
Mary
Nephelococcygia and Other Summer Delights!
I was working in the garden this morning when I paused to admire the ever-changing, rapidly moving clouds, a brief break I take often during any outdoor day. I saw so many things in the clouds... a mountain, a swan, flowers, rolling ocean waves, a sundae topped with tons of whipped cream. Ahhh, back to weeding the peas...
According to the www.weatherworks.com website, nephelococcygia is the word that describes that day-dreaming phenomenon of finding figures, seeing shapes, in the clouds. Who knew! I happened across the word when Bert and I saw a summer home with that name. I HAD to find out what it meant!
According to the website, it's from the Greek play The Birds by Aristophanes. When the title birds see shapes in the clouds, they are told they are... well, in cloud cuckooland, which is essentially what nephelococcygia means.
Do kids today ever just loll out on the lawn looking at the sky, seeing shapes in the clouds? What a shame if they don't... And isn't nephelococcygia a neat word!
Mary
April 26, 2006
April 9, 2006
Sunday, April 9, 2006
Life Lessons: The Scent of a New Day
Walking out each morning to pick up the newspaper is a perfect time to greet the new day and appreciate the fresh start it brings. I listen to, I look at, and I certainly smell the awakening world. The fragrance of an early morning is often fragile, faint, requiring a little more attention than the looking and listening do.
First of course, I always smell the weather. Coming rain, an approaching snowstorm, even the hot dry heat of summer, each has a subtle scent. If it's precipitating, that mositure, too, has its very own perfume, and during an unusual early morning thunderstorm, you can certainly smell the ozone of the lightning. On some frigid winter mornings, the cold itself has a clean and clear breath.
But richest of all are the ever-changing scents of the seasons. In the winter, there's often a waft of woodsmoke, sometimes the evergreens, especially the fir balsams, give off a wonderful scent, and there's also occasionally the all-too-obvious odor of the cat spruce! The air often seems especially pure in winter, making those man-made smells such as the diesel fumes from snowplows and gas-and oil combination from the neighbors' snowblowers even more... intrusive.
In springtime the earth exhales its own perfume, long before the trees bud or the flowers bloom. It is the smell of green, of freshness, of a crisp clean. I often wonder in April... does hope have a scent?
There are not words enough to describe the bouquet of a summer morning. Now remember, this five-senses centering is only a very few minutes each morning, but smell most of all can saturate your very being in those few moments. The lilacs, the roses, the sharp sweetness of the tall bearded irises all stand out. But one of my most favorite summer scents is the the dusty-attic smell of bridal wreath. Sometimes I just close my eyes and try to pick one flower's fragrance out of the hundreds and hundreds in the garden. Heliotrope is... delicious!
The days begin to cool, the mornings start to dawn later and there is the nutty smell of the drying leaves in the fall. The air is redolent of apples hanging heavy on branches or becoming tangy on the ground. The smell of the earth itself is as strong as in the spring, but it's very different in this season. First it's the ripening smell of harvest gathering, then in late fall there's that hint of death and decay perhaps. While, to me, spring smells so... new, autumn mornings smell so ... melancholy. But later in the day, standing around a small mound of burning leaves, sipping fresh cider, I take a deep breath and realize that each new day, no matter what the season, brings to each of our senses... great promise.
Mary
Life Lessons: The Scent of a New Day
Walking out each morning to pick up the newspaper is a perfect time to greet the new day and appreciate the fresh start it brings. I listen to, I look at, and I certainly smell the awakening world. The fragrance of an early morning is often fragile, faint, requiring a little more attention than the looking and listening do.
First of course, I always smell the weather. Coming rain, an approaching snowstorm, even the hot dry heat of summer, each has a subtle scent. If it's precipitating, that mositure, too, has its very own perfume, and during an unusual early morning thunderstorm, you can certainly smell the ozone of the lightning. On some frigid winter mornings, the cold itself has a clean and clear breath.
But richest of all are the ever-changing scents of the seasons. In the winter, there's often a waft of woodsmoke, sometimes the evergreens, especially the fir balsams, give off a wonderful scent, and there's also occasionally the all-too-obvious odor of the cat spruce! The air often seems especially pure in winter, making those man-made smells such as the diesel fumes from snowplows and gas-and oil combination from the neighbors' snowblowers even more... intrusive.
In springtime the earth exhales its own perfume, long before the trees bud or the flowers bloom. It is the smell of green, of freshness, of a crisp clean. I often wonder in April... does hope have a scent?
There are not words enough to describe the bouquet of a summer morning. Now remember, this five-senses centering is only a very few minutes each morning, but smell most of all can saturate your very being in those few moments. The lilacs, the roses, the sharp sweetness of the tall bearded irises all stand out. But one of my most favorite summer scents is the the dusty-attic smell of bridal wreath. Sometimes I just close my eyes and try to pick one flower's fragrance out of the hundreds and hundreds in the garden. Heliotrope is... delicious!
The days begin to cool, the mornings start to dawn later and there is the nutty smell of the drying leaves in the fall. The air is redolent of apples hanging heavy on branches or becoming tangy on the ground. The smell of the earth itself is as strong as in the spring, but it's very different in this season. First it's the ripening smell of harvest gathering, then in late fall there's that hint of death and decay perhaps. While, to me, spring smells so... new, autumn mornings smell so ... melancholy. But later in the day, standing around a small mound of burning leaves, sipping fresh cider, I take a deep breath and realize that each new day, no matter what the season, brings to each of our senses... great promise.
Mary
April 5, 2006
Wednesday, April 5, 2006
This In-between Time...
The ground is totally bare, not even a small pile of lingering snow under the evergreens on the north side of the house. Small shoots of green are popping up and buds are beginning to swell.
It's been unusually warm, and the strong sun is very enticing. It certainly looks as though the gardening season has arrived, but the reality is that the soil is still frozen deep down and that the cold earth is very hard on the hands.
I have lettuce and radishes started in the unheated greenhouse but it's much too early to put anything more fragile out there. I'd planned to put some peas in the garden last weekend, but then decided that was really pushing things a little too much. So, I sit... I'm ready, but the garden isn't!
Mary
This In-between Time...
The ground is totally bare, not even a small pile of lingering snow under the evergreens on the north side of the house. Small shoots of green are popping up and buds are beginning to swell.
It's been unusually warm, and the strong sun is very enticing. It certainly looks as though the gardening season has arrived, but the reality is that the soil is still frozen deep down and that the cold earth is very hard on the hands.
I have lettuce and radishes started in the unheated greenhouse but it's much too early to put anything more fragile out there. I'd planned to put some peas in the garden last weekend, but then decided that was really pushing things a little too much. So, I sit... I'm ready, but the garden isn't!
Mary
April 2, 2006
Sunday, April 2, 2006
Life Lessons: Look! Look Until You Really See...
Several weeks ago, we talked about starting the day with five-senses centering, a way to anchor yourself, at least for a moment, in the here and the now. When I walk out my short driveway to get the paper first thing in the morning, I listen to the sounds of the world waking up. I also take a look at the new day dawning...
I'm always truly stunned when I read studies, statistics, of all that our eyes take in during the course of each day. That is NOT to say what we look at, or what we see, both very different from what our eyes scan, a myriad of images that may be imprinted on some snippet of our brains.
In the early morning, after I've listened to the world waking up, I start to look around, always checking the rising sun and night/day sky first. I so, so love light that the first day-rays are terribly important to me, to say nothing of reveling in the glorious, ever-changing colors of the varying seasonal sunrises. Often the second half of the old seaman's adage, "red sky in the morning, sailors take warning" comes to mind. In the winter, the sun may not even have cleared the tree-line of the horizon, while in summer it may already signal a blazing hot day ahead.
Are there any clouds this morning? Low, thick, billowing ones, maybe heavy-laden with rain or snow? Or high , thin cirrus clouds heralding a fine, fair day? Gilded by sun? Moving in what direction? Are there any stars still visible? Oh, usually Venus of course, but in the dark-dawn seasons, I check for old favorites Orion, Cassiopeia, Perseus, Pleiades.
And remember, it's taken me far, far longer to write about this part of five senses centering than it's ever taken to just pause... and... look!
My gaze comes down to earth, to the yard, to the trees, to the flowers in their seasons. Believe me, no matter what the time of year, in this place where I've lived for over forty years, there IS something new to see each and every new day! Sometimes, I'm just noticing that a piece of rain gutter has come loose, or I make a note to trim back the gone-by lilac blooms. Or maybe I realize the neighbor's dog is coming to visit me. No matter what I notice, it's always the evidence of the passing seasons that makes this piece of the morning ritual so very... rich!
The incredible glory of the slanted winter sun on diamonds of snow, or on shimmering ice-encased branches never, ever grows old. The uncountable shades of... white. The shadows of blues and purples and grays, so, so many subtle and delicate tints.
In spring, every single morning brings new greens, thickening buds, unfurling blossoms. More and more birds darting about. The sometimes-reluctant awakening of the perennials. After a Maine winter, the light now seems clearer, stronger, richer, deeper, yellower!
Glancing around the yard on an early summer morning sometimes brings an almost blinding abundance of beauty ~ every imaginable color and shape, combined and mixed, just strewn about in a new way every day.
And then, there's fall... First the goldenrod in August whispering, "autumn, autumn." Then, there's one particular maple tree with a small cluster of leaves that almost always turns red in late August, w-a-a-ay before any other leaves in the yard. There's the heart-filling, Jack-Frost foliage of October, and the few tattered leaves lingering in late November winds.
Just as listening through the layers helps to center us in the here and the now, so, too, can looking, truly looking until we see, not just with our eyes, but see the wonders, the gifts, of each new day with our hearts and souls.
Mary
Life Lessons: Look! Look Until You Really See...
Several weeks ago, we talked about starting the day with five-senses centering, a way to anchor yourself, at least for a moment, in the here and the now. When I walk out my short driveway to get the paper first thing in the morning, I listen to the sounds of the world waking up. I also take a look at the new day dawning...
I'm always truly stunned when I read studies, statistics, of all that our eyes take in during the course of each day. That is NOT to say what we look at, or what we see, both very different from what our eyes scan, a myriad of images that may be imprinted on some snippet of our brains.
In the early morning, after I've listened to the world waking up, I start to look around, always checking the rising sun and night/day sky first. I so, so love light that the first day-rays are terribly important to me, to say nothing of reveling in the glorious, ever-changing colors of the varying seasonal sunrises. Often the second half of the old seaman's adage, "red sky in the morning, sailors take warning" comes to mind. In the winter, the sun may not even have cleared the tree-line of the horizon, while in summer it may already signal a blazing hot day ahead.
Are there any clouds this morning? Low, thick, billowing ones, maybe heavy-laden with rain or snow? Or high , thin cirrus clouds heralding a fine, fair day? Gilded by sun? Moving in what direction? Are there any stars still visible? Oh, usually Venus of course, but in the dark-dawn seasons, I check for old favorites Orion, Cassiopeia, Perseus, Pleiades.
And remember, it's taken me far, far longer to write about this part of five senses centering than it's ever taken to just pause... and... look!
My gaze comes down to earth, to the yard, to the trees, to the flowers in their seasons. Believe me, no matter what the time of year, in this place where I've lived for over forty years, there IS something new to see each and every new day! Sometimes, I'm just noticing that a piece of rain gutter has come loose, or I make a note to trim back the gone-by lilac blooms. Or maybe I realize the neighbor's dog is coming to visit me. No matter what I notice, it's always the evidence of the passing seasons that makes this piece of the morning ritual so very... rich!
The incredible glory of the slanted winter sun on diamonds of snow, or on shimmering ice-encased branches never, ever grows old. The uncountable shades of... white. The shadows of blues and purples and grays, so, so many subtle and delicate tints.
In spring, every single morning brings new greens, thickening buds, unfurling blossoms. More and more birds darting about. The sometimes-reluctant awakening of the perennials. After a Maine winter, the light now seems clearer, stronger, richer, deeper, yellower!
Glancing around the yard on an early summer morning sometimes brings an almost blinding abundance of beauty ~ every imaginable color and shape, combined and mixed, just strewn about in a new way every day.
And then, there's fall... First the goldenrod in August whispering, "autumn, autumn." Then, there's one particular maple tree with a small cluster of leaves that almost always turns red in late August, w-a-a-ay before any other leaves in the yard. There's the heart-filling, Jack-Frost foliage of October, and the few tattered leaves lingering in late November winds.
Just as listening through the layers helps to center us in the here and the now, so, too, can looking, truly looking until we see, not just with our eyes, but see the wonders, the gifts, of each new day with our hearts and souls.
Mary
March 15, 2006
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
The Ides of March...
Instead of being wary of this day, I rejoice that this l-o-n-g-e-s-t month is half over. Well, okay, with 31 days, I suppose it really isn't technically half over...
I've been on a cooking binge lately as I'm working on a booklet of honey-based recipes. One I've really liked uses all kinds of cubed root vegetables coated with a mixture of 1/4 c honey and 1 TBSP olive oil, then cooked for 35-40 minutes at 450, giving the veggies a nice carmelized glaze. I even added brussel sprouts to the white and sweet potato, squash, turnip, carrot, parsnip and onion chunks. Excellent!
A couple of weeks ago I made several citrus flavored honey butters, one was lemon-lime, another orange-lemon and one orange-grapefruit. Each was outstanding. We used them on biscuits, pancakes, popovers and anything baked, but I've tried them this past weeks on green beans, steamed broccoli and cauliflower, and even mashed sweet potato, all with very tasty results. (Hmmm, I wonder how one of these would be on hot popcorn...)
Finally, I made honey-orange-almond scones, glazed with a mixture of honey and orange juice then sprinkled with sliced almonds. Needless to say, they were way wicked good too. NOW, just don't ask me how the old diet's coming along...
If you'd like this scone recipe, just email me and I'll send it along...
Mary
The Ides of March...
Instead of being wary of this day, I rejoice that this l-o-n-g-e-s-t month is half over. Well, okay, with 31 days, I suppose it really isn't technically half over...
I've been on a cooking binge lately as I'm working on a booklet of honey-based recipes. One I've really liked uses all kinds of cubed root vegetables coated with a mixture of 1/4 c honey and 1 TBSP olive oil, then cooked for 35-40 minutes at 450, giving the veggies a nice carmelized glaze. I even added brussel sprouts to the white and sweet potato, squash, turnip, carrot, parsnip and onion chunks. Excellent!
A couple of weeks ago I made several citrus flavored honey butters, one was lemon-lime, another orange-lemon and one orange-grapefruit. Each was outstanding. We used them on biscuits, pancakes, popovers and anything baked, but I've tried them this past weeks on green beans, steamed broccoli and cauliflower, and even mashed sweet potato, all with very tasty results. (Hmmm, I wonder how one of these would be on hot popcorn...)
Finally, I made honey-orange-almond scones, glazed with a mixture of honey and orange juice then sprinkled with sliced almonds. Needless to say, they were way wicked good too. NOW, just don't ask me how the old diet's coming along...
If you'd like this scone recipe, just email me and I'll send it along...
Mary
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