Welcome to my world

Faded beauty

If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant.

– Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672) 

I walked extra early one morning this week; the fog hung thick, making everything look misty shades of brown or gray. Depressing some might say; but I love to walk along our paths in every season and almost always find something inspiring or uplifting. 

This time of year I'm on the lookout for early signs of spring: daffodil leaves poking up, grape hyacinths sending up spikes of urn-shaped flowers, lenten roses nestled in the snow with their heads turned downward, witch-hazel showing off its shaggy, spidery winter blooms. But I'm finding nothing. Nada. It's been an unusually cold couple of months and I'm thinking spring will be slow to come to Farm Dover.

I'm trying to make the best of it, knowing that I have no control over Mother Nature. On my recent foggy walk, I picked a bouquet of flowers. Granted they were dead flowers – in various stages of decay – but nevertheless beautiful in their own degenerated way. I brought them inside and arranged them in old ginger beer bottles and assorted pottery jars.

Then, a few days later, I spied a deserted American Goldfinch nest in a flower stem. I added it to my dead-flower collection.

I have to tell you this gothic show of decay isn't really doing it for me. I'm itching to purchase a bouquet of orange tulips from Whole Foods. But I've promised myself that I will refrain from purchasing flowers from far-off lands when I have acres of native flowers and grasses to pick from, just outside my door. Still, it is tempting....

In an effort to bring new life into the house, I've cut some branches from a wild pear tree, pruned some twigs from our orchard trees and snipped some blossoms from the magnolia bush in the bee garden. I put them in vases filled with warm water,  hoping to force them into blooming.

Perhaps these coerced blooms will be enough to cheer me until the circle of life pushes forth new growth and I can pick fresh flowers to my heart's content.

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From my archives: Some photos from previous years, when spring bore her gifts early.

December 31, 2015

January 26, 2016

January 30, 2013

February 5, 2016

Empty days; Full days

For more than 100 days we did not travel any further than the 26-mile drive into Louisville. For those who know us, you know that this is highly unusual behavior. As much as Ed and I love our life here on Farm Dover, we also love traveling to new destinations or checking back in on the places we go to time and time again.

I can't explain it. We were just happy at home these nearly four months. We had been away much of the summer and early fall and contented ourselves with tending to the land, the house, the cottage.

And then there were days when rain would settle in or snow would blanket the paths and fields. Days of bitter cold. Ed would build a fire. I'd undertake a soup or stew. We'd read. We'd nap.

Here's how poet May Sarton describes these days and the need for them:

I always forget how important the empty days are, how important it may be sometimes not to expect to produce anything, even a few lines in a journal. A day when one has not pushed oneself to the limit seems a damaged, damaging day, a sinful day. Not so! The most valuable thing one can do for the psyche, occasionally, is to let it rest, wander, live in the changing light of the room."

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This past weekend we abandoned our still, quiet life and headed to Brooklyn/NYC. We took in the metropolitan sights and sounds; stayed in a hip hotel tucked under the Brooklyn Bridge; ate Italian, Thai, and American food; drank craft beer, and experienced art with an edge. But best of all, our hosts were daughter Mary and her boyfriend Brian. They were exceedingly kind to us.

I was reminded how much I do love to travel. How exciting the world beyond our gravel drive can be. How traveling as much as we do makes us good travelers.

We are back at home now, and happy to be here. But now I've got the travel bug and am already dreaming of all the places we can go in 2018....

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Highlights

1 Hotel Brooklyn Bridge, 60 Furman Street, Brooklyn. Boutique hotel located just next to Brooklyn Bridge. Beautiful views; thoughtful design.

Grand Central Station Oyster Bar, 89 E 42nd St. New York. A New York institution which I had never been to. We met for beers and oysters before heading to dinner.

Restaurante Grifone, 244 E. 46th St. Old-school (and a bit old-fashioned) Italian restaurant that we had taken each of the kids to on their 13th birthdays. Nice to see that not much had changed in the decade since we were last there.

Fort Defiance Cafe and Bar, 365 Van Brunt St., Red Hook. Restaurant near Mary and Brian's loft where we brunched on Saturday. Loved it.

Pioneer Works, 159 Pioneer St. Art gallery in Red Hook. Amazing exhibit by Anthony McCall: Solid Light Works. See it if you can.

Other Half Brewing Company, 195 Center Street, Brooklyn. Fun (and young) craft brewery.

Pok Pok, 117 Columbia St. Brooklyn. Best Thai restaurant ever (Michelin Star 2014 and 15). I'd go back in a heartbeat.

First Presbyterian Church, Brooklyn. The most welcoming, diverse church service I've ever attended. Fabulous choir and piano/saxophone/drums.

Minetta Tavern, 113 MacDougal St., West Village. Great old tavern with a classic vibe. Also Michelin starred.

Whitney Museum of American Art, 99 Gansevoort Street, Meatpacking District. Nice way to spend a morning looking at art in beautiful surroundings. We moved from floor to floor by the outside stairs, featuring fabulous views of the meatpacking district, High Line, and skyline.

Another year; another transformation

Here comes another birthday. Don't get me wrong: I'm delighted to be having another birthday, but don't really feel like doing a lot of celebrating. (I'm still recovering from Christmas.) I've been trying to talk Ed into celebrating with me on July 19, rather than January 19. He's about convinced. (He's still recovering too).

Debbie, circa 1960. Artist unknown.

Whether we celebrate this weekend or in six months doesn't really matter. But the fact that I will be turning a year older in just a couple of days, does give me pause. It always does. As you may recall, two years ago I pondered the fact that I was turning into a tomboy; and last year, I announced that I was transforming into a late-in-life protester. I'm declaring 2018 as the year I dip my toe (or my paintbrush) into making art.

I've always considered myself artistic, but never ventured very far into validating it. I figured there would be a time for art somewhere down the road. But now that I find myself somewhere pretty far down that road, I better get started on that dream. So, I've signed up for a drawing class. It meets on Mondays for 8 weeks. Santa brought me all the supplies that I will need. It is just a small step, but a step nevertheless.

I'm excited and a little fearful. What if I don't have any talent? What if everyone in the class is way ahead of me? Or heaven forbid, what if I find great joy in drawing and want to spend all my waking hours making art? The uncertainty is scary and exhilarating at the same time. This class will surely be a time of growth and learning, perhaps a transformation. Creating art is something that I've always wanted to do – here I go. Who knows, perhaps this year, I'll turn into an artist!

Joy of Cooking

All the kids were home for the holidays. (In fact, Jack just left to go back to Berlin on Saturday afternoon.) Let me tell you, there has been some serious cooking going on in the Farm Dover kitchen for the past three weeks.

Granola, life-changing bread and Snug Hollow pancakes for breakfasts, oyster stew, bean soup, and Mary's favorite vegetable soup for lunches, butternut squash lasagna, osso buco, chicken cacciatore and Christmas cheeseburgers for dinners. And let's not forget the pumpkin pie, mincemeat cookies, eggnog, homemade peppermint ice cream, and bread pudding for desserts. Oh, and cheesestraws, lots of cheesestraws.

I don't regret one single bite; for, along with the calories came time in the kitchen cooking with, and for, those I love the most. It was a time of great joy.

Having said all that, I was delighted when Jack suggested that he might cook us a Chinese dinner a few days before he was set to leave. It felt great to turn the planning, chopping, cooking – even the cleanup – over to him. Dinner was delicious. He is an accomplished cook, but I also think that food made with love always tastes better.

The next day, Jack announced that he wanted to bake a poppy seed cake roll. It was something he had ordered with coffee often in his travels around Europe and wanted Ed and me to try it. He had packed two bags of poppy seeds in his carry-on luggage, found a recipe on line, and set to making us this Old-World sweet treat. The recipe sounded complicated to me, but I wasn't the one trying to figure it out. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he ground the tiny poppy seeds in the coffee grinder, proofed the yeast, cut butter into a flour mixture, kneaded the dough, rolled the dough out into a rectangle, spread the poppy seed filling to within an inch of the edges, rolled the whole thing up like a jelly roll, allowed it to rise for an hour, and then baked it to a golden brown. It turned out beautifully, both to look at and to eat.

Jack is now gone back to his life in Germany. But each morning this week, I cut a slice of the poppy seed roll, fill my coffee mug, and, as I nibble away at his lovely creation, I think about how happy I am that he, and his two sisters, all are accomplished cooks -- and seem to get as much joy cooking for others as I do.

P.S. While his poppy seed roll was rising, Jack went down to the pond and joyfully skated round and round the ice. His mama hopes that he finds such joy in all the challenges he undertakes this year. Love you buddy. And miss you too... 

Reset 2018

Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right.

– Oprah Winfrey

We've been home since mid-September, the longest stretch that I can remember spending here at Farm Dover. I was happy to get back to the farm after a busy summer and fall of travel, and the farm seemed to be happy to have us back. Until this recent cold spell, Ed and I had spent most of our days outside, working on various projects that were calling out for attention.

And then there were the holidays.... Jack was home from Berlin. Mary and her boyfriend Brian flew in from Brooklyn. Maggie and Nate came Christmas Eve. So that night, the house was full – and my heart was even fuller. 

But they lead busy lives.... On Wednesday, Mary and Brian took off for a few days in Portland, Oregon. Jack has gone up to Indianapolis to spend the New Year's celebration with a friend from college and his family, who have very nearly adopted him. Maggie and Nate are entertaining friends at their home in Louisville. That leaves Ed and me to quietly welcome the new year. 

I've been thinking much about the new year. When the kids were young, Ed and I would try to carve out a few hours between Christmas and New Year to talk about the direction we wanted to focus our lives in the coming 12 months. We had categories! We had goals! We had action plans! And, for the most part, it was a helpful exercise. It was always surprising to look back at year end to discover that we had accomplished many of the plans we had set forth, despite all the crazy day-to-day living that was going on under our roof. 

I don't feel the need to dissect my life to that extent any more. I am who I am, and mostly happy with that person and the life she leads. Still it never hurts to do a bit of introspection, to shift focus a few degrees, to hone a new skill. 

And so this week, I hauled out that old planning format and considered a few of the categories: Farm. Self. Marriage. Family. Friends. Community. I noted a number of tasks that I wanted to tackle under each category. Once done, it looked more like my weekly "to-do" list than a stab at meaningful resolutions. And that's when it hit me. I don't need more to-dos or resolutions. But I could benefit from an awareness of my intentions for the new year. What do I want more of? Less of?

And so off I went on one of my internal dialogues – thinking hard, arguing with myself, making notes and revising them.

More moonlight/sunrise/starlight. 
More poetry/music/art/science. 
More touch. 
More gentleness to the earth/self/others. 
More intention. Less autopilot. 

That's it. Well, that's mostly it.

What about you? Do you make resolutions? Focus on intentions? Choose just one word for the year?

Whatever works for you, I hope you know that I am sending you wishes for a very happy new year, and another chance to get it right.

Just Call Me Mrs. Green Jeans

My wardrobe is quite minimal these days. Since moving to the country nearly seven years ago, I've been continually culling my clothes. No more suits or evening wear; no more pantyhose or high-heeled shoes; no more leather bags or jewelry. I care little for fashion. I'm not interested in being a trendsetter.

Other than our Thursday trips to Louisville and Sunday church, I rarely dress up. In fact, most days you will find me wearing overalls, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a shabby straw hat: the perfect ensemble for working in the garden or tromping through the woods. Nice and roomy; lots of pockets.

I hate to shop – especially for clothes. I order my overalls online, whenever I realize that my current ones are too full of holes and stained beyond redemption. I recently replaced my old brown overalls with a new pair of green ones. They remind me of Mr. Green Jeans.

If you are anywhere near my age, you might remember Mr. Green Jeans as Captain Kangeroo's sidekick. Because I watched the children's show on our mid-1960's black-and-white TV, it never occurred to me that his last name was created based on the color overalls he wore. Years later, I remember being flabbergasted when I saw a rerun of the show and realized that his jeans were green.

My on-line go-to source for overalls has always been Wisconsin-based Duluth Trading Company. I was a little baffled when I heard that Duluth was opening a store in Louisville on historic Whiskey Row. I was also a little curious. So last Thursday afternoon, instead of picking Ed up at his downtown office, he met me a few blocks east on Main Street to check out the new store. 

Sure enough, they carry women's overalls. I'm not sure how much demand there will be among Louisvillians, but I wish the new store the best.

Who knows, perhaps I am becoming a trendsetter. Now wouldn't that be amusing!

Gardening Without Work – Ha!

At the age of 87 I grow vegetables for two people the year-round, doing all the work myself and freezing the surplus. I tend several flower beds, write a column every week, answer an awful lot of mail, do the housework and cooking–and never do any of these things after 11 o'clock in the morning.
                                                                                    – Ruth Stout, garden expert and lovable eccentric

Ruth Stout is one of my heroes. Before she died in 1980 at the age of 94, she claimed, "I never plow, spade, sow a cover crop, harrow, hoe, cultivate, weed, water or spray." If you follow her method of keeping a thick mulch of straw (and other organic matter) on your garden she swears that you too can garden without work. Sounds good, doesn't it?

I read her delightful book six years ago and I reread it every winter. I can't say that I garden without work, but I do believe that her methods have cut down on the amount of work that my garden requires. Every fall, I put down a layer of cardboard and cover it with a thick blanket of straw.

I get the cardboard from the Shelby County Recycling Center and Ed fetches me six bales of straw at a time from a neighbor on Highway 53. The cardboard and straw keep the weeds (mostly) at bay and break down over time, creating richer soil. 

I had planned to finish putting down the cardboard and straw yesterday. I went to pick up another load of cardboard, but pulled into the recycling center just as mounds of cardboard were being loaded into the large baler for compression. Oh well, another trip; another day.  

I switched plans and decided to do some garden cleanup, harvesting the last of the crops from the garden: fennel and sweet potatoes.

I deadheaded the spent zinnias, saving the seed for next year, and composted the plants. 

The hard frost from Thursday night zapped the nasturtiums, so I combed through the limp leaves and flowers, looking for the large seed pods to dry and save for next year's crop. 

I even weeded my asparagus, pulling up lots of chickweed that will make a nice salad. (We've had dandelion salad a number of times this past week. I figured out that the leaves are not so bitter once the weather gets cooler.)

To beat the frost, I've been working in my herb garden as well. Earlier this week, I harvested much of my lemongrass, freezing some for later use and making lemongrass concentrate (for lemonade) with the rest. 

=

My gardens aren't the only things that need end-of-the-season attention. Maggie was out last weekend getting her bees ready for winter survival. She consolidated some of the boxes and brought up several frames of honey for me to extract. 

Ed has on his end-of-season list to clean and sharpen our tools and to clean out the blue-bird boxes, so they will be ready for spring nesting. He also wants to move the owl house as it hasn't attracted an owl family in its current location. 

The list goes on. There is always more to do than energy/time to do it. I was talking to son-in-law Nate yesterday about some details on the guest cottage renovation that he is doing for us. I thanked him for all his work, to which he responded: "It's really not work; I enjoy doing it." Perhaps that is the secret for gardening without work: I just need to reframe it as time spent doing something I enjoy. 

Stranger Things

Before we left for Spain, I cleared out one of my raised gardens – except for some zinnias in the back of the bed and some nasturtiums that were overflowing in the front. But the center of the bed was completely bare, ready for some new strawberry plants. 

When I came back, some very strange things had overtaken the bed. These things were plants that looked a bit like tomato vines. On each plant hung dozens of even stranger fruit, small berries surrounded with papery husks. Once popped out of the husk, the yellow fruit tasted both sweet and tart, a bit like a pineapple, with the faintest taste of a cherry tomato.  

I knew immediately what had engulfed my garden. A few years ago Maggie had brought me three tiny ground cherry plants (Physalis pruinosa) from Madison, Wisconsin. Other than those original plants, I've never again planted them. But every summer a few volunteers pop up, which I usually pull out of the garden, thinking they are weeds. Some years there are a few; some years they are many. 

I was travelling when they appeared in early September and without me to pluck them, they took off like crazy – creating a tangly mess of about a dozen plants, each about three feet tall and equally as wide. The fruits are ready to harvest when they fall to the ground – earning them their ground cherry name. (They are also known as cape gooseberries or husk tomato.) They are in the same genus as tomatillos – hence the similar papery husk – and the same family as tomatoes. 

Over the course of the month, hundreds fell. I put a few on my cereal, popped some into my mouth, topped salads with some, and the rest I turned into a chutney to serve with chicken or pork or to pour over cream cheese or a hard, sharp cheese, such as Manchego. Delicious.

I've still got a bucket full to husk tonight. Maybe I'll try a ground cherry pie...

l

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Ground Cherry Chutney

Adapted slightly from Edible Paradise

Makes 5 cups

ingredients

6 cups ground cherries, husked and rinsed
2 cups sugar
1/2 cup water
1 cup apple cider vinegar
2 cups onion, chopped
1 cup red bell pepper, chopped
1 cup golden raisins
1 tablespoon coriander
1 tablespoon mustard seed
1/4 teaspoon teaspoon ground cloves
1-2 teaspoon(s) red pepper flakes, depending on how much heat you like
1 teaspoon salt (or more, to taste)

preparation

In a heavy sauce pan, combine sugar and water, and slowly bring to a boil, stirring. Add vinegar, onions, pepper, raisins, coriander seed, mustard seed, ground cloves and red pepper flakes. Cook until onions and peppers are soft. Add ground cherries, bring mixture  to a boil. Reduce heat to simmer and cook until most of the cherries have burst and mixture has thickened.

Remove from heat. Allow to cool and store in a glass jars in the refrigerator. Or, pour chutney into sterilized jars, top with lids and process in hot water bath for 10 minutes.