Time of Enchantment

Today marks the vernal equinox, when night meets day as equals, marking the beginning of spring. Around Farm Dover, winds are softening. The grass is greening. Ramps and radishes are sprouting. Peonies are unfurling. Maple trees and magnolias are budding. Orchard pears are in full bloom. And watch out! The honey bees are crazy to get out of their winter hives and find sweet nectar and pollen.

Nature awakens. It is a time of enchantment....

Waging a Campaign of My Own

Topping the list of things I am thankful for these days is the fact that I'm a life-long Democrat (much to the chagrin of most of my family and many of my dearest friends). The ugly rhetoric, the name calling, the bullying, the incredibly poor manners on display by the Republican Presidential candidates make me ill. I can't believe that these guys are running for the highest office of our nation. It's embarrassing. No, make that appalling. I also find it more than a bit scary.

Come November, I'll vote with great enthusiasm for either of the Democratic candidates: Hillary or Bernie – I like them both. A lot. In the meantime, I'm turning off the TV and turning my attention to waging a campaign of my own. It's a campaign to bring nature home to Farm Dover by sustaining wildlife with native plants.

I'm starting with a grassroots effort to increase the number and kinds of caterpillars that call Farm Dover home. I'm debating about how best to increase insect diversity and create a balanced community.

I recently read Doug Tallamy's book: Bringing Nature Home and then Ed and I had the good fortune of hearing him speak a couple of weeks ago, courtesy of the Glenview Garden Club.

We learned that most insects are specialists and eat from only one or two plants. And those plants must be native to the area. For example, the caterpillar of the monarch butterfly eats only members of the milkweed family. No milkweeds – no monarchs. In the last 20 years, the monarch population has dropped by 90%, corresponding to a loss of milkweed due to roadside management practices, intensive agriculture and the the extensive use of herbicides. Imagine a whole generation of kids growing up without Monarch butterflies to chase. Breaks my heart.

The birds that Ed and I love so much rely on caterpillars and other soft insects – not seeds or berries – to feed their babies. No caterpillars – no bluebirds, bobwhites, meadowlarks, sparrows or any of the other 59 species we have identified on our farm walks. I'm even rethinking my dislike of tent caterpillars. I've come to understand that while they might gobble up a few leaves on a wild cherry, they also make a tasty lunch for a nest full of bluebird fledglings.

So, our campaign to increase the beneficial bugs involves planting native woody and herbaceous plants that support the species we are trying to encourage. For example, oak trees support 543 species of butterflies/moths. You read that right: 543. Black cherry trees are in second place with 456, followed by native willows at 455. We have tons of oaks in our forests, but last week, we planted another 90 white oak seedlings. A few years back, we planted some wild cherry trees that are now taller than Ed. Around our pond, dozens of willow trees have sprouted.

Bush (Japanese) Honeysuckle, on the other hand, is a non-native species that is highly invasive and supports zero, yes that's right, zero butterflies/moth species.

We are working with Margaret Shea, owner of Dropseed Native Plant Nursery to extend our front meadow by featuring a multitude of wildflowers, including: St. John's Wort, Boneset, Coneflower, Mountain Mint, Rattlesnake Master, Bee Balm, Eastern Bluestar, Culver's root, Ashy Sunflower, Showy Goldenrod, False Blue Indigo, Gray Goldenrod, Joe Pye Weed, Compass Plant, Devil's Walking Stick, Foxglove Beardtongue, Maryland Golden-aster, Wild Quinine, and Trumpet Honeysuckle.

Each of these native plants were selected to encourage specific wildlife. The goldenrods, for example, support 115 species of butterflies and moths; the asters support 112.

Last month, the girls and I visited the Audubon Butterfly Garden and Insectarium in New Orleans.
I promise not to kill and stick a pin through any butterflies that make their home here. 

I can hardly wait for summer around here. You might find me someday up in an oak tree, trying to find 500+ species of caterpillars. Or chasing down a butterfly with my camera.

Sure beats worrying about who will be elected our next President...

Slow down, you move too fast

As Paul Simon reminds us: You got to make the morning last.

I left off my latest travel story with Ed and me dropping our girls at the New Orleans airport, after a fun weekend in the Big Easy. From there, we drove north to Natchez, MS, our beginning point for taking the Natchez Trace Parkway home.

We opted to take the two-lane parkway, with a speed limit of 50, that follows the historic trace from Natchez north to Nashville. Commercial traffic is prohibited. There are no billboards, no McDonald's or Starbucks. Just 444 miles of scenic highway that closely follows the original foot passage used by Native Americans, "Kaintucks," and settlers – and even before that, the bison and other game that moved between grazing the pastures of central and western Mississippi and the salt and other mineral surface deposits of the Cumberland Plateau.

The route generally traverses the tops of low hills and ridges of the watershed divide. We figured it would take us an extra three hours of so of driving time. We didn't figure in the time we spent stopping and exploring along the way.

We spent the night in Natchez and toured the historic town on the Mississippi River the next morning, before finding the entrance ramp to the Natchez Trace Parkway. The trees were not yet leafed out and a soft rain fell for most of the day. That didn't stop us from enjoying the drive. For the first two hours, we did not pass a single car coming from the north. And we saw only a handful of cars the entire day. We had a map that noted places of interest and so every few miles we'd find ourselves pulling off to explore.

Sunken Trace, part of the original trace.

Cypress Swamp

Bynum (ceremonial) Mounds, built between 2050 and 1800 years ago.

We made a stop in Tupelo, MS and headed to the Tupelo Hardware Store
where Elvis' mom bought him his first guitar.

No guitar for me – a whisk broom and twine instead. 

As dark came on we realized that we needed to get off the parkway and find some dinner and a place to sleep. Not much to chose from. We ended up getting off just south of Nashville and headed east to Columbia. Part of the Trace was closed for repair, so we didn't get to do the final few miles. We did however drive almost 400 miles of it.

It was perfect. We were happy to slow down and not move too fast. After all, we were looking for fun and feeling groovy. 

Listening to the cosmos

I know I promised that I'd write about our trip home along the Natchez Trace Parkway – and I will, soon – but I wanted instead to write today about a project that I started early last month – one that has been percolating along on my kitchen countertop. And now I can't wait any longer to experiment with it and share it with you.

I made spiced preserved lemons. And I'm hooked.

I had run across mentions of preserved lemons in a number of recipes, but never paid that much attention to them. Then Ed and I started planning a trip to Morocco and I got interested in all-things-Moroccan, including preserved lemons, which often appear in Moroccan dishes. Then, I read this blog about them. Then Sister Kathy casually mentioned that she wanted to make some, but had not gotten around to it. Then it was her birthday and I was trying to come up with a creative gift. And the cosmos just seemed to be telling me that it was time to bring some preserved lemons into my life. So, I made a couple of jars for myself and packed a birthday basket of Myer lemons, coarse sea salt and Weck glass jars to give to Kathy. 

Then came the hard part. I had to leave them alone for one month. (Well, actually, I had to shake them up every few days to distribute the salt.) When one month was almost up, I couldn't wait any longer. I opened one of the jars, took out one lemon, rinsed the salt off, cut away the pulp, and used the preserved rind in this recipe for Moroccan Chicken with Lemon and Olives. The very next day, I used some on a batch of smashed potatoes. And the day after that, I made some risotto with preserved lemon. See what I mean: I'm hooked. 

My plan is to use them whenever a savory dish needs a bit of pop. I'm imagining them on fish, mixed with cooked grains, as an aioli ingredient, as a relish, with braised lamb, in a cocktail, the list goes on and on....

There are lots of recipes out there for preserving lemons. I used this one on the Local Milk blog, but left out the juniper berries, only because I did not have them in my spice drawer. I think Kathy made some plain ones, without any of the spices. 

They are easy to make and take only a few minutes. Now would be a good time to make some for yourself (and perhaps a second jar to give as a gift) as Meyer lemons are in season. I think you could make them with regular organic lemons, but I love the way they work with the soft-skinned Meyers. 

Go ahead. Make some. You will be glad you did. Then tell me how you use them.

More Galloway Travels

While 4/5s of our family was living it up in New Orleans last week, Jack was off on an adventure of his own. He had a couple of weeks off from his teaching job for the Chinese New Year and took off with friends to Taiwan. (Yes, he was there when the recent deadly earth quake struck, but fortunately, was 200 miles from the epicenter.) From there, he travelled alone to Burma (Myanmar).

I thought you might like to see some of his photos. I think they are quite good -- but, then again, I am his mother...

A Swing Through the South

Ed and I have been off on one of our road trip adventures; it started with a few sunny days of fishing at the Juniper Club (which I have written about before: here, and here), followed by a quick overnight stop in Destin to visit with my Godmother, and then on to New Orleans, where we met up with our girls. Making our way home, we took the slow and scenic Natchez Trace Parkway from Natchez, MS almost to Nashville, TN.

Just to capture the highlights...

It's always great to get to Juniper, one of my favorite places in the world. The sky was blue; the fishing good; the live oaks dreamy; and as an added bonus, we saw (fairly upclose) a beautiful bobcat making his way down the gravel road. Where is my camera when I need it!

We left Juniper on Wednesday and headed to New Orleans, making stops in Apalachicola for lunch at Boss Oysters, a visit with Margie in Destin, and a tour of the USS Alabama in Mobile Bay.

We arrived after dark in New Orleans and hotwired a hotel in the Garden District. It was lovely, as was the walk down Magazine Street to Coquette, where we sat at the bar and began our food odyssey.

The next morning found us at the National World War II Museum and it was phenomenal – definitely worth a morning or even longer, even if you are not a history buff.

From there, we made our way to Couchon, where we caught up with daughter Mary, who had flown in from NYC that morning.

We checked into our Bourbon Street hotel and spend the afternoon walking around the French Quarter. I had never been to New Orleans and I have to tell you, the French Quarter is an introvert's worst nightmare: too many people, too much mid-day drunkedness, too many sounds and strange people to take in. This isn't to say that we didn't have fun – but most of it was away from the Big Easy's most famous streets.

Maggie got in late on Friday night and came directly to the cozy uptown restaurant, Gautreau's, where we were having the most lovely dinner. I now was with two of my three children and my husband, eating duck confit and drinking a New Orleans original Sazerac.  If Jack had been with us, it would have been perfect.

Saturday morning we were up and out early, standing in a quick-moving line for chicory coffee and powder-sugary beignets at Café du Monde, while being entertained by street jazz musicians playing the old standards.

To work up an appetite for lunch, we walked over the to St. Louis #1 Cemetery and learned about the strange burial rituals of a city that is slowly sinking. Then it was back to the French Quarter for lunch at Felix's Resturant and Oyster Bar: crawfish, gumbo, raw oysters, wood-roasted oysters, fried oysters. Really messy, but great fun.

Ed headed back to hotel to catch up on ballgames and the girls and I headed straight to the Audubon Butterfly Garden and Insectarium. Not sure it is everyone's cup of tea, but we three loved it.

We then met up with Ed, called an Uber, and headed out of the mayhem. Mary had this idea that we should go to funky wine bar in the Bywater neighborhood. It was a great idea. While Maggie and Ed scouted out a table, Mary and I selected a bottle of wine and two hunks of cheese. We were given our open bottle and a number, and made our way upstairs, stopping to pick up four wine glasses. Shortly, a waiter appeared with our two cheese selections arranged on a platter with sour dough bread, pecans, and fruit chutneys. As the sun went down, we kicked back and enjoyed ourselves. Good call, Mary!

From there, we rallied for dinner back in the French Quarter at Galatoire's. I loved it that Ed had to don a sports coat to be seated. The place felt like it probably hadn't changed much since it opened in 1905; the service was excellent, but truth be told, we were just not up to another fancy meal. Still, I'm glad we went.

Sunday morning, we went to First Presbyterian Church and then on to brunch at Patois in uptown and then a little afternoon shopping along Magazine Street, back in the Garden district. (Yes, Maggie did the entire weekend, without complaint, using a crutch – as she was recovering from a tumble down some stairs.)

All good things must end, and so it was that we dropped the girls at the airport and we headed home. I'll tell you about our adventures along the Natchez Trace Parkway in my next post. All this writing about food is making me hungry. I'm off to the kitchen to try to recreate a dish that Mary had at Patois: Southern cauliflower hash. Wish me luck. 

Celebrating the Year of the Red Fire Monkey

Today marks the Chinese New Year, the year of the Red Fire Monkey. I only know this because Jack (who lives in China) let us know that he would be traveling with friends to Taiwan and then on to Myanmar for the Chinese holiday.

From two years ago, when we traveled to China to visit Jack

I also was aware that it was the Chinese New Year today because our Chinese friend Shoating (aka Ting a Lin) sent us a wechat message this morning that included a virtual red envelope with 5.20 yuan of lucky money (about $.79) that is to be deposited into our virtual wallet. Thank you Shoating. What a thoughtful gesture!

Evidently this giving of money in a red packet is the thing to do when celebrating the Chinese New Year. It is a way of sending good wishes and luck. Wrapping money in red paper is hoped to bring happiness and blessings to the receivers. Oddly, the red packet is called  yasui qian, which means "suppressing ghosts money." Those who receive a red packet are wished another year negotiated safely and peacefully.

So this afternoon, I prepared a New Year's red packet for Jack and tucked it into a red Valentine's card. I love this mixing of cultures. But both messages are meant to let Jack know that we love him and wish him great happiness and blessings in the coming year, negotiated safely and peacefully.

Happy Year of the Red Fire Monkey to all – especially to Jack and his friends in China.

Birds and Bees

Even in the middle of winter, there is a long list of Farm Dover outdoor projects that need attending to. This weekend's efforts centered on birds and bees. No, this didn't involve a discussion of where babies come from. Rather, it entailed figuring out how to spiff up the beehives and clean out the bluebird houses.

Almost two years ago, Mary and I spent a week in Paris with Sister Julie and Niece Sarabeth. While there, I was on a quest to find those blue enamelware house numbers that appear on every home in Paris. We finally found them in the hardware-store heaven of the BHV Department Store (basement level) on the Rue de Rivoli. I bought numbers 1 thru 6. They were expensive – but cool – and I had a plan.

Flash forward two years. Today, the numbers went up.  Now, each of our beehives has a home address, in the hopes of making it easier to keep track of their health and honey output.

Tacking the numbers onto the front of each hive was simply not going to happen in the warmer months as the resident bees would have been too curious (and probably none too happy) at the hammering that was required. But this morning, we stuffed a bit of cloth in the small winter opening of each hive and quickly tacked up the appropriate number. (Numbers 1 and 2 and 6 are reserved for future hives that will be installed this spring.)

To make up for the loud hammering, I fed each hive a jar full of bee tea, a concoction of herbs, sugar and honey designed to ensure that they will have enough to eat until the first locust trees flower in the Spring. The bees seemed happy -- with both the sweet treat and their new house numbers.

Meanwhile, Ed has been cleaning out old nests in our four bird houses, getting them ready for Eastern Bluebirds to set up housekeeping this Spring. Next up will be to clean out the owl house.

In other bird news, we had the idea that we should put out bird seed in a shallow bowl in hopes of attracting more winter birds. Instead of birds, look who showed up.

Smashingly Good

I did what I always do when I'm confused, lonely, or frightened.
I disappeared into the kitchen.

– Ruth Reichl

If you read this blog on a regular basis, you know that I occasionally post recipes. I do this for a number of reasons: 

• 1) to share a recipe that I'm excited about  
• 2) to memorialize one that is a long-time favorite in the Galloway household 
• 3) to pass down the recipes to Maggie, Jack and Mary. They can just "search" for a recipe, saving me from typing it out and sending it to them
• 4) and sometimes so I won't forget about a recipe that I tried and loved. 

Today's recipe falls into category 4: tried and loved.

I made it last week and liked it so much I'm making it again today so that I can share the recipe with you. Even my "non-cooking" friends can manage this one. Super easy and incredibly delicious. Crispy and creamy. Zesty and sea salty. Roasted, not fried. What could be better?

Here's the back story behind the recipe. For my birthday, friend Patrice gave me a copy of Ruth Reichl's new book,  My Kitchen Year: 136 Recipes that Saved my Life. For those "non-cooking" friends I should explain that Ruth Reichl was the editor of Gourmet magazine when it was abruptly shuttered by its parent company in the fall of 2009. Ms. Reichl was stunned by the announcement (as was I) and as she struggled to process the demise of the magazine, she turned to the one place that had always provided sanctuary. "I did what I always do when I'm confused, lonely, or frightened," she writes. "I disappeared into the kitchen."

For the next year, she slowly healed through the simple pleasures of cooking. While writing this book – part cookbook, part memoir – Ms. Reichl found solace in her kitchen. I found comfort too. And I found this recipe...

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Crisp, Lemony Baby Yukons

ingredients
3 pounds baby Yukon Gold Potatoes
   (I used baby red potatoes instead)
3 cups chicken stock
1-2 lemons
2 cloves garlic, smashed
olive oil
sea salt

procedure
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Put the chicken stock into a medium-sized pan and stir in the lemon zest. (I used a vegetable peeler and ended up with nice wide strips of zest.) Add the potatoes and the smashed garlic, bring to a boil, cover and cook for about 12 minutes.

Drain the potatoes, reserving the lemon zest from the stock. Put the potatoes on a sheet pan that is liberally covered with olive oil. Gently flatten each potato, using the back of a chef's knife, a rolling pin, or a small skillet. Drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with sea salt and the lemon zest. (I diced the zest into small strips, once it had cooked in the broth). Roast in the oven for about 20 minutes, until the potatoes are crisp. Sprinkle with lemon juice and a bit more salt. Serve hot.
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Before roasting.

After roasting.

Warning: they are addictive. Bon appetit!