I'm going long on the kitchen garden

We had a garden this year. A ramshackle, tattered, beautiful, unkempt garden. With a one-year-old, a three-year-old, a puppy, and too many other life projects to count, planting a garden was symbolic. I ordered $128 of seed in less than 15 minutes, a record for me. I usually plan for months. I planted things weeks after their frost tolerances. I weeded maybe three times. I watered about half as much as I should have. A huge percentage of our produce got infested with aphids, and ended up feeding the pigs. And I'm still glad we did it.

Things I swear I'm gonna grow next year. This is a so-I-don't-forget list.

A - because I can't believe how much they cost at market
B - because I can't seem to find a volume discount that makes it reasonable to put anything up
C - because it's harvest season, and I can't find any zucchini. Wtf. People leave that shit on doorsteps in the dark just to get rid of it.

Here's the list.

This year's garden. Don't be fooled by the shovel.
It's just marking some dog poop I haven't cleaned up yet.

• Every old-fashioned flower
• A medicine cabinet full of herbs
• A kitchen full of herbs
• So much basil 
• So much mint
• Zucchini for days
• Kale
• Chard
• Garlic. A whole field of garlic.
• Eggplant
• Broccoli
• Cabbage
• Every winter squash
• Turnips
• Pumpkins
• Carrots 
• Fennel
• Tomatoes by the acre. A whole damn garden for tomato sauce.
• Beets 
• Sunflowers. Lots of them.
• Dill
• Cucumbers
• Every kind of bean

My first (failed) mozzarella

That's not really what mozz is supposed to look like. Hmm.

Not everything works the first time

I followed the directions, I swear. Ricki Carroll writes good recipes, and she won't steer you wrong. But, some things just don't work the first time. I learned a few things.

ONE: Organic Valley gallons are sold as pasteurized. But I'm betting they are actually ultra-pasteurized, because of this:

The curd is supposed to look like custard. Not ricotta.

TWO: I used apple cider vinegar instead of citric acid powder. This has never caused problems in making whey ricotta, and it shouldn't (theoretically) in making mozzarella either. But I did stray from the recipe.

THREE: I kept going anyway. It works ok on a pizza, as long as you are willing to break out the cheese grater.

The resulting cheese is firm and dry. It didn't stretch the way I think mozzarella is supposed to. I never achieved "smooth and satiny" although I got it to stretch at least well enough that the curds didn't break.

Next time I'll try just plain milk from Country Fresh or something. No fancy organics. Sigh. At least making cheese from conventional milk will cost less than buying the cheese itself.

Yield: 13.8 oz plus some terrible ricotta from the whey (runny and too acidic)

Calendar notes - September 2014

9/2 - seeded and grated 9 c (about 3 lbs) of zucchini from one big guy.  Froze 6 c for later
9/2 - got 9 eggs from Steve and Sarah
9/2 - broke into the sauerkraut. It still smells pretty strong but tastes delicious
9/3 - made grandma's zucchini bread recipe from the remaining 3 c shredded zucchini. 2 loaves,  1 for freezing
9/4 - bought another gallon of milk from Turja's
9/4 - activated my new Viili yogurt starter
9/5 - made a quart of raw milk yogurt and a quart of pasturized yogurt
9/6 - taste test. Definitely like the pasturized better.  The raw one is grainy and kind of gamey.
9/9 - the fruit flies are out in force
9/10 - made a new batch of pizza crust for the freezer. Spent the morning at the beach and went back in the afternoon.  Maria swam.
9/10 - yesterday may have been the last day of summer
9/11 -Kevin did harvest at bare Knuckle. Brought home 2 lbs of leeks, 6 egg plants, a qt of potatoes, two tomatoes, and 6 squash
9/12 - one qt of yogurt, started the kefir grains
9/13 - jw lost his grandpa. Saw him at the St ambrosia party.
9/14 - made sandwich bread, following a note to myself, split into 2 pans (2 1# loaves). Used the first kefir activation milk and some raw yogurt.
9/14 - made potato leek soup

Calendar notes - August 2014

I have a shorter and shorter memory these days.
I missed the best mulberries at the end of July.
I missed the best black raspberries at the beginning of August.
I missed the raspberries at the end of July and beginning of August.
8/8 - the tart cherry harvest is in full swing, sweets have been here for a couple of weeks
8/11 - first tomato off the patio plant, looks like the heirlooms are coming in
8/15 - the blueberries are in, and I need to go pick in honor (sign on Fowlerville road for the old, more tart varieties, near the abandoned fields at sleeping bear, which are already picked over, according to Jeff)
8/16 - harvested rose hips at Dan and Nikki's
8/16 - sumac is ready for harvest
8/16 - 2 quarts of kefir and 1 pint of creme fraiche from the milk we got from John and Charity
8/16 - it seems as though the cherry harvest is slowing down, noticed fewer trucks on the road
8/17 - made rose hip wine, need to pick again after frost for batch #2
8/17 - first crock of sauerkraut
8/19 - picked 4 qt of blueberries in about 40 min at baatz upick, cut short by rain. Nice small berries, good eating, and even better cooking. $2.80/qt, and they measure very generously.
8/22 - froze almost all the berries we picked - 3 full quart bags, plus some for eating
8/28 - the Himalayan blackberries are starting to ripen. Not ready for really picking yet, but got a few to feed Maria
8/31 - discovered a good walk along the Newman(?) easement for picking blackberries. They're still not quite ready to pick, but it's a sunny edge and the fruit is more plentiful here. Need to come back next week.

Zucchini soup

Based on one that my Mom makes, which I think is Uncle Bob's recipe.

Maria ate three bowls of this without pause, and there was enough left for four adults to eat with salad and grilled cheese for dinner.

-1/2 yellow onion, sauteed over medium heat in olive oil/butter mix until softened
-Add 1 clove fresh minced garlic
-Thyme, oregano, marjoram, salt
-Add 3 small red potatoes, diced into bite-sized pieces, peel on
-Add 3 zucchini, quartered and sliced
-Cover and let sweat until potatoes soften and zucchini begins to cook, stirring occasionally
-Add 24 oz homemade chicken stock and bring to a boil
-Reduce heat to low and simmer until vegetables are cooked through
-Off heat, stir in about 2/3 c whole milk
-Puree in blender and return to pot to heat through, salt and pepper to taste.

Taking the leap, part 2: The Catalyst

By the time we're forty

The plan was to step out as soon as we could realistically afford it, but we didn't have any urgent timing. We were content to give ourselves seven, eight, nine years of saving money and living as natural a life as we could along the way.

We were living simply, below our means, and saving. We were learning to be self-sufficient. We thrived on old things that could be repaired. We learned old-timey skills, and practiced them every chance we got.

We drank a lot of cider. We read a lot of books and websites from other dreamers.

Or sooner. Pregnancy changed the timing.

We were almost five years into that plan when I became pregnant. I thought we had three or four years to go. With a baby on the way, we shifted our perspective. It was remarkably easy. The plan didn't change, the timeline was just accelerated.

By the time the baby is one, or two...

After our sweet Maria was born, all wide-eyed and curious, we began to accept this new timing as truth. A given.

Maternity leave passed so quickly, and I was not ready to return to a demanding, challenging job. In the nine months since I went back to work, I really have tried to make everything fit, even knowing it is a temporary fit.

My over-engaged, over-commited, uber-responsible, unbalanced self has always been unable to juggle job and life, really. And now, more divided mentally and emotionally than ever before, I know in my heart I can't keep doing this. I can never be as present or as ready or as patient or as organized or as energized or as thoughtful as I wish I could. It has become abundantly clear that being a professional, and being the human I want to be, just don't work together.

Life is too short to live like this.

On the heels of the hardest winter in recent memory (snow days and sick days have already used up the vacation time I usually hoard for the precious months of summer), it is time to make a decision. I am no longer willing to make the compromises I face every day, unlatching my snoobing baby so that I can go into the office and write marketing copy and help solve client problems. The world of commerce and industry mean little to me these days.

I admire and respect those people out there who do it all with grace. I no longer want to be one of them.

I want a life, not a livelihood.

I am ready to take the risk of leaving this all behind to try my hand (heart) at something different. I am ready to hold hands, hold my breath, and jump. I think we can create something that doesn't rely on commerce and layers of removal from the real business of life. I think we can dig in and come out self-sufficient on the other side.

And so, right at the end of Maria's spring break, I broke the news to my colleagues and friends. There is no going back now. (It's exhilarating, and a bit unsettling).

Taking the leap: The Prequel

Pre-leap

I daydream. I yearn, I scheme, I wonder. I make a lot of lists. (I'm not kidding, my journal has been a series of lists, schedules and budgets for almost 10 years now. That's kind of sad.)

Listmaking is the best therapy I've had. 

It's a way to make my dreams tangible. A sort of promise that I am actually going to do something. For some reason, writing it down makes it more real.

I've thoroughly explored all the options, created endless scenarios, put income and debt and everything in between up to the light. I've imagined thousands of lives that I'll never try out for real.

All this time, I've led a satisfying, but divided, life. 

Weekends and vacations spent gardening, cooking, living up north, or on the water, and then late on Sunday night, pulling in the driveway, rushing through some chores, and the next morning scrambling to get to work on time. Drawing deep to find a way to connect, to care, to be present for my colleagues, my clients, my work. If it was a less divided life... if I were a different person than I am... it would have been a fine life.

Premonition

I have a photo of myself that Kevin took, the very first time we were on the farm. We didn't own the property. I wasn't even sure we were walking the property we'd seen for sale online. I didn't know that I was really, seriously looking.

When I saw that photo, I saw it through the filter of time. As if I was elderly, looking back, and remembering the first time I walked that path. It was a powerful and emotional sensation. It was the moment the land chose me.

Falafel for John

For one of my dearest friends, who is doing a badass job running a kitchen in northern Michigan. Here's the recipe I seem to be unable to email you.

MAKES 20 FALAFEL, ENOUGH FOR 4 LARGE SANDWICHES

The chickpeas in this recipe must be soaked overnight; you can not substitute canned beans or quick-soaked chickpeas because their texture will result in soggy falafel. A wire spider comes in handy here when cooking the falafel. Serve the falafel in lavash or pita bread with lettuce, pickled vegetables, and chopped tomatoes or cucumbers, or as an hors d’oeuvres with the tahini sauce as a dip. This recipe was published in our cookbookThe Best International Recipe.

INGREDIENTS

• Tahini Sauce

• 1/2cup tahini
• 1/4cup juice from 2 lemons
• 1/2cup water
• 2medium garlic cloves (about 2 teaspoons), minced or pressed through a garlic press
• Salt

• Falafel

• 6ounces dried chickpeas (1 cup), rinsed, picked over, and soaked overnight in water to cover by an inch
• 5scallions, chopped coarse
• 1/2cup packed fresh parsley leaves
• 1/2cup packed fresh cilantro leaves
• 3medium garlic cloves (about 1 tablespoon), minced or pressed through a garlic press
• 1teaspoon salt
• 1/2teaspoon ground black pepper
• 1/4teaspoon ground cumin
• 1/8teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 2quarts vegetable oil, for frying

INSTRUCTIONS

1. 1. FOR THE TAHINI SAUCE: Process all of the ingredients in a food processor until smooth, about 20 seconds. Season with salt to taste and set aside. (The sauce can be refrigerated in an airtight container for up to 4 days. Bring to room temperature and stir to combine before serving.)
   2. FOR THE FALAFEl: Adjust an oven rack to the middle position and heat the oven to 200 degrees. Drain the chickpeas, discarding the soaking liquid. Process all of the ingredients except for the oil in a food processor until smooth, about 1 minute, scraping down the bowl as needed. Form the mixture into 1 tablespoon-sized disks, about 1/2 inch thick and 1 inch wide, and arrange on a parchment paper-lined baking sheet. (The falafel can be refrigerated at this point for up to 2 hours.)
   3. Heat the oil in a 5-quart large Dutch over medium-high heat to 375 degrees. (Use an instant-read thermometer that registers high temperatures or clip a candy/deep-fat thermometer onto the side of the pan.) Fry half of the falafel, stirring occasionally and adjusting the heat as needed to maintain 375 degrees, until deep brown, about 5 minutes. Transfer to a paper towel-lined baking sheet using a slotted spoon or wire spider and keep warm in the oven. Return the oil to 375 degrees and repeat with the remaining falafel. Serve immediately with the sauce.

BFFs

My BFF announced herself at a superbowl party, maybe six years ago. We'd spent a fair bit of time together as friends-of-friends, acquaintances grown closer, and at the beginning of what we both hoped was a real friendship. I am ever grateful to her for recognizing it as the friendship it has now become.

We could be really good friends. BFFs. Shouted over shots, beers and Todd-nado, who was yelling GET SOME!!!! in my ear.

My heart lit up. Sometimes you say things over drinks that are exaggerated, overly enthusiastic. This time, we recognized and declared a truth. We could be really good friends. BFFs. 

From that moment in Queens Pub, Erin is family. I've adopted her parents, her childhood dogs, her in-laws, as an extension of my own familial tree. And our friendship has made me a better person, a better friend. I am so lucky to have this amazing woman in my life. She is incredible. Beautiful and loyal and smart. Funny as hell.

Erin drove home to Michigan from Washington, D.C. (three times) to take care of me when I was pregnant and right after I had my baby. She's cleaned the dirtiest rooms in my house. She snuck in and did the dishes and cleaned the stove grates when I was so pregnant I couldn't do dishes for more than a few minutes at time. She called me on hogging my pregnancy and helped me figure out how to confide in her, how to ask for help.

She's teased me out of my most childish moods. She's held my crying daughter. She cleaned up the upstairs bedroom, transforming it from the cat's lair to a nursery.

She's loved me through my most insecure, stubborn and reticent moments, when I am hardest to love.

She has helped me see the friendships all around me. The whole GR crew has become family because Erin has helped me understand all that love. I have new bravery to respond, reciprocate. On my own, I would have told myself that there was nothing special there. Convinced myself that those friendships were acquaintances, people who were being nice to me because they were good people, not because they truly saw something in me. I would have let myself be too busy with work and the insignificant details of life to commit to those friendships. I would have invented obstacles to keep these friends from getting too close, just in case they didn't REALLY like me and they were just being polite.

This would have been a huge loss. And frankly, just plain stupid. Good god, my insecurity must be maddening to the people who love me.

BFF, thank you for recognizing and declaring our friendship. Thank you for sticking with me when I get my priorities messed up. Thank you for loving me and Kevin the way you do. Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for being you. An incredible and strong woman, a loving mamma and wife, a loyal, honest and true friend. I love you. For realsies. Forever. No matter what.

xo

PS, your sunglasses are on my microwave, and I found a tiara on top of the vitamins.

PPS, the nursery is SPARKLING in the sunlight. Thank you so much for cleaning it up.

Novice cheesemaker

My cheesemaking journey began simply, turning milk from Hilhof Dairy into yogurt and kefir. I knew, even then, that I wanted to wander down the dairying path. Here is my first experiment with something that resembles cheese (read: requires setting a curd, cutting it, and cooking and rinsing).

Cottage cheese
Adapted from/inspired by recipes from Ricki Carroll and Mother Earth News

Equipment

• Stainless steel pot big enough to hold all the ingredients. You want one that has a lid that fits.
• Thermometer. It's awesome if it's the kind that can clip on to your pot. Mine does not, and I survive.
• Glass/pyrex measuring cup
• 10-inch kitchen knife

Make sure everything is clean when you start. I didn't sterilize, but if you have trouble with contamination, that'd be one thing to try.

Ingredients

• 1/2 gallon skim milk (thanks to Hilhof Dairy)
• 1/4 cup cultured buttermilk (the kind you buy in the store)

The milk I buy is pasteurized (but not ultrapasteurized). If you start with raw milk, everybody says it's best to pasteurize it so that you are starting with a bacterial culture that you pick (from the buttermilk). That's between you and your buttermilk. 

Step 1: Setting the curd

• Bring milk to room temperature by heating or just by sitting out in a pan while you get distracted by other chores. You're aiming for about 75 degrees. 
• I let the buttermilk sit out for a bit too, to bring it up to room temperature.
• Stir the buttermilk into the pot of skim milk. Cover, and place in a warm spot (70-75 degrees).
• Let it sit for 16 hours (at least), probably closer to 24. You want it to resemble custard.

Note: For weekday cheesery, I do this at 7 or 8 p.m., so that when I get home from work the next day, I can check it first thing. If it needs a few more hours, I am still ok to finish the cheese before bed. On weekends, or in my daydream farm life, I'd do it at 9 or 10 in the morning.

Tomorrow evening, I'll move on to step 2...

Step 2: Cutting the curd

Step 3: Cooking/heating to separate

Step 4: Draining and washing

Unexpected

I wrote this in August, three days before my sister and brother-in-law had their son Levi. In my first visit with them after Levi's birth, my head whirled through a thousand thoughts as I held the newborn. I marveled at his perfection, and all nine pounds of it. It's the first time a newborn didn't look all that tiny.

I found out two days ago that I am pregnant. I figured out yesterday that I am about 8 weeks pregnant. The baby-to-be already has some nervous system, some circulatory system, and is starting to develop a face. 

What? I think I just fainted a little bit.

On Monday, it started to move, which is (maybe?) what caused me to feel nauseous, and finally go do a pregnancy test. Let me say that again. It started to move. 

Fainting again.

By the time I publish this, I'll be at the end of the first trimester, sharing this unexpected news with the world.

We didn't intend to become parents. In fact, we were well on our way to having decided to forego that whole realm. 

This is all very unlikely. 

I never had a strong desire to be a parent. I never even felt a twinge of biological clock. And now that this is happening, I have an unperturbed sense of peace. We will live out this adventure, with as much love and learning as any other.

I thought it would be more complicated. 

I am not afraid. I am not torn with a desire to know what might have been. I believe that so much of what I have planned for my life will still come to be--just with an unpredicted twist.

It couldn't really be any other way.

To have made a decision to have a child, this would have been so much planning and pressure, we would have struggled to define our own experience. Having already set our course, this becomes simply a part of the journey.

It happens really fast.

I finally called my doctor, and went in for an official test. Yup, still pregnant. Prenatal appointments and a baby-industrial-complex span out in front of me. I find myself browsing sites about home birth, the things I should and shouldn't eat, and the week-by-week development of a pregnancy.

I smile a lot, especially at Kevin. It's a strange little secret we have between us.

I am waiting. My little sister goes before me in this, ready to deliver her baby at any moment. I will hold my news until I know we're past the largest risks, and until after she has had some time in the light.

It's all so unexpected. 

***
Announcements have been made, and the news has begun to sink in for all. My own reaction is still defined by peace and trust. Fourteen weeks have passed by, and the baby growing inside me is getting bigger and stronger every day. I am still amazed, grateful, hopeful. By now, I'm getting over the surprise. 

Worms and other weird things

First off, let's get the context.

I am a writer and project manager/consultant-type for a communications firm. I serve clients. I plan and develop communications strategies, write/edit/architect websites, analyze website usage data, write and advise on Facebook posts, and everything in between. I dress up for work, and I work in a beautiful downtown office. With other people who are consultant-types and creative-types, who also dress up every day and do a lot of brain work.

I'm also a hippie. I believe (fervently!) in living a life connected to the natural world--from food to weather to seasons, to human duty to act responsibly with our resources. It is this philosophy that underlies all my value decisions. I live in a small house, I camp out most weekends in Northport, dreaming (and occasionally making progress) about reclaiming an old farmstead.

And that differential—between business-day Amelia and farmer Amy—is what this post is about. For my friend and colleague Will, whose sharp mind, curiosity, humor and enthusiasm are eternally valuable, here is a catalog of things I do, that you will think are endlessly weird.

1 - Worms

I think this is what started the whole conversation. Worms, that eat your organic garbage, turn it into compost, and live happily in your house with you. They're efficient little fellas, and they live in a condo like this one. You fill each tray with moistened bedding made out of cardboard or newspaper, sawdust, chopped leaves, or other biodegradable goodness. You put in lots of worms in the bottom tray, and as you generate biodegradable waste aka kitchen scraps, you bury it in the bedding in the upper trays. The worms migrate up toward their food, and leave behind their castings, which are awesome for your garden.

You use red wigglers, and lots of them. I looked it up, it's more than 10. More than 50. Probably more than 1,000. It depends on how much compost you have to process. You buy them from a worm farm, by the pound.

Since I know you are DYING to know more, here's a better explanation: http://cityfarmer.org/wormcomp61.html#wormcompost

2 - Homemade dairy products

Yup, this one too. I make yogurt from organic milk (raw if I can find it) and a starter yogurt culture. It involves heating the milk, cooling it a bit, adding starter, and letting it sit at warm temperatures overnight. I eat it plain, straight out of a mason jar.

If you want Greek yogurt, you do just drain off the extra liquid from regular yogurt. Cheesecloth and a colander over a bowl in your fridge for a few hours does the trick.

I also make creme fraiche, by mixing buttermilk and heavy cream, and letting it stand on the counter overnight. My least-weird dairy recipe is ice cream.

I want to learn to make cheese. Real cheese of the smelly variety. Like the kind that ages in caves. I also want to have a miscellaneous assortment of milk-producing pasture pals, someday. A cow, a couple goats, a few sheep.

3 - Homemade beer

We brew our own. We drink primarily Michigan beer when we're out, but at home, we pretty much keep ourselves in our own beer, cider and mead.

We spend a few days a year, steeping grain in hot water to convert the starches, boiling the wort, adding hops, adding yeast, and waiting while it ferments away in a corner in the kitchen, five gallons at a time. In a bucket or a giant glass bottle.

I do still buy wine, but only because I haven't had time to figure out winemaking yet. Oh, and it comes in boxes now, which are quite tasty, and better for my recycling bin.

4 - Preserves

I put up vegetables every year, either from the market or from our own garden. This you will not find gross, but perhaps just a little strange. Pickled asparagus, cucumbers, beans, beets and garlic tops. The occasional pickled garlic and pickled eggs (ok, maybe you think that is gross. but it's really delicious). Roasted peppers and roasted tomatoes get popped in the freezer. Frozen beans, peas and fruit. We're nearly out of everything from last year--spring and early summer, before the first harvests, are known as the "hunger gap."

Someday, one summer soon, I want to try to grow all our vegetables. I realize I don't actually have time to be a farmer, so I'll have to keep buying meat and eggs from friends and the market. But, one day, we'll see if I can't more or less feed us out of our garden plot. Between that and a fishing license.... who knows?

5 - Diesel and grease

I drive a diesel Volkswagen Golf with almost 200,000 miles on it. My truck (an early 90s F-250 with about 150K on it) is also a diesel, and is parked behind the grape vines out back right now, because I'm trying to figure out how much to spend fixing it, and when. I fully intend to convert both vehicles to run on grease.

I am sure there are other, and perhaps stranger, things that I do, or want to learn to do. I may not even know they are strange. I like being quirky, dreaming up new ways or reclaiming old ways. I know its nonsensical, when you juxtapose back-to-the-earth-Amy with head-down-working Amy. I might be better off if I were in better balance.

And that, my friend, is the thing that has me scratching my head. How do we create an economy that has room for knowledge work and manual labors of love like growing and cooking food? How do we create space for people to be connected on the internet, and connected to their food source? What does a truly integrated life look like?

I'll be working on that daydream, from my desk, and from my garden.

One more cup of coffee

It's a rare Saturday morning that I wake up at home in Spring Lake, and I'm reveling in the quiet time. Listening to my dog snore softly, and watching the resident wild turkeys wander through the yard, and across the road. Fanning their tails, they're such beautiful and clumsy birds. I can't help but love them, and laugh at the bravado.

Spring has flown by, split between mundane and significance.

We watched our last sunset in Stevensville, and moved all of Grandma's furniture into the garage at home. I've watched my sister become more and more pregnant, expecting the first baby on our side of the family. I labored over TEDxGrandRapids, and waved goodbye to my team mates as I move on to other causes. We plowed in two enormous gardens in Spring Lake, and planted apples and asparagus in Northport. I learned to drive a tractor, and to love riding with Kevin on the Trail 90. Our second truck in six months purportedly needs brakes and a new engine. The 8N needs a new carburetor before we can sell it, and the garden tractor is up on blocks in the driveway. (Our neighbors LOVE us.) I spent last weekend catching up with my bff, and a slough of other old friends, moms and dads now, or like us, keeping parenthood a mystery. I already miss them.

Missing a sense of place

We joke about living on raw land in Northport, working in Grand Rapids and keeping our stuff in Spring Lake. It's a little bit true... This is the first time I've been home on a weekend in what must be months. I haven't kept track. I love my spread-out life, the peace of early mornings in our field when it rains, late evenings under the stars around the fire. I love the simplicity of home, the promise of the gardens. And yet, I yearn for the day when the two come together, and my homebody routine can reclaim me. I have so many projects I want to undertake, and so little time to devote, it's a constant compromise.

Two grandmothers

In our barn/garage and in our home, we're living amidst the physical memories of my two grandmothers. Furniture, keepsakes, pots and pans, small appliances, art, dishes. The things I cherish for the connection to their memories. Grandma Schaus, with her platinum hair, blue eye shadow, and brilliant smile managing circles around her world. I've claimed that heritage, the fierce independence, self-determination, tenacity, and stubborn stoicism. Bockie, with her soft wrinkles, set curls, and tiny feet. Her worries and fears, at one time balanced with fiery warmth and quick laughter. I miss that Bockie, before the darkening of her memory. I'm claiming the laughter, cultivating the warmth. And, for my own sanity, I need to figure out what to do with all the stuff I'm hanging on to...

A good at-home weekend

By the end of these two days, still stretched out in front of me, we should have a working garden tractor and a mowed field. Two gardens fully planted (vegetable rows in one, and three sisters in the other). A clean house--really, truly clean, not just tidied. I'm even going to dust. A refrigerator full of healthy food to get us through the week. Baby shower invitations out for my sister. A tidier garage. Hopefully a dinner with farming friends we can dream with.

For now, I'm off to the farmer's market, tractor repair shop, and on to the chores of the day.

A new menu

I have been a little behind on sharing menus. (Sorry Jenny... :)). It's getting to the tough part of the year to be inspired about eating. The first harvests are not all that far away, but we're still in the dregs of what's in the cellars—or forced to eat produce from the other side of the continent and beyond. It's also the time of year when the lull of January and February, when we stay home for a few weekends, has subsided. Schedules pick up, and every extra moment that isn't stolen by my paying job should be devoted to catching up on my garden chores. As always, I'm so far behind, I'll never catch up. Sigh.

On the menu

On the bright side, here's next week's menu, and it mostly means we don't need to stop at the grocery store this week.

• Sat: Chick pea salad with feta, parsley and lemony dressing
• Sun: Chicken stew
• (Meatless) Mon: Lentil soup and a big salad with bleu cheese dressing
• Tues: leftovers
• Wed: Roasted cauliflower with parsley pesto, roasted peppers and black beans
• Thurs: Garlic shrimp over wilted spinach
• Fri: headed up to Northport... veggies and black bean puree in the truck
• Saturday: something grilled in NP

Lunches: leftover soup and stew

Breakfast: yogurt, fresh juice, smoothies

Testing a juicer: Jack LaLanne's

Speaking of breakfast, we just got a juicer. They were on sale at Costco, and since I've been contemplating it for 15 years, I decided to just get one and try it. So far I have found:

• It takes a lot of carrots to make 2 glasses of juice
• It's probably great for my compost, but eventually I'll feel wasteful tossing all that pulp
• Garlic in the morning is not so much the ticket
• Carrots, spinach, lemons and celery taste a lot like V8 without the tomatoes and make a bracing but energizing breakfast

Speaking of breakfast... yogurt experiments

I have been in the last 3 months pretty much making all of our yogurt at home. I read something about a favorite milk producer giving in to Monsanto feed, and said EFF IT, I'm going to figure out how to make my own yogurt and cheese so I can buy milk from a neighbor I can trust.

So, for the moment, I'm getting all my milk from Hilhof Farms (via the health food store in town) until I can find a good dairy share where I can get cow's milk and goat's milk. And, here's what I'm learning:

• The first few times went great. Heat up the milk to about 140, cool to about 100, mix in jars with live yogurt culture, and let sit in the oven with the pilot on overnight. 
• The second few times..... not sure what happened. Flavor is great, but texture is too liquid. Either I'm not heating it enough, or the culture is weakened. We'll experiment with adding an actual bacterial culture to see what happens.

Credits

We'll use basic Cook's Illustrated recipes to make the lentil soup. I think I learned the Chick Pea Salad recipe from a Bon Appetit about a year ago. As always, props to Hilhof and Creswick Farms for our dairy and meat, and to the regular old grocery industry for the rest. I can't wait until we're more self-sufficient. I'm anxious to be in charge of my own food.

Now I better get to starting seeds, for real.

Spring is springing

Sarah and Bellamy, putting out the open sign for Tandem

Ten days ago, in Northport we enjoyed what might be the last big snow with friends. The adventure of lots of snow and no power, a great breakfast at Sarah and Steve's cabin, and one of the best days of the year so far, spent with the whole crew at Tandem Ciders, playing music, singing, and catching up.

Today is lovely and sunny, and the daffodils and crocuses are up and beginning to swell with buds. A bluebird is hanging out on top of the bird feeder post, just staring at me. It rained the first sweet-smelling rain of spring yesterday, and after the storms passed, the sunset brought fog and then clear stars. In the dark, I could hear the peeper frogs begin their first songs of the season. We are way ahead of ourselves... and it might very well snow again, but it is good to see the clear sun and feel its warmth.

Lenten Vows

We're co-opting Lent. We're not Catholic. In fact, we're not even really Christian. We believe in love and individual responsibility. Our cardinal rule is to live with integrity. So, what's up with the Lenten vows?

Two things

1. Lent is an excuse to participate in a cultural ritual with beautiful results. Self-imposed austerity--doing without--has a cleansing effect. It helps reset life, refocus intentions. It has a holistic dimension: spirit, body and mind are affected.
2. And, it's a convenient excuse to retool the way we think about some particular thing in life. What we give up for Lent, usually a vice or a bad habit, is symbolic. Forty days of doing without give us either a renewed appreciation for the thing itself, or help us move beyond it, let go of whatever it is that we needed before.

Reset: health

This year for Lent, we're changing the way we eat. We ordinarily eat fairly healthy foods, but in busy times (which seems like always, lately), restaurant meals and thrown-together dinners take precedence over thoughtful food. Easy pantry pasta. Roasted potatoes. Sandwiches. Two pizzas a week. Fish and rice. None of it is bad for you, but our consumption gets out of balance with our production. Meaning, we eat too much easy energy, without the chance to balance it out with care and investment of time and love. Literally meaning, we gain weight and we might be a little cranky.

The promise

Restore balance to our bodies: lose weight, build core strength, gain endurance

To do this, we decided to take a rather drastic measure for the duration of Lent: eliminate carbohydrates. After our fast is over, we'll go back to whole grains, albeit at a slower pace.

No pasta. No pizza. No beer, wine, whiskey or rum. No cereal. No sugar. Some are easy (like sugar... we consume very little of it.) Some are really hard (like pizza, which is a Friday night staple). It's a serious reduction in winter comfort food options. It challenges us to think about vegetables in more creative ways. And, it offers an interesting experiment: a byproduct of eliminating carbohydrates means we're gluten-free. I doubt we have a sensitivity to gluten, but I'll be paying attention just to see if it makes a difference.

The new menu

• Saturday: Spring mix with roasted citrus, toasted pecans and Greek yogurt
• Sunday: Vegetables à la barigoule (artichoke stew)
• Monday: (Still practicing Meatless Monday) Cauliflower "steaks" with tapenade and fava bean puree
• Tuesday: Poached fish and wilted greens
• Wednesday: Roasted beet and fennel salad with leftover chicken
• Thursday: Chick pea stew with squash
• Friday: Roasted celery root with buttermilk sauce, red pepper soup and wilted salad

For the freezer: Potato leek soup (using up those spuds, so we can eat them after Lent)
For lunch: Hearty cabbage soup
For breakfasts: Still figuring out what to eat instead of cereal and fruit...

Credits

I have been completely inspired recently by the Bon Appétit "BA Kitchen" section. Most of the dishes on this week's menu will be direct pick-ups or ideas based on recipes from the March 2012 issue. Inspired by my friend Laurie Arboreal of Eater's Guild farm, I'll be making my own yogurt and cottage cheese. Cabbage soup from the The Best Soups & Stews cookbook from Christopher Kimball's crew at Cook's Illustrated/Cook's Country/America's Test Kitchen.

In reserve

Of course, as I dream over what to eat, and what to put on the grocery list, I run across ideas that I'm saving for after Lent.

• French potato casserole (Cook's Illustrated, March 2012)
• Potato and fish puttanesca (Bon Appétit, February 2012)
• Shellfish and potatoes à la marinière (Bon Appétit, March 2012)

Two Menus, February 2012

First week

• Sat:was going to be a homemade meal, but ended up eating at Mia & Grace. (yum)
• Sun: road trip to Stevensville. Nourishment at The Livery.
• Mon: leftover chicken en mole
• Tue: I truly cannot remember what we ate...., but I made super tasty banana bread for Williams Group.
• Wed: Pulpo and risotto in a white wine and garlic sauce
• Thur: patatas a la riojana
• Fri: homemade pizza with red peppers, kalamata olives, and fresh mozzarella

Credits: thanks to Lisa Rose Starner for the mole sauce. It was awesome the second time too. Thanks to Creswick Farms for the chicken, and Kevin's trip to the Asian Market on Division for the pulpo. Banana bread recipe, courtesy Baking Illustrated.

Second week

This is advanced menu planning. We'll see how well we do at following it. (hint, things always change)

• Sat: fresh pasta al vino blanco
• Sun: roast chicken and something good I haven't thought of yet.
• Mon: baked eggs and greens
• Tues: Hearty cabbage soup
• Wed: roasted root vegetable salad
• Thur: poached fish with vegetable vinaigrette
• Fri: pizza

Lunches: carrot ginger soup, cabbage soup

Credits: pasta from Cook's Illustrated, March 2012--an issue containing many recipes that are inspiring. We've been subscribers for almost 15 years! Skillet eggs based on Bon Appétit recipe from Feb. 2012 (and the eggs overcooked... a technique that must require practice). Cabbage soup from The Best Soups and Stews.

Update: 2/23 - well, we barely followed that one. Life happened, I was too busy to remember what we ate, and much of this got recycled into the new menu.... c'est la vie.

Another menu - January 2012

Saturday: Carbonara with shrimp
Sunday: Grill-roasted chicken with grilled peppers and carrots
Monday: Tuscan white bean soup
Tues: Cauliflower "steaks" with roasted pepper, olive and turnip green tapenade
Wed: Pizza with leftover tapenade and fresh mozzarella
Thurs: Surprise! Dinner at Brewery Vivant with Luisa
Friday: Scallops in red Thai curry

Credit where credit's due

Carbonara and white bean soup inspired by Cook's Illustrated recipes. Thanks to Creswick Farms for the chicken. Cauliflower steaks and tapenade a variation on a recipe from the Jan. 2012 issue of Bon Appétit.

Building bridges

In the last week and a half, I have been involved in deep reflection, and hard conversations, about diversity and community. The essay that I write here is one ephemeral moment of thinking and processing what I have learned up until this moment. I'm feeling my way through this, not knowing where I'll come out. As I write it, I am continuing to learn and find my next step forward.

Here's the setup

This all started in a conversation through TEDxGrandRapids, where I volunteer on the core team. We have been aware that we can do more to ensure great minds from every corner of our community--every discipline, every race, every industry, every social scene--are at least aware of the event, so that those who might benefit from it can choose to apply. We are trying to remove at least the barrier of awareness and invitation. So we've been meeting with many people, and entering into hard conversations about diversity.  Some people are really glad we're starting the conversation. Some people think we need to do a lot more before they're willing to trust us. Some people think both things. And I believe they are all right.

Here's where it gets complicated

Diversity and community mean a lot of things, to a lot of different people. Cultural context and personal experience create a layer of meaning, and that meaning may or may not be shared. Sometimes, it's not even clear what that meaning is, because it's a visceral, emotional thing buried deep inside us, and wrapped up in our identity.

I was sharply reminded that our contexts have emerged separately, divided by history and the experiences of our ancestors. I became keenly aware, again, that our personal experiences are informed by day after day of living in this world and interacting with each other. Those interactions are sometimes damaging. And the more we hurt each other, the more we undermine our ability to find common ground and create a better community, better society.

We lose sight of the compassion and good intention that is there. We become fearful. We hesitate to extend ourselves and build bridges, because, frankly, it hurts. It's a lonely and vulnerable place. Building bridges means not belonging to either side. It means residing in the murky, volatile mess of it all, and attempting to navigate by love anyway. It is no easy task.

It is personal

I love people. I love our human potential, and I am patient with our flaws. I place high value on broad perspectives and diverse experiences. Welcoming everyone is really important to me.

I start from trust and love, and a knowledge that I am imperfect, but that I will keep trying, and each time I try, I'll learn something that broadens my view, challenges and improves what I know about the world, and makes me a better person. I can't see any other way of existing in this world.

As I have struggled with defining my experience of the last week, and the reality of the pain that has surfaced through misunderstandings and missed opportunities, I was reminded by my friend Luisa that I am abnormal. I know she's right. My unique experiences span languages, religions, continents, art, science and literature. Poverty and wealth. Rural and urban. I am privileged to have shared in a huge portion of human experiences. I suppose this uniquely equips me to build bridges across many divides. Perhaps this is the gift I am meant to give the world.

My wish

That we can all embrace our abnormality, and love each other for it. I want to sit at a table with people from every corner of experience, and I want to share with them. I want to share responsibility, learning, perception, experience. I want us to find reconciliation, patience and goodwill.  I want a community that is willing to care for each other, hold each other accountable, trust each other, forgive each other. I can't help but believe this is possible.

I guess I have started to codify my work. And now I need to start thinking about how to bring it about.

Thanks for listening. This post isn't a defined body of articulate thought. It's a reflection at this single moment in time, my effort to learn and grow. If you have suggestions about bringing people together, and creating community, I'd love to hear them. I think we'll do this work in an unusual, unexpected way, but I don't know where the path leads, or even really how to recognize it. 

On the menu

For years, I have made my grocery list from a menu. I started this right after I graduated from college, and Kevin and I had to make careful decisions about what we bought at the grocery store, because our limited dollars had to buy enough food to last us until the next trip. I made Kevin choose between wine and steak more than once.

Now that we're in a different financial position, I have kept this tradition of menu planning, because it means that we eat healthy, home-cooked food. It's better for us all around.

Living frugally is still a goal, driven by philosophy more than necessity. Living simply is an intention, a purposeful choice. For my own reflection in a year, and in case anyone else might be inspired to spend more time in the kitchen, I am going to share the weekly menus.

More than meatless Monday

In January, we're extending meatless Monday to several days a week. It's better for us, and better for the planet. Here's to health, and feeling better about bikinis come June!

Week 1 

(finish up the holiday leftovers...)

• Sunday: garden tomato soup and sandwiches (thanks Kelly!)
• Monday: Split pea soup with the rest of the holiday ham 
• Tuesday: Roast chicken with fava bean purée and a salad 
• Wednesday:  Stir fried vegetable matchsticks with sautéed mushrooms
• Thursday: Carrot-ginger soup and grilled cheese sandwiches
• Friday: pizza with the leftover holiday duck, roasted red peppers and kale

Week 2

• Saturday: Free day (surprise party) 
• Sunday: Chicken and dumplings 
• Monday: Skillet-baked eggs with wilted kale and yogurt sauce (inspired by Bon Appetit)
• Tuesday: Lentil soup 
• Wednesday: Macaroni and cheese with spinach and roasted peppers 
• Thursday: Fish en mole 
• Friday: Pizza 

Credit where credit's due

Props to Creswick Farms, where Nathan raises healthy, happy chickens, and to Behren's Hens at Beechwood Acres, and Rebecca, who drops eggs off at WYCE for Kevin to bring home. Also, thanks to Lisa Rose Starner, who made the salsa mole and traded us for some cider at the GRap Food Swap this fall.

May you all have a chance to enjoy good food, good health and good company.