A Slow Start

                                          "We've told ourselves that everything needs to be so big.                                                                             Actually, we can just breathe out and live quiet small lives." 

-- Katherine May

My niece, Laura, asked me at Christmastime if I had ordered my garden seeds yet. One of my sisters has settled on her word for 2024. Another sister is starting piano lessons and a ceramics class. And another is committed to 30 Days of Yoga with Adriene. From every direction, I'm being reminded to set goals, make resolutions, organize my life, leap into action, chase new dreams. 

I have done none of these things. 

January is my quiet time. Like most creatures, I require a time for withdrawing, a time for hibernation. 

That doesn't mean that I spend the entire month sleeping -- although I do usually find myself tucked under the comforter after lunch and in bed well before 10 p.m. It just means that I take it slow. Most mornings, Ed reads for a couple of hours and then heads out to chop wood for our greedy fireplace. Even if the skies are gray, I try to go for a walk along our trails, looking for signs of animal life, a spark of magenta color from seeds on a coralberry bush, a rare winter mushroom sighting, or perhaps a fallen tree that may need our later attention with the chainsaw. In the afternoons, we might tackle a small chore such as cleaning bluebird houses along the drive or moving a bucket or two of mulch -- nothing very demanding.

Back at the house, our lunches are mostly a jar of soup from the basement freezer and maybe a cheese sandwich. Dinners are cobbled together from leftovers or, if I'm feeling particularly creative, a simple stew featuring sweet potatoes, harvested back in October, wrapped in newspaper, and stored in the basement.

On the rare occasion that we do go out, it is usually to Kroger to pick up a few items -- or get a Covid booster. Ed reads with first graders at Simpsonville Elementary on Friday mornings while I putter around the house. Most Sundays, we go to church, either in Simpsonville or in Louisville. 

When we sit down to dinner, I often ask Ed, on a scale of 1-10,  how happy he is to be home. He always says he is an 11, and I always agree.

This weekend, Hazel and Norbert will come for a sleepover on Saturday.  It is supposed to rain/snow, so we will spend the day building sprawling creations with Magnatiles, carefully wrapping Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus in tissue paper and carrying the manger set to the basement for storage,  coloring cards for Great Grandpa Norb's 92nd birthday, decorating sugar cookies that Patrice so generously cut out, reading a chapter or two of "Little House on the Prairie," and, perhaps a winter hike or some splashing in the driveway puddles. I'm a believer that children also need some slow time.

This slow time won't last forever. We are anxiously awaiting the arrival of grandchild #3, expected in just a couple of weeks in Brooklyn. We will need to bond with this precious girl and help some (surely) tired new parents anyway we can. 

Seed catalogs will be poured through and packets ordered for spring planting. Before too long, hellebores will bloom, and daffodils will poke their green tips up. Ed's tree seedlings will bud out and need to be cleaned out around and mulched. The slow time will be over and the time of growing and nurturing will begin. We will be rested. We will be ready. 

Leaning into the Light

And so we come to the end of January. This first month of the year seemed long, with days upon days of grayness, anchored at both ends by leaden darkness. 

Granted, the month afforded time for rest and reflection -- for stillness — especially after the holidays full of to-ing and fro-ing. There was time for reading by the fire and for cooking vats of soups and stews. There was time for brewing endless pots of tea and for streaming shows that everyone else had talked about for months. 

But now the calendar page nears turning and I find myself leaning into the light with an open heart. I find hope in the lengthening days. I linger a little longer by the kitchen window watching the sky turn pink as the sun inches its way over the tree line.

I sense time passing, bringing with it an assurance of the ever-so-slow return of life to the woods and meadows. The pussywillows just outside our study window show off their furry catkins; the star magnolia's gray villous buds appear at the ends of their spiny branches; and the hellebores send forth blooms that I can see only when I kneel on the soggy earth to peer up at their drooping heads. Soon the first snowdrops and early daffodils will grace the orchard ground and the tiny buds of  grandmommy's sedums will poke up. 

I know that spring must be coming as my days of hunting/gathering have officially commenced for the year. Yesterday, I successfully foraged for clumps of bittercress to turn into a vibrant pesto for our shrimp dinner. 

Before long, tender wild mâche lettuce will blanket large swaths beside our trails and ramps will return to the creek's edge. Early dandelions, chickweed and wild violets will offer up their goodness. 

And before I know it, spring will have returned, as sure as the sun rises.

Do You Need New Year's Resolutions? (I Do)

Woke up this morning to a new year. Thought it was Sunday, so I posted my weekly "Sunday morning" photo to Instagram. Jack texted me to remind me that it was Saturday. How embarrassing!

But that's the problem I have been having of late. Because we are still hunkered down at Farm Dover, hiding from Covid, I lose track of the days. Church is no longer part of our Sunday mornings. Ed no longer goes to Rotary on Thursdays and I no longer can visit my Dad on those days (or, sadly, any day). Ed tapes any show we want to watch, so, if we like, we can watch CBS News Sunday Morning on Tuesday at noon.  

I've lost my daily structure. My lack of routine has made my internal clock go haywire. No wonder I'm confused. 

Four years ago I declared – with much confidence – that I no longer needed New Year's Resolutions. To quote myself: "I don't feel the need to dissect my life to that extent any more. I am who I am, and am mostly happy with that person and the life she leads." 

I take that declaration back. I'm finding that I do need some new routines with a defined schedule to anchor the days of my week. So I'll be working on resolutions that help me do that. 

In the meantime, I did stumble across a resolution that resounded with me: to grow/produce at least one food consumed each day throughout the year. I can do that, I thought. Easy peasy. A low-hanging fruit kind of a resolution. 

I probably already do it, without thinking. My freezer and pantry are well-stocked with Farm Dover products. From jams and jellies to pestos and soups, from elderberry gin to walnut wine, from gallon bags of frozen blackberries to jars of honey, from frozen squash and zucchini to pumpkin puree. Surely we can make it through the winter from this stock and then the meadows take over in early spring, offering up all kinds of foraged treasures. Asparagus and strawberries almost magically appear in late spring, followed by a multitude of garden summertime produce.

It did occur to me that if I made this a resolution, I might be more intentional about feeding us from our gardens and meadows -- and feel more gratitude for each of these gifts of nature. I'm even thinking of getting an old-fashioned calendar, hanging it in my pantry, and noting on it what we eat from Farm Dover every day. It would allow me to track my success with this resolution -- and confirm the day of the week as I write it down. Let's hope it works!

Wishing you and yours a happy and healthy new year. May you always know the day of the week!

Return of the Light

May you find peace in the promise of the solstice night,

that each day forward is blessed with more light.

12.19.21 @ 7:49 in the morning

That the cycle of nature, unbroken and true

Brings faith to your soul and well-being to you.

12.12.21 @ 5:33 in the evening

Rejoice in the darkness, in the silence find rest,

And may the days that follow be abundantly blessed.

12.20.21 @ 7:59 in the morning

(author unknown)

Welcoming in a Happier New Year

As I'm sure you know by now, I love to concoct homemade beverages – alcoholic or not – everything from milkweed and elderflower cordials to elderberry gin to wine made with green walnuts. Some are tastier than others; all are fun to make.

For Christmas, friend Alisa gave me a small book called "Blotto Botany," which has a whole section on making bitters. I can't wait to try to make some in this new year. Before I could even figure out which bitters to try first, I was sidetracked by another recipe that I came across on Gardenista, one of my favorite blogs. The article was about how to make homemade orange-spiced wine. 

The recipe looked simple enough. I had all the ingredients except for two bottles of not-expensive Sauvignon Blanc wine, which Ed picked up this week at our local Kroger wine shop. All I had to do was open the bottles and bring their contents to a boil, along with a half cup of sugar, a quarter cup of Grand Marnier and the same amount of Sambuca. I then added 4 bay leaves and 8 whole cloves. While the mixture was coming to a boil, I carefully peeled the zest from four oranges, trying hard to keep the peel in one long spiral. 

Sister Julie had recently given me four recycled bottles. I stuffed a spiral into each of the bottles and then filled them with the hot mixture, making sure each bottle also contained one bay leaf and two cloves. I left them uncorked to cool while I went to work on labels. 

Last night, Ed and I uncorked a very chilled bottle of the stuff to ring out the old year and welcome in a happier new year. We took a sip. It was delicious. We polished off the bottle. (Don't worry: it only amounted to two glasses each.)

Although its ingredients included Sambuca, an anise-flavored Italian liqueur, it didn't have any hint of a licorice-like taste. So, if you think you don't like anise, don't be put off from trying this. 

The bottles should be kept chilled and consumed within a month – but if you like it as much as we did, that won't be a problem. 

Cheers to a happier year!

What's making you happy?

Many of the things that made me happy a year ago are now impossible – things such as sharing a memorable meal in a faraway place with some or all of my family. 

Today, my happy moments come in the everyday unfolding of life here at Farm Dover. They are usually triggered by a sensation – something seen, heard, smelled or tasted.  Here are some of the small joys that have revealed themselves in recent days. 

Coffee in bed/early morning light: On these dark December mornings, Ed, who usually gets up before me, makes coffee and brings me a hot mug of it along with my iPad. I wake slowly, often staying snuggled in until I see dawn breaking against a flaming horizon and eventually, the first light on our bedroom wall.

Owl hoots and starling murmurations: A Great Horned Owl has taken up residence at Farm Dover. We saw it for the first time at dusk as Ed and I drove up to the house after my Dad's funeral. He flew up from the driveway and perched on an eave, silhouetted against the darkening sky. I now listen for his evening hoots and find strange comfort in them. 

Most nights – just before dusk – huge groups of European Starlings come together to roost. Before settling in for the night, they will twist, turn, swoop and swirl across the sky in beautiful shape-shifting murmurations. 

Photo by BBC.com

Snail mail: Most afternoons Ed and I walk the half-mile drive out to the mailbox, where I get great pleasure from finding a stack of holiday cards or handwritten letters of condolence. 

Cheesestraws sliding off the baking sheet: This year, granddaughter Hazel is my cheesestraw apprentice, and a worthy one at that. She helps mix the ingredients then tries her very best to turn out the squiggly dough onto the ancient baking sheets, which once belonged to my Grandmommy. The sheets are rimless on two sides allowing the baked and cooled cheesestraws to easily slide off – with a swoosh – into ever-growing mounds.  Hazel and I sample one from every batch.

FaceTime calls: Many mornings of the week we get a call from Hazel wanting to say "hi" or show us what treat she discovered in her Advent calendar box for that day. Such a great way to start the day. The highlights of our Sunday are always calls from Mary, Brian and Saltie from Brooklyn and Jack and Kasia from Berlin. Just seeing their faces and hearing their voices make me happy. 

Saltie, waiting patiently for her turn to FaceTime

Winter fires and tangerines: We keep a wood fire burning most evenings. Ed splits the wood and brings it up from the woodpile out by the garden and then feeds it to the fire all evening long. I love to peel a tangerine and toss the peel into fire which sends the citrus fragrance out into the room. 

Dressing as twins with a two-year old: When Hazel was visiting last week, we dressed as twins. It completely satisfied my happiness quotient. 

Happily wedded couples and healthy newborn babies: As hard as 2020 has been, there have been bright spots that include the marriage of Dan and Allie, and Jeananne and Justin, and the birth of baby boy Tripp to Claire and Donald.  Life does go on and I hope 2021 finds us spending time with the newlyweds and rocking newborn babies. 

Photo by Tara D Photos

So my question for you is: What makes you happy these days? I hope you can find ways to include more small joys into your everyday life. Sending love your way...

Growing Like a Teepee Vine

We've been sequestered at Farm Dover for more than half a year, 23 weeks to be exact. But that doesn't mean things have come to a standstill. In many ways, just the opposite. Ed's beard grows long; the ragweed and goldenrod in our fields grow tall; and granddaughter Hazel grows up. 

Back in May, we created a teepee for Hazel to play in.

Neighbor Sandy provided the 8-foot bamboo poles, which Maggie lashed together. I cut some willow branches and soaked them in the pond before weaving them horizontally through the bamboo.

We planted some beans, cucumbers, marigolds and cosmos around the base. 

And then we watched and waited...

Ed (with assistance from Hazel) faithfully watered the tiny seedlings.

And we watched and waited some more...

Slowly the vines started to grow. And so did Hazel. 

She turned from a toddler who wobbled unsteadily as she ran to her teepee into a confident explorer of the world of Farm Dover. 

She made her teepee into her own special spot, sharing books with Roo and snacking on green beans picked from the teepee's vines. 

Hazel and her teepee have been a bright spot during this strange time, a reminder that life goes on. Growth continues. We all need a special place in this crazy world –  a place where we can explore and grow. A place to which we can retreat and feel safe. A place of beauty. May you find yours....

Celebrate, when the time feels right

I never liked celebrating my birthday. It wasn't that I minded turning a year older. It wasn't that I don't like to be showered with attention and thoughtful gifts. It wasn't even that I don't like cake. It was none of that.

Rather, it was the timing. You see, I was born on January 19th and the very thought of celebrating so soon after the holidays just made me crazy. All I wanted to do in mid-January was hibernate.

And it wasn't just me. No one in my family or dear friends really wanted to figure out another gift or eat more celebratory food. All they wanted to do was hibernate.

A couple of years ago, I was grumbling about this unfortunate birthday business and curmudgeonly joked to Ed that I thought I should just change my birthday to July 19th. Then, I thought no more about it.

Fast forward to that July 19th, a Thursday. Like every Thursday two years ago, we drove to Louisville for Ed to check in at work and go to Rotary and for me to visit with my Dad and run in-town errands. Ed suggested we stay in town for an early dinner. As we pulled up to Holy Grale, Maggie appeared from around the corner, with gift in hand. And Ed magically pulled out a present from the back seat. They had colluded to celebrate my birth that night. A tradition was born, a wonderful, embraceable tradition.

This year, my week of celebration began on Thursday, with an alfresco lunch with girlfriends, continued on Sunday with dinner with Maggie and family and calls from Mary and Jack, and culminated today with a very early morning outing to Bernheim Forest for a hike to experience "Forest Giants in a Giant Forest," an art installation by Danish artist Thomas Dambo. The installation is comprised of three large structures placed throughout the arboretum built using recycled wood from the region.  I can't tell you how cool (and gigantic!) they are. They won't be there forever. So, get yourself down to Clemont, Ky. and see for yourself.

Mama Loumari

Little Nis

Little Elina

Sunrise over the Big Prairie at Bernheim

My favorite forest giant

Friends, willing to celebrate my birthday on the date of my choosing

Help from Hazel; wild blackberry pie by Maggie

So, thank you to all who made my birthday so happy. I am truly grateful.