A Very Happy Birthday

And so, this first day of the last year of my twenties draws to a close. Twenty-nine. Wow. Oh, gracious, how did that happen? I don't really feel old, exactly, but thirty does seem so officially grown up, and now there's no denying that it is just around the corner. Well, there's no need to fall into a big existential crisis over it, so I'm just going to sail through and think about all the beautiful things about my birthday weekend:

1. Big, wet birthday kisses from my best girl.
2. My yearly batch of chocolate frosted birthday cupcakes from one grandmother and a loaf of delicious cranberry bread from the other.
3. Homemade cards proudly made by same best girl. Bunches of them.
4. Homemade chunky monkey ice cream: the best birthday present ever from the dear husband. Before Mark became the reigning king of homemade ice cream, my favorite indulgence was the Ben & Jerry's chunky monkey flavor: banana ice cream with chunks of dark chocolate and walnuts. Mark's version is infinitely superior, and I get so giddy thinking about it, I may have to sneak off to the freezer and grab a spoonful right now.
5. A garden fresh late summer family supper over at my mom and dad's: fried green tomatoes, okra, green beans, mashed potatoes, corn, and my mom's fluffiest biscuits served with butter and pure sourwood honey.
6. A pair of adorable new wellies and two books from my parents: Feeding the Whole Family and To Dance With God.
7. Enough Amazon gift cards to indulge a much needed book binge
8. A post-dinner snuggling spree with my dearest ones, coming up right about now.

From the Cabin Kitchen.......Yogurt

I do love me a good to-do list, and the thrill of checking things off has sometimes led me to write down tasks after completion, even if they weren't on the original list....just because. I think it's the Virgo in me. Well, making my own yogurt has been on my list for, um, forever. But it always seemed so complicated. Basically anything involving a thermometer generally intimidates me. So, it was excellent timing when I came across this post that gave me just the encouragement I needed to plunge right in.

Let me just tell you, as is the tendency with the homemade, after you've done this once, there's no turning back. All my fears of the complexity of the process were totally unfounded. Hands on time for making yogurt is about 20 minutes probably, and then the rest of the time is simply incubating and waiting. And the end results are delicious: tangy, with a wild, natural sweetness. Paired with homemade granola (this is loosely the recipe I use), it's an absolutely perfect breakfast. Or snack. Or dessert. Basically my only problem now, is remembering to save enough for the starter yogurt for the next round. Quite a feat of self-discipline.

I followed these directions pretty much verbatim the first time around. I did find however, that I prefer my yogurt a bit on the thicker side, so instead of 8 hours incubation, I've stretched it out to 10 or so.

Late Summer Snapshots

I'm afraid I have a bad case of the end of summer blues. I always get antsy this time of year. I guess it's just the transition: the days getting slightly shorter, the subtle coolness in the evening air. It's not that I'm terribly sad to see summer go. On the contrary. As always, I'm excited about fall. It's definitely my favorite season, and I can't wait to dig out wool socks and hats, inhale the spicy sweetness of apple butter simmering in the crock pot, and sit by a fire with a cup of hot tea. But, that's definitely jumping ahead, which I guess is where those mean old blues sneak in. I'm caught between eager anticipation of the coming season, and still trying (sometimes not very successfully) to embrace the last drops of summer, because it's definitely not over yet. An afternoon jaunt out with the girl and the camera the other day helped me keep my mind in the present, seek the beauty that is still all around, and appreciate the seasons as they come.

Garden Transition

We've reached the point of the year where a walk through the garden is a walk of shame. Yes, those weeds really are that high, despite all vows and promises to be more diligent this year. Ah well. Even a neglected garden can produce an abundance of fresh, delicious food, and if you don't mind plunging into the jungle (or sending your husband), juicy tomatoes and crunchy peppers are still ripe for the picking.

I decided to plant a fall garden this year, something I've never done before. That nice clean spread of dirt above the jungle is now sown with lettuce, kale, swiss chard, mustard greens, turnips, radishes, and soon, hopefully, cabbage plants. Saturday, as a light, gentle, and much needed rain misted down, we planted these seeds, with high hopes of October feasts. I suppose I'm seeking redemption.

An Impromptu Picnic

I promised my girl a picnic, and so, however hastily thrown together, a picnic indeed we did have. She teaches me so much, this little lady of mine.

Before I became a mother, I never knew how much fun it could be to simply throw last night's leftover chicken legs, an apple, and a bottle of water into a basket, toss the porch swing blanket onto the (slightly damp) ground, and just sit, and munch, and look and listen to it all.

Of course, like mother/like daughter, any endeavor is best accompanied with a pile of books. Just in case.

And yes, fall is absolutely on her way.......

Process.......Not Product

Miss Kate's favorite indoor activity of late: gluing magazine pictures onto construction paper. The hot days this week have driven us inside during the better part of the day, which is rather hard. It's one thing to be driven inside by cold weather, but to have to look out the window at a gorgeous, sunshine filled day, only to step outside to drown in humidity and shrivel under the scorching temperatures, well, that's just no fun. So much for my committment to not complain about the heat! :)

Each time Kate stays with my grandmother, she comes home with a little stack of beautiful bird pictures, cut from Grandmama's bird magazines. I admire my grandmother for many reasons, but I remember as a child myself, always being impressed by her resourcefulness when it came to entertainment. Boredom was never an option. She could throw together the most magical child friendly tea party using simply acorns and leaves. I suppose this talent grew from growing up in a large family during the Great Depression. Anyway, Kate and I had been meaning to make a "bird book" using those pictures for awhile, and so that's what we did today.

It was so much fun, we moved on to a dog and cat book as well. This was Kate's first experience with glue. I must confess, arts and crafts for kids is not something that comes naturally to me. I think that's probably why, during my teaching days, I stuck with high school aged kids. I have to overcome not only the impatience that makes me want to step in and do it for her (which would totally defeat the purpose), but also an aversion to sticky glue covered table tops and the other messes that arise from toddler art.

But I actually found that it's pretty easy to let go of these silly grown up worries, once you see the excitement, determination and sense of purpose that fills a child when left to their own devices with a project. Because that's really the point of it all. That's why art and free play are so important to children. Not so that they may grow up to become artists (although that would be fine!), but so that they may learn to explore their world and make independent discoveries without fear of failure. Sure, on the surface, it's just drawing, painting, or in this case, gluing pictures onto paper, but really, it's so much more than that. The final product, sometimes delivered to Mama with pride and enthusiasm, and other times abandoned on the table as something more exciting beckons, well, that's not really the point. It's all about the process: the process of using her own imagination and two little hands to create something that didn't exist before.

Weekend Recap

My, but it's been hot, hot, hot this weekend. A few sporadic rain showers brought temporary relief, but overall, it's just been a vicious cycle of hot, muggy, and very August-y weather. I don't want to rush the seasons, but I must say, I'm definitely ready for fall.

This weekend involved a lot of music. Oh, music. It's such an all or nothing thing with me, and I must confess, the past few months I've been firmly entrenched in the nothing camp. I know when I take my guitar out and have to hunt down the fingernail clippers just to be able to play, that I've definitely been in a funk. But this weekend, I felt the pendulum swinging back the other way, as I found myself getting really excited about projects I haven't given a thought to for weeks. Like our first duo album. Initially, the project was supposed to be completed this summer, but baby boy Bum has put us a bit behind schedule (or at least is a very convenient excuse). So now, after reevaluation this weekend, it looks more like a fall release.

I've also been especially fickle lately when it comes to wanting to perform live shows, so most of our booking has been done as Mark's solo show leaving me the option of joining him or not. Sometimes a pregnant lady just doesn't really want to waddle up on the stage. But thankfully, I have this renewed desire in terms of our music, and while primarily, I want to finish recording our album (while I can still breathe somewhat normally), I also haven't minded performing either. I think it's because I've crossed over into that "definitely pregnant" look. Before, I just looked a bit chunky, what Mark dubs the "afraid to ask" stage. But now, baby bump is fully present, and that makes me very happy indeed, on so many levels.

Saturday night we played our regular gig at the Blue Mountain, and then Sunday, Kate spent the day with the grandparents while we recorded vocal harmony tracks for the album, and then they all joined us as we performed a local street festival that afternoon. My mom had to physically restrain Kate, who is now a very enthusiastic performer, from bounding toward the stage to join us.

Despite my eager anticipation for fall, I'm determined to enjoy these last, lazy days of summer. Next week's schedule includes: more canning of tomatoes, a picnic with my best girl, some front porch time with the guitar and my songwriting notebook, and possibly some homemade peach ice cream. Time to get busy!

From the Cabin Kitchen: Homemade Tortillas

Sometimes it surprises me that I've turned into the sort of person who routinely makes their own tortillas. A few years ago, I probably would have been suspicious of anyone who openly admitted such a thing. I mean, it's one thing to like to cook, and even to try to eat most meals at home, but going to all the trouble of making your own tortillas? Seriously, isn't that taking it a bit far? Don't I have better things to do?

Well, no, actually, I don't. And you may not either if you try these, because it turns out, this whole concept that making tortillas is hard, or even terribly time consuming, is a myth. If speed and convenience are your primary goal, then, yes, you probably should grab the Pepitos at the grocery store. But, if you should find yourself with an extra 45 minutes or so (most of which time your dough is resting, so it's not like you actually have to do anything more strenuous than lie on the couch and read a magazine), give these a try, and my guess is that, like me, you'll never again be able to go back to those plasticy tasting things they sell at the grocery store. You've been warned.

There's such a humble satisfaction to be found in any bread making venture, and tortillas, although a bit quicker and easier to throw together than most traditional loaf breads, are no exception. Plus, you get to use the rolling pin. And unlike a cumbersome, temperamental pie crust, tortilla dough is generally pretty easy going, an all around good sport, keeping its shape and not flaking off into wispy fragments of a doughy mess. Me and pie crusts, we have some issues, if you can't tell.

The whole process settles into a comforting routine: roll out the dough, cook in the skillet, toss, repeat. It's easy as pie (well, much easier as we've already established), but it requires just enough focus to keep you mindful and grounded in the moment, which I so often need and appreciate. Sometimes it's on the craziest, most hectic days that I crave some kitchen time the most. To clear my head, and really focus on a concrete, tangible, doable task at hand. I may not be able to control everything in this world, but by golly, I can roll, cook, and toss.

The recipe below is a bit unorthodox in that it uses both flour and corn meal. I know, it's scandalous, and to the purists in either camp, you're probably skeptical. But bear with me. It's the combination that makes these so special. Thanks to the flour, they're soft and fluffy, but with the addition of the corn meal, they still retain the chewy denseness of a corn tortilla. See, everybody wins!

Adapted from the King Arthur Flour website:

• 1 1/3 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
• 2/3 cup yellow cornmeal
• 4 T. vegetable oil
• 1/2 cup water
• 1 tsp. salt

1. In a medium sized bowl, mix together the flour, cornmeal, salt, and oil. Gradually mix in the water. Knead briefly until the dough is smooth.

2. Divide the dough into 10 pieces. Round the pieces into balls, flatten them slightly, and allow them to rest, covered, for at least 30 minutes. This resting period improves the texture of the dough by giving the flour time to absorb the water, and it also allows the gluten to relax, making the tortillas easier to roll out.

2. Preheat an ungreased pan (I always use cast iron) over medium heat. Working with one piece of dough at a time (keep the remaining balls covered), roll the balls out until they're about 8 inches in diameter. (If, like me, you have a small child helping you do this, your shapes may be on the wonky side, but no matter.) Fry the tortillas in the ungreased pan for about 45 seconds on each side (watch for small bubbles that start to appear on the surface, then flip accordingly). Stack the tortillas one on top of the other as you remove them from the pan to keep them soft and pliable. Serve warm or at room temperature. Store, tightly wrapped, in a plastic bag at room temp for a couple of days. These freeze nicely too, just make sure they are tightly wrapped.

Reading......The Poet and The Dream Girl

It has recently come to my attention that I am woefully ignorant in matters of local and regional history. In an attempt to remedy this problem, I've been spending some time in the North Carolina section of the library during our weekly trips. Last week, the book that caught my eye was The Poet and the Dream Girl: The Love Letters of Carl Sandburg and Lillian Steichen, and I've been completely engrossed in it all week. In terms of learning more about local history, this book didn't really help all that much, but no matter. Western North Carolina does lay some claim to Carl Sandburg, because later in life, he and his family made their home in Flat Rock, a town about an hour's drive from where I live. I vaguely recall an elementary school field trip taken there, but I'm thinking now that I've read this book, an adult pilgrimage might be in order come fall.

However, Sandburg and Steichen were both really midwesterners. These letters were written during the spring and summer of 1908, while Sandburg was working for the Socialist Democratic Party in Wisconsin, as an organizer and lecturer, and Steichen was teaching in Princeton, Illinois.

I suppose an interest in politics, partiularly Socialism, and the nitty gritty details of life as an organizer and activist would be enough to warrant reading this book, because there is much of that recorded in the letters. But me, I'm more of a romantic. I just can't reisist a good, old fashioned love letter. And these are truly exquisite. Not only the beauty and depth of the language, but the intensity that smolders on the pages! It's always something of a strange feeling to read private diaries and letters that were never written to be published. You feel sort of sneaky almost, like you really have no right to be reading something so deeply personal and private. Still, those are often my favorite types of writings, I think precisely because they were written more from the heart, and capture not only big, important ideas, but day to day routine as well. It makes me sad to think that letter writing is such a dying art.

Sandburg and Steichen met only briefly at the Socialist Democratic Party Headquarters in Milwaukee in 1907, and that sparked a correspondence that would lead to their marriage the following summer. The letters actually show the transition, from Steichen's perspective most clearly, of a beginning correspondence based on her interest and admiration of his work, to a passionate, full fledged, all consuming love, after a springtime visit together at her parent's farm, where they "fell in love."

This is an incredible book, and despite the fact that Carl Sandburg is the more well known, public, historical figure, these letters reveal that Lillian Steichen was a fascinating, intelligent, well-read woman in her own right, whose influence on her husband was profound. He referred to her as a "woman genius," which she disagreed with, but reading her letters, I think he was probably right.

A Canning Renaissance

When I was a little girl, late summer meant sitting on my grandmother's front porch, a few sheets of newspaper on my lap, a half bushel basket of freshly picked green beans beside me, and the familiar ping of breaking beans tossed into a metal pot. While my mom, my grandmother, my aunt, my sister, my cousin, and I diligently strung and broke the beans, my grandfather would man the big, scary pressure canner nearby, which we watched out of the corner of our eye, always just a little bit afraid it would blow up. There would be stories and laughter, and sighs at the endless baskets of beans that seemed to keep appearing, to be stuffed into jars, salted, pressured, and then lined up on basement shelves like eager little soldiers. Come August, it was time for tomatoes, but us kids could usually escape most of the grunt work when it came to tomatoes, since more heat was involved in the boiling, peeling, chopping, and cooking that led to bastions of pasta sauce, salsa, and plain crushed tomatoes standing sentry with the green beans. Plus, we were probably back in school at that point anyway. In October, it was time to do apples. And then came winter, time to eat and rest.

As a child, I didn't mind all this. In fact, I thought it rather a fun, festive time. My teenage self still secretly enjoyed it, although by this time I had gathered from the cool and hip police that really I should prefer hanging out at the pool or the mall with my friends, few of whom measured their summers by something so quaint and old fashioned as canning. In the late 80s and throughout the 90s, canning was something only poor, backwoodsy people still did. It was decidedly not cool.

Today, with high unemployment rates, depleted savings, and terrifying news stories of a contaminated food supply, home food preservation is making a huge comeback. In fact, I don't think it would be out of line to say that canning has become downright trendy! And I think that's a very good thing.

When seeking a simpler life, what you're really doing is getting back to the basics. By avoiding the frenzied surplus of cheap consumer goods that numb the soul and drag you further and further into the never ending cycle of debt and empty desire, you free yourslef up to focus on the things that really matter. Any hierarchy of needs pyramid you look at will obviously state food as one of the most basic, fundamental human needs. So, rather than overstuff ourselves with prepackaged convenience foods loaded with unhealthy artificial flavorings and preservatives, it makes sense to reevaluate, and take back the reins regarding your food supply.

Home canning and gardening often go hand in hand. It makes sense that if you go through all the work (pleasant, rewarding work, to those of us who love it, but hard work just the same) of raising a garden, any surplus left over should be preserved for later use, preferably in the dead of winter when growing things becomes a bit more of a challenge (although not impossibe, check out this book on four season gardening, truly inspiring....). If you have a sunny window or porch/deck, a pot, and some dirt, you can begin to grow at least some of your own food. Home gardening takes many forms, and urban dwellers are doing marvelous things within extremely limited spaces. But even if gardening is outside your area of expertise or interest, preserving fresh, local food is still within your reach and incredibly worthwhile. A box of tomatos bought in peak season from your local farmer's market can yield enough pasta sauce for dozens of meals for long, cold winter nights. Obviously, you're going to come out ahead financially, but even more importantly, you've made the transition from consumer to producer, a vital step in a more simple, sustainable life.

If you're a canning novice, there are countless books and web resources available to guide you through the process. My favorite book is the Ball Complete Book of Home Preserving, which contains fabulous recipes as well as detailed instructions on method and technique. In my opinion, canning is best undertaken as a communal adventure, one to be enjoyed with a group of friends or family. In addition to the great fun these "canning parties" can be, you have the added benefit of sharing costs, and two or more heads are (usually) better than one when challenges arise.

Happy Canning!

Tomatoes!

A busy, busy day in the kitchen! We had about a bushel of tomatoes from our garden, and then purchased more from a local farmer up the road. The final tally for the day's work:

Crushed Tomatoes: 39 quarts + 1 pint

Traditional Salsa: 24 pints

Also, my mom and I each tried a new experiemental salsa. Fortunately, we made small runs of these, because in the end, neither passed muster. I made 6 pints of salsa verde, using the Ball Home Preserving Book recipe which uses green tomatoes instead of tomatillos. This one might be salvaged with a few tweaks next time. The flavor was good, but I went a little overboard with the jalapenos. My mom wanted to try a new recipe out of her Hobby Farms Magazine which didn't call for tomato paste. Also way too hot, and too vinegary as well, for my tastes. We'll stick with our old standby for now.

Each year when the kitchen is full of tomatoes, I always think of this Pablo Neruda poem.

Weekending

My, what a gorgeous weekend this has been. Cool and breezy, and such a nice break from the heat wave that's engulfed our area for the past several weeks. Late in the evening, sitting on the porch swing, gazing out across the hazy golden light that stretches across the pasture, you can catch just the faintest hint of fall in the air. Everywhere you look, you can see summer slowly winding down. Most of the Queen Anne's Lace have dried up, the birds are holding their preliminary "heading south" meetings on telephone wires, and the days are, ever so slowly, getting a wee bit shorter. Oh, I know it's not quite time yet. I have a habit of wanting to jump the gun on autumn, but I know summer always makes a big last stand come late August and early September. The weather folks are promising a return to temperatures in the 90s this coming week, but that's okay. I'm almost ready to let summer go, but not quite.

Most of our weekend has been spent quietly at home, with the exception of Saturday night. Mark played a 30 minute opener at this amazing listening room in Fletcher, North Carolina, a little town about 45 minutes south of us. Kate and I went along and even joined him for a few songs, midway through the set. This was her second stage appearance, and she's proving herself quite the little performer. Afterwards, we listened to the main act for awhile (they were great!), but then Kate got fidgety so we scooted out and grabbed some Mexican food for dinner.

We slept in this morning, then enjoyed a Daddy-made breakfast of blueberry pancakes drizzled with honey. Yum! Then, Mark took Kate to the park, so I had an hour or so to myself to read my book (which is fascinating! More on that later....), and just enjoy some rare moments of solitude at home. Then, we gave Sally Rose a much needed bath. Unfortunately, since it took both of us (plus Kate) to keep her from bounding out of the tub, there are no pictures. Even the photo below is a pre-bath picture. Ol' Sal is pretty lucky (or we are at least) that her dark, wiry coat allows her to look relatively clean, even when we know she's far from it. The other dogs on the farm, Rocky and Roxy, are lighter in color so we can always tell how dirty Sally really is based on the streaks of mud and dirt on their coats.

We finished off the evening with some grilled chicken, fresh corn, and fresh green beans for dinner. Kate fell asleep early, and as I'm sitting here typing this post, Mark is watching an interesting documentary on Earl Scruggs. Tomorrow morning, Kate and I head over to Nonna's to can tomatoes, another sure sign that summer is coming to a close.

A nice weekend all around.

Listening To.......Patty Griffin's Downtown Church

I've been a casual Patty Griffin fan for a few years now. When I first heard her, I was blown away by her voice, and equally impressed by her songwriting, but, for whatever reason, I just never became a die hard fan. I think some of her previous albums may have just been a bit too "intense" for me at the time. But her latest project, Downtown Church, has left me stunned. Enamored. Mesmerized. I am now, unabashedly, a Patty Griffin zealot.

Technically, the album is a gospel record, although I think even those who are not particularly religious can still enjoy the record from an American history perspective. Sometimes the term "Americana" is used as a catch all genre, for anything that doesn't quite fit in another category, but this album is pure Americana in the truest sense of the word. The songs collected here manage to unearth the essence of perhaps the most deeply rooted American musical tradition: gospel music. Jazz, country, rock and roll: all these genres, and more, can find their origin in the gospel music tradition. What's so amazing about this album, and probably only possible because of the virtuosity and complexity of Griffin's voice, is the way she is able to seamlessly unite the styles of both African American, Appalachian, and even Latin American gospel traditions. It is, indeed, pure soul.

The album was produced by Buddy Miller (one of my all-time favorite musicians), and features duets with Emmylou Harris, Julie Miller, Raul Maulo, and others. The project was recorded in the sanctuary of Downtown Presbyterian Church in Nashville, a fascinating endeavor you can read more about here.

I've been listening to this album all summer, and continue to be amazed.

A Ladybug Frock

I've written before about my ambivalent relationship with sewing. I'm happy to say, things are improving. Slowly. A few weeks ago I made this dress for Miss Kate. Well, I suppose my mom did hold my hand the entire time, deciphering the pattern and translating it into instructions my novice sewing brain could comprehend, but I did most of the actual work. The pattern is from Heather Ross's Weekend Sewing, which I first saw on Amanda's blog. According to the book, this dress is super simple and can be easily whipped up in an hour or so. With my mom's help, it took me a little over 2 hours, although we did have several interruptions from the dress recipient.

I was rather pleased with how it turned out, and I think Miss Kate approved as well. We both loved the fabric. It's a lovely shade of blue, accented with flowers and, best of all, little red ladybugs! Kate is really into ladybugs right now. This is her favorite song at the moment, and although it is pretty cute, sometimes I halfway regret introducing her to it, what with the constant requests to "listen to ladybug." I found the material at our local thrift store for 50 cents. My mom found the ladybug buttons at a fabric store in town. The buttons are merely decorative, although they do hide the rather messy spot where I over back stitched on the straps. Plus, Kate adores them.

So, while I can't exactly say that I've fallen in love with sewing (truth be told, I would still rather be baking, gardening, or just reading a good book), I did feel a great sense of accomplishment after finishing this dress. And I think it's a valuable experience for Kate as well, to see the art of production (however simple) being carried out at home, as opposed to merely grabbing bargains off the clearnace rack. My own pride spilled over to her, as she tells everyone that she made her ladybug dress. Well, she was there during the process, and I'll gladly share the glory.