Pickling

Bread and butter pickles, dill pickles, corn relish, all from The Kitchen Ecosystem by Eugenia Bone. Unlike the past few years, the garden has been prolific, with tomatoes, squash, zucchini, and lots and lots of cucumbers. We're starting to can every day. The pot my aunt and uncle gave us so many years ago seemed to have sprung a leak when first hoisted onto the stove, so D bought another one (handle-less; what's up with that?) at Ace. But now it seems the leak was a false alarm. Sigh. Battling through the heat and the rest of it this summer.

Another song

I'm enjoying listening to The Girl on the Train via the BBC. At first, it was hard to figure out who was speaking. A review called the main narrator one of the most unreliable, and she certainly is.

Summer listening . . .

Book at Bedtime starting July 13 at 10:45 pm GMT: The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins

Yes No Maybe

I don't know what I feel about them, but I couldn't stop listening.

Things that happened/didn't

We did not take our trip to a coastal city. We stayed here and I finished a project and got an invoice submitted. Another candidate (crazy) tossed his hat into the ring. (Crazy).

Lovage update

Summer almost . . .

Received some very good news regarding my editing. From several fronts. Feeling rather good, actually.

L and I may be taking a little break and heading to a Georgia coastal city next week. Just for a few days. Using Airbnb. Best to do so before municipalities regulate the concept out of viability.

Our community garden has come under attack from town officials who would rather bulldoze 15 years of effort to create a baseball diamond for kids (who already have facilities), all without a word to the gardeners. Luckily, someone happened to be in the right place at the right time, and contacted some appropriate people.

It was also discovered (thankfully) that there are some old growth trees on the perimeter of the property. So much for total destruction. This is what happens when a town council member is a VP for a parking lot corporation. Mow it down, pave it over. Move on.

Lovage or Leave it

I watched my lovage plant whither and disappear last winter, giving it the occasional watering in hopes it would reemerge. It didn't. Kind of a difficult plant to come by, too. So strongly celery-ish, good with smoked fish. Cuts the oiliness. Then L wanted a pot for some purloined mint, so I gave that one to her. Lo and behold, as she was digging around, she discovered a weird bunch of roots, still viable. The lovage! As you can see, the nodes are growing. I'll repot soon enough.

Slightly Late for Mother's Day . . .

It's a short; you might like to read The New Yorker article about it after you've seen it.

A Poem for You

http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2015/01/26/solitaire-4 Thank you, Reya, for posting.

it starts to develop

I was trying to think of what I used to see Ann B. Davis in, and it was Love That Bob, starring Bob Cummings, Dwayne Hickman (from Dobie Gillis!), and the great Rosemary DeCamp. Here's an episode, if you remember watching, as I did, while yet again staying home from school, with a box of Nilla Wafers, perched in an odd upside-down position on an even more oddly placed dining room chair that didn't fit around the table in a certain house on Long Island.

Hello, voters . . .

Pretty right on, as we used to say, especially in my part of the country

Cooking Show alert

Liking Maggie Beers and Simon Bryant quite a bit, actually.

Call Your Girlfriend

Lucy Wainwright Roche

Not a good end for CC

Dream a Little . . .

Something better to contemplate than my eye . . . Pink Martini and the Von Trapps. Who knew? I love this (actually, I love both groups together and separately).

eyeline

I'm tired of having a problem with my right eye. I really don't think it's a cataract. I think it's something else, related to something else. Doctors are so removed from the patient. I don't know what to do, exactly. At least I have affordable (sort of) insurance. Certainly better than the gouging I was experiencing until the ACA kicked in. There. Here's post, sort of. More a keening.

Health. Who Cares?

I'm panicked about this Supreme Court pending decision on Hobby Lobby's ability to decide for employees what can be covered and what cannot. I'm also panicked by this federal judge. I don't think I can live w/out insurance until Medicare kicks in.

The newest Beatle?

He makes me think of the Beatles in their infancy. Very sweet. I have been listening to this more times than I care to admit.

Harissa

Hugh F-W and Pam make a simply harissa:

Crackers, but Not Nuts

I absolutely had to step away from the computer today and this endless project. I'm drowning in minutia and technical details. I couldn't bear to focus on it. Tomorrow is, as they say, another day.

So I naturally ended up in the kitchen, determined to start to get a handle on cracker making, since these are so very expensive to buy. And I am rather pleased with my efforts. I pulled out the King Arther Baker's Companion and found a simple basic cracker recipe that you can change up any number of ways. Though frankly a novice cook would likely be somewhat flummoxed by the fast and loose method and ingredient list.

I used barley flour, regular KA flour, butter, and sour cream as the liquid, since D for some reason purchased a 16-oz container of it. These aren't the most flavorful, but they did turn out crisp and tasting somewhat nutty from the barley. I'd add a lot more salt next time.

Then I decided to try something, called Carta di Musica (also called Sardinian parchment bread), using the pizza stone.  This is basically a big cracker that you bake for only a few minutes, turn over and bake another few minutes, then brush with olive oil, sprinkle with coarse salt, and throw a few rosemary leaves on top. Not bad; in fact, D got me thinking about making these and seeing whether they would sell at the farmers' market up here. They break up with a satisfying snap and would be good with any sort of dip, hummus, what have you. And I've seen similar things at Whole Foods for a lot of $$. The most expensive ingredient with these is the olive oil, and that's a scant brushing. 

Surprisingly, they didn't puff up like pita, which I thought they would. 

Looking forward to a rerun of The Good Life tonight. Then up and attem tomorrow in the world of allied health.

Moon, full, tomorrow

Also this:

N. Baker, the prequel.

Here's the Paris Review interview with N. Baker from a few years back. Quirky. And I came across it the other day because the Paris Review had tweeted it, and I very very rarely go on Twitter; maybe I do so once every six months. Another quirk. And I would definitely read The Anthologist before Traveling Sprinkler.

N. Baker

I know, I know. But I love most of his work. Here's a little piece on Salon.com about writing. And the house in the background? A twin to the one I lived in, in western New England. D once shoveled snow out of the attic. And the ghost; well, it didn't like me much but it loved L and D.

The Unthanks

A group new to me, mentioned by Rosanne Cash on a FB post as part of her current playlist this Thanksgiving eve:

Heston

I had thought he was all about translating and reconstructing. Not so, apparently.

La Mer

The original: I'm thinking about Libby Hillman, just to change the subject, and will post about her and her cooking/cookbooks and Le Petit Chef and Betty Hillman later this week. à bientôt

It's

1971 all over again

Today is the Feast of St Bartholomew

This is a fact I know only because I awoke in utter despair this a.m., not wanting to get up. At. All. Life in shreds. Work dismal. Projects uninspiring. And dispiriting. Plus this not paying me in a timely fashion for work done in a timely fashion is as unto a stone pressed upon my very head. Yes, crushing. And not very good for my credit score. Then, I was gripped by a notion that has been riding around in my head (yes, riding seems the correct word) for some time (every since I was there in the 5th grade, frankly). I was gripped by the notion that I have to go to Big Sur, California, as soon as I possibly can. Very soon. I was reading Kaffe Fassett's autobiography and was astounded to discover he grew up in Big Sur and his family still runs the restaurant Nepenthe there. And who could honestly remain comatose in bed, looking at all those colors he brings together? Anyway . . . So off I went into the interwebs, and found all kinds of things at bigsur.org, including a link to a monastery that hosts paying guests in need of solace and quietude. And so it was on its website I discovered that today is the Feast of St Bartholomew Plus I ordered a book, My Nepenthe, by Kaffe Fassett's niece . . . so that's something to look forward to receiving. Tomorrow is indeed another day.

I could have seen her in Northampton, but I didn't. Now I regret it.

Just looking over a few things, and discovered this: Quite a duet.

Unsung here

Elisabeth Luard . . . I suggest you search out her many cookbooks, some of which you can find on Abe.com. A writer of wit and intelligence, strong of will.

Merle Hazard explains the financial situation . . .

in song. Check out his website. His better half has her own website, Mason-Dixon Knitting.

warp/weft

I finally opened up my ancient Harrisville 4 harness, 6 treadle loom, after keeping it closed up for several years in the "living" room, only to discover that the leather strapping harness cables had broken or snapped on two harnesses. Argh. A week of broken things. First my computer screen, then D's laptop's mother board, or whatever it was, necessitating a new monitor for me and a rejuvenated 'new' computer for him. $500+. Not good. Good news is that I can replace these loom cables pretty inexpensively, from WEBS, which was the place I learned to weave (when I lived in Agawam!! so many years ago) and WEBS was still a mom and pop business in a house on a side street in Amherst. Now (or at least the last time I was there), they are in an industrial building in Northampton, on the way to Holyoke.

photo from Harrisville; certainly not me weaving there . . .

Just the thing

to combat the heat: an Advent piece by Byrd. Stile Antico.

Birdland

BBC has the Tweet of the Day, so I thought I'd send it along.

Twitter

About every 6 or 8 months I swoop back into Twitter, but I just can't seem to get the point of it. So many bon mots, so little time (at least on this end). To what end, all this thumb movement on expensive iPhones, Androids, and similar? I don't need to follow a celebrity's peevish rants. I don't have such computer capabilities on my phone. Since I work at home on a desktop, I don't require it, really. When I need directions, I consult a map, install a navigator in the shotgun seat, visit MapQuest, or, simply, call ahead for directions. So no GPS (the guidance system, not the school) for me. Saturday, I was sitting in front of my screen, working away, when suddenly all went black. D consulted Apple, and the technician suggested switching the cable connection on the computer. This solved the problem for half an hour, but then darkness fell again. D went out to WalMart (closest!) for a replacement cable; that didn't do it, so out further afield to test old cable. Turned out to be the monitor, so poorer by about $160.00, but reconnected to my Word files and the wider Internet world. Odd how not too long ago (in the general scheme of things) the computer was a complete mystery, clacking keys and difficult-to-learn almost programing to input anything. I'm on an Elisabeth Luard kick: Sacred Food; Classic French Cooking; etc. Also trying (again) to create a sourdough starter using a recipe in Diana Henry's Gastropub cookbook (the second one) but I'm not hopeful.

Diaries

I picked Joan Wyndham's Love Lessons: A Wartime Diary off the shelf and started to read. This is her diary of being a student-ish person in wartime London. A very fresh voice from so long ago. I recommend searching out a copy. Then a FB friend pointed out that Rumer Godden's books are being republished by Virago. Greengage Summer, Kingfishers Catch Fire . . . Which made me remember Persephone Books, a great (re)publisher of forgotten or underappreciated women writers/books. Great cover/interior designs. I saw Few Eggs and No Oranges, another wartime diary, which I will save to buy. Persephone also publishes Etty Hillesum's wartime diaries. I recommend reading what she had to say. Glasses frames need major adjustment, in case you're wondering. Will be dropping in there tomorrow.

hello

Finally picked up my glasses today; had been putting if off because of the expense. Infuriatingly, they still need an adjustment. Eye guy blaming my cataract. Hmmm. I read in an afternoon Thea Goodman's The Sunshine When She's Gone. I liked it enough (so much?) that I went to her website, where she lists some books she especially likes. So I got A.M. Homes's May We Be Forgiven, which is so quirky and well written that I went to HER website and found this little link of her talking about writing: Now I am going on an A.M. Homes marathon, I think.

Cricket & Snail

I may see them perform tomorrow.

Photos?

L dropped and broker her camera almost upon arriving in Paris, so her blog hasn't been really up and attem. However, funds were finally funneled to her for purchase of replacement, so watch her blog. I know I will be.

Hey

happy Spring! we are unexpectedly having a fire here in the fireplace.

I just received my information on Crown Point Road in Shrewsbury:

The Crown Point Road: An Introduction Across the state of Vermont a chain of markers stretches from the banks of the Connecticut River to the shore of Lake Champlain. Erected at different times, by different people, and made of different materials - granite, marble, stone, wood, metal - the markers have one thing in common; they mark the route of the old Crown Point Military Road. Built in 1759-60, during the French and Indian War, the Crown Point Road was of great importance in the early history of Vermont. It was ordered constructed by General Jeffrey Amherst following his capture of the French forts at Ticonderoga and Crown Point. Its purpose was to connect the great stone fortress at Crown Point, then being built, with Fort No. 4, now Charlestown, New Hampshire. There was a suitable branch nearly straight west to Fort Ticonderoga. This military road was of prime importance in the plans of General Amherst. The new fort at Crown Point was to be a strong point in the defense [and future development] of the colonies, and a jumping-off point in the campaign against the French in Canada. The new road to No. 4, then the northernmost outpost in the Connecticut River valley, would serve to bring much needed supplies to the fort at Crown Point, as well as troops from New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island and Connecticut. The road, though a poor one by today’s standards, was built well enough to serve its purpose. Portions of the road were graded, trees were cut, stumps removed, bridges and causeways were built, and corduroy sections were laid in swampy areas. Over this road, in the 1760 campaign, passed Colonial troops with supplies, munitions, cattle and sheep for the support of the army at Crown Point. The Crown Point Road was again used for military purposes during the Revolution when troops and supplies were sent over the road from Fort No. 4 to support the American position at Ticonderoga. But perhaps the road’s most lasting contribution to Vermont’s history was its use by settlers in the period between the French and Indian War and the Revolution. The road opened a large area of Vermont for settlement and, with the defeat of the French and the lessening danger from Indian raids, settlers were soon traveling the Crown Point Road and building their homes in the valleys and on the hillsides of Vermont. The Crown Point Road of today has changed greatly. Much of the road has disappeared entirely, reclaimed by the forest. Other parts have been plowed under or bulldozed away to meet the needs of the expanding population of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Some sections of the road are marked and can be followed as trails, while other sections are barely discernible paths through the woods, marked only by the lilac-fringed cellar holes and stone walls of abandoned farms. A few short stretches of the old military road are still in use as town roads. Written by: Martin J. Howe, First President of the CPRA

I'm glad I'm a member. If any of you can make it to one of the organization's outings, I would suggest it

Horseradish

Freshly harvested from out back, the root is soaking to get rid of some of the dirt that clings to all the crevices. Rather octopus-like, don't you think? We planted it two years ago, and this is the first root we've dug up.

I remember (many years ago) when our across-the-way neighbors in western Mass. asked if they could dig up some of the horseradish in the field between our house and the church. We didn't even know we had a patch of it! Turned out, we had a lot of it.

I'll never forget the wallop it packed after we ground it up in the food processor. One whiff almost sent us reeling. According to Nikki Duffy in River Cottage Handbook No. 10, Herbs, these fumes "(thiocyanites, if you want to know) are highly volatile, however, and soon lost. That's why freshly grated horseradish, mixed into an acidic stabilising medium, always tastes better than any that's been grated and stored." Her basic method "is to peel a small section of root, grate it ([she uses] a fine Microplane grater) and immediately combine it with enough lemon juice to make a damp (but not wet) mixture." Which is what I'll be doing later today.

A girl's gotta have a guide

I have a rather interesting memoir/collection of notions of recipes that is quite enigmatic. Mary Ann Caws's Provençal Cooking is her account of her time in France and her friendship with the poet René Char, some of whose poems she translated from the French (published by Princeton U Press). In fact, she says that Provençal Cooking was "deeply influenced by the poetry of Provence itself, as well as the poetry of René Char." What does this have to do with The Busy Girls' Cookbook? Ms. Caws mentions it: "my preference for speed, informality, and spending time with the mountains [of Provence] or my guests may be a direct product of too heavy a reliance on one of my first loves in the kitchen, and which I still recommend wholeheartedly: The Busy Girl [sic] Cookbook." So of course I had to track it down. And I thought you'd like to see some of the suggestions/recipes/artwork/typeface used.

dun, mousy, slaty, etc.

General damp, overarching gray Sunday afternoon. Visited the garden w/D; leeks soldiering along. Rabbits/deer must be enjoying all the lovely chard. Still, it lives.

Need to get over to the other blog and work on it, get it going. I really think it has potential, but right now that reads as inertia.

Because of the wonders of the Internet, we can talk to L on the phone, calling from Paris. Somehow, it costs nothing. I don't understand a bit of it. I remember many years ago not being able to call home from England because the cost was astronomical. What a lonely feeling that was.

Midway through making Indian lime pickle in this shot:

It's now actually completed, but I haven't had the courage to taste it yet . . .

Timber . . . not with a bang but a whimper

Today is the day. The Christmas tree must come down.

This is the reason I don't like to put the tree up in the first place. Taking the ornaments off is the saddest, dreariest activity. Ever. The holiday is over. It's wet, gray January. And really, what is there in the offing?

Adding up the accounts for the taxes.

Valentine's Day.

That's about it, really.

I look at all the ornaments, and we now put up only those that have been made by someone—mostly Helen's, but lots by Lucy, and others (some by me) and I think of time disappearing. Other Christmases with lots of relatives around, who no longer are here . . . Argh

All right, enough being maudlin.  Time to get down to business.

However, I may have to break my austerity pact (just this once) and buy two skeins of Madeleinetosh Tosh DK (they're on sale, and I can make the Honey Cowl x 2; presents!).

But maybe I can restrain myself.

Up, up, and

away . . . Right now, L is en route to ORD, then to CDG, landing tomorrow. It is v difficult to get up at 0300, although I'd say we all managed rather well, and before the alarm buzzed, too. D drove her to the shuttle which took her to the regional airport.

Will report back later, but man I'm tired, and I'm not going anywhere (except to clean someone's room and do a mountain of laundry . . .)

Betty C and Meredith: I will keep you posted on my plans, though I just heard this a.m. that plane fares are supposed to rise 8 to 12 percent this year.

Bagels and Books

L had to find a guide book and a French/English dictionary to be ready for next week. I had an Earth Fare coupon for a 4 lb bag of Valencias. Conveniently, the bags of oranges were right there at the door to the right as we entered. So that was that.

However, the scent of freshly fried bacon was in the air, and L was directed by it to the breakfast bar, which contained four or five white-paper-wrapped bacon, egg and cheese bagels. How could we resist? Upon unwrapping one, we were treated to thick-cut bacon (and plenty of it), real scrambled eggs and cheddar cheese. On a real (for these parts) bagel. Delicious. So big, we shared one.

Thus fortified, we headed to B&N for the above-mentioned books, and then I dropped L at New Moon so that she could meet a h/s friend.

After that, I headed to the library, where I found that  The Middlesteins was still on the shelves, probably because it was shelved in the stacks and not with the New Books.

I didn't particularly care for The Kept Man, but this got such a good review, that I'm looking forward to it.

A perusal down the New Books shelves brought this to my attention: Care of Wooden Floors. I'm hoping I like it enough to finish

The newest Ina was also on display. And Mrs. Pringle of Fairacre, by Miss Read was also a New Book, surprisingly enough. Always, as Kirkus Reviews says, "a soothing oasis of tidy living for the frazzled reader weary of an untidy world."

So far, a calm, productive, satisfying day

Telling the Bees

Noodling around on YouTube, I discovered this mesmerizing pairing of images and the haunting music of Telling the Bees. and this, a companion:

Paris to the Moon . . . or Something

Yes, L is off to Paris for the semester. So many unknowns still, though. Where will she end up living? There is the problem of the cell phone. What service? How much to pack? What? There is the tricky problem of what kind of shoes (how many pairs?).

She's not taking Air France, but this photo will have to do. She has gotten around quite efficiently the past few years, so she's a seasoned traveller.

I'm wondering how much it will cost to get around. Will she live near enough to her classes so that she can walk?

More to come!

New Year's Cactus

I hope that 2013 brings an end to much bickering and divisiveness, on many levels. 

 Happy New Year to all.

I noticed the blooms and bud and took the photo on January 1, 2013.

Not ANOTHER New Year's Eve post. Certainly not

I do resolve to change certain habits, for instance, sitting hours on end in front of the computer, without getting out for a walk. This is my priority: move. Editing on the desktop isn't even as active as the old paper-pencil variety, although I can still heft the Webster's 11th one handed. Spending the better part of a morning or afternoon getting to/participating in/returning from Pilates or yoga is something else I really need to consider. Is all that time really worth it? And the money? Especially when I can practice yoga here with a bit of discipline. I'm also trying my mightiest to stick with my resolve not to buy any superfluities that I brought up on an earlier post. There is so much stuff here: books, CDs, clothes, shoes etc. etc. that should go off to the second-hand bookstore/Goodwill/wherever else to be gotten rid of. All in all, I want to lighten my load, physically around me as well as on my person.

Blogs

I've got to say, I'm really enjoying getting back to reading blogs. Writing? Well, maybe, but reading a bit of what someone is really thinking about is quite a treat.

Christmas Eve

The way in Heath . . . Commonside. Merry Christmas

What fresh Hell is this?

Why, it's putting up the Christmas tree! yes, tree from Ace Hardware, soaking up water for a week, upon entering the house shed practically every needle it had. Also, the stand we've had forever failed to hold the tree, because its trunk is too narrow. Of course, if we had put the tree up last week, we would have known this. But D, well, you can guess that he prefers to wait until the last minute. So at the 11th hour, out goes D to Whole Foods for a natural regional tree. Good! Then, we wrestled the tree into stand. Stand does not hold because it is bent all out of shape and giant screws screw toward space between stand and tree rather than tree itself. So it was not slender trunk, but stand itself that was to blame. D, out again, gets NEW stand. Upon returning, he says he'd rather wait until "later" to put tree up. Tree is up.

Countdown . . .

haircut today, a razor cut that G learned in NYC. My body may be in the mid-South, but my hair is Downtown. Off to Cincinnati on Saturday. Poor old Remus is consigned to the kennel for 3 nights (no snoring under the sheets for her!), but L wouldn't hear of D driving alone through the wilds of Kentucky. Not that I'm much use; I tend to panic on the highway, and end up driving at an appalling 45 mph. D knows someone who had a sales territory out West and refused to drive on a highway for similar reasons. It took days and days for her to reach her clients because she would take only secondary roads. Such is the life of a neurotic. Tomorrow the tree is going up and the lights are going on it. Then L can decorate to her heart's content when we get back.

Just musings

Bay

Pulling the final (maybe) leaves out from underneath and inbetween the prickly leaves of the ugly ivy-ish plants along the garage [how did this last bit get left out?]. Whoever thought foundation plantings were a good thing?
Soul was out front in solidarity, rolling around in the dust in the driveway, acting very spry.

There is some mysterious work being done on the foreclosed house next door, vacant since 2010 . . . Still, I'd rather the weather be less fall-like and more wintery, although D is heading up to Cincinnati to rendezvous with L Saturday/Sunday. Maybe I should go; I'd rather not.

New Year's

Betty C. asked if I was getting the blogging bug again. Yes, I am. FB is nice, but it's too immediate, and especially now I find myself either posting something I wish I hadn't or not posting at all. I think I like this blank page better, and visiting other blogs, though some of my regular reads will have to wake up and do some posting jumping-jacks to get back in the fray. I know it's hard to shake off the creakiness of posting one's real thoughts. I was looking around at my accumulations of, mostly, books since moving here in 1999. Really, there is no excuse for it. Amazon is like opening a vein. Argh. So, whilst vacuuming the stairs this afternoon, I had a chance to think about 2013 (not liking that 13, but ...) and I'm going to play a little game with myself. No purchases that aren't necessities in 2013. None. No books. No magazines. No mysterious lotions/potions from DHC. Nothing. And, since Everyday Food ceased publication, every time a subscription comes due, I'm not renewing. That is my thought for today, on the cusp of Christmas.

yes, this is what I like

Sequentia; group founder is an Oberlin graduate.

Yawn, Stretch . . .

Some Carnival Band for you. Personal to Helen: Thank you for the lovely note, and encouragement!

Scarf

I am determined to finish this thing for L, so she can wear it this winter. However long it is on Sept. 30, is how long it will be. Right now it is as long as I am tall, which is to say 5'2''.

The pattern is one that I discovered on a 2004 Sheep in the City blog post. I'm knitting up Malabrigo worsted weight Velvet Grapes on size 11 needles. I'm into my second skein.

Fall Around Here

 Yes, the melons themselves; finally. Very cantaloup-like in texture, though not as sweet. JGH, we got maybe eight or nine! Next year, I'm planting more. It was the right combination of intense heat and rain that really allowed these to take off. Sometimes, things work out.

Unfortunately, it was a banner year for the Mexican bean beetle, so we got very few beans.

Tomatoes also were a bit disappointing. Lots of peppers. Canned 4 pints of tomatoes, though. But still . . .

Below, you see the small plants we got last Saturday at Crabtree: kohlrabi, leeks, Bright Lights chard, cauliflower, broccoli, lettuces. I think they are still a bit small to be planted, and we're forecast to have a drencher on Monday, so maybe next weekend. I hope they don't become rabbit or deer food.

Its Royal Ripeness

Well, a bit out of focus. JGH sent me a packet of Minnesota Midget seeds. This spring, I planted four. Four burst from the soil of their little cell packs under the kitchen window in the makeshift greenhouse I fixed up. A sheetcake container from the grocery store is excellent for this purpose.

Four were transplanted to the community garden (veg) patch.

Four went into plant shock (would they live?!). Speculation abounded

Four survived, prospered, flowered, were pollinated, and produced many many melons!! (see my FB banner for two beauties that were sacrificed too soon to my utter ignorance of what it means to be a ripe melon.

They are a bit flowery tasting, not exactly the cantaloupe we are used to. How satisfying to have such a thriving plot.

Otherwise, tomatoes were ok, though we had a volunteer from last year take over: a tiny gold tomato that you must eat immediately upon ripeness, or it rots as you look at it. Peas: gone before they produced.

Mexican bean beetle had a field day, but we still got several meals out of them.

Peppers were plentiful (though small) enough to make stuffed peppers for the freezer.

Zucchini were great tho scarce. Very hot, this summer was.

Thank you, Roy and Kurt, for rallying around!

hello

Knock, knock. Who's there? I've been on Facebook but that's not exactly the same as posting what you think in a substantive way. I'm still wondering how I can start to post and whether I should.

father

you know that rant from Mel Gibson to Joe Eszterhas? How shocking it is? How loud? How, well, crazy?

Well, when I was in high school, that kind of rant was my reality. Every. Single. Night.

I feel that this needs to be exposed, because Mel and my father can't be the only two.

new post?

working through it all; I have my Owl books, which help. Who knew that reading Alan Garner's The Owl Service as a teenager would have made such an impression on me so far in the future?

where were you?

Man, just saw a piece on them on Entertainment Tonight (yes, I do); forgot how much I liked them as a kid and how much an abusive father takes his toll (actually, I didn't forget about that)

Soul, thus completing the triptych

Bear (second in a series)

Frank

writing

thinking about writing about my father; really really thinking about it. but it's so complicated.

Haiku-ish musing

l'Heure Bleue: 

Remus and I are out for a postprandial amble. 

Soul is busy in the leaves with his own ablutions. 

The deer emerge and hightail it, almost silently, through the woods.

welcome January

Well, after roast beef at Christmas, duck for New Year's, and various restaurant meals, I'm officially back to basics. I cannot eat another rich thing. I'm now on temple food (to take a phrase from Nigella). Well, maybe tomorrow. There are still those mince pies that cannot go to waste. I will not add the pun. I refuse.

New Year

After a year in limbo, I feel ready to get back on track. I'd rather not follow a pattern, but break out and follow the cracks I make in doing so. See you next week.

Just about the way I'm feeling

calling all readers

Any interest in resurrecting Virtual Book Club? I think if we readjust how we do things, it just might work this time.

creak . . . emerging from silence

the last of the garden tomatoes. I'll wrap each one in newspaper to redden up in a week or so.

the fruits of my labor!

Recipe above from Canal House:

tomatoes and pickles; the pickles are made from the huge cucumbers that lurk under the leaves and are as big as you calf.

well

can you see the link between the Tea Party and Hitler Youth? I'm scared witless

Guest photographer

Helen sent me this photo she took on Avery Brook (hope you don't mind seeing it "in print"!).

L and she share the ladybug as their connecting symbol. The ladybug (or ladybird, or any of the other names you'll encounter) is considered good luck, too.

hmmm

should I change my blog design?

Just thinking that parenthood is sometimes quite like being stuck in the horse latitudes. jotting this down. Sometimes you don't even hear the creak of the lines. other times, you're in a gale force, getting it full force over the deck into your face.

monsters!

The first of the tomatoes

Making blackberry vinegar using the very odd-looking jelly bag

coding, coding, and more coding today. My hand is about to fall off. Or something. Would much rather be in the garden or the kitchen.

Post!

I need to get off Facebook; it's too . . . unsatisfying, ultimately. Plus Scrabble is too addicting.

Intention:

to blog and write more. There, I've said it.