Finding A Way Forward

I’ve been writing these posts for nearly twelve years. This is my 748th one. Taken together, they provide a glimpse into my life — the good, the bad, the ugly, the sad. Today’s post is a sad one.

On Tuesday, I lost one of my oldest and dearest friends when Karen Wunderlin died suddenly of a pulmonary embolism. She and her partner, Mark, were in Snowmass Village for some serious skiing, a sport that Karen had enjoyed every winter for the past 45 years. They had plans to head out for a full day on the slopes. She died early that morning.

How could this be? I couldn't believe that she was gone and I couldn't imagine life without her. My world was turned upside down. I wasn't sure I could find a way forward.

Karen was an amazing woman who made a big difference in this world. (You can read her lovely obituary here.) But today, I want to tell you about the difference she made in my life -- and the lives of my children. 

Karen was one of the first people I met when I moved back to Louisville after college, 40+ years ago. Our lives quickly became intertwined. For more than 30 years, we lived no more than 10 houses apart. Our children were best friends, as were our husbands. Together, we celebrated weddings, baptisms, birthdays, holidays and all the days in between. We also mourned together the loss of loved ones, skinned knees, and life disappointments. We shared meals, vacationed together, even shared office space, often working on projects together.

I can say, without a doubt, that I would not be the same person I am today without Karen in my life. Karen's obituary notes that her sense of possibility was contagious and goes on to say, “Her energy and joyful intensity lifted us up and made us better."

She made me better, that's for certain. She was my encourager and #1 cheerleader. 

    Let's go skiing in West Virginia, she would say.
    I've never skied before and I'm not very athletic,  I would reply. 

    Let's put our girls in preschool together, she'd say.
    Are you kidding me? School starts in a week and there is no way we will find two spots, I'd say.

    Let's move our home offices to a real office on Frankfort Avenue, she'd say. 
    Hmmmm...that sounds complicated and scary, I'd say.

    I have a client who wants a website. I need you to create it.
    I've never done that, I'd say.

You get the picture. Karen was usually the one with the grand idea; with her encouragement, I'd go along, often being the one to implement details to make her grand ideas happen. She was my ying. I was her yang. Together, we made an awesome duo. 

But how Karen treated my children is what is the most telling about her -- and about her big heart.

When Son Jack turned nine, she brought over a large pan of homemade tiramisu for his birthday. It made him exceedingly happy. But the best part of the gift was her commitment to bring him one every month for the next year, always on the 9th of the month. Twelve tiramisus. Really! Who does that? Especially given how busy Karen was with her own family and work commitments. For Jack, it was an act of love that I'm sure he will never forget. 

Daughter Mary had a hard time deciding where to go to college. The deadline for deciding was at midnight and she simply could NOT decide. With three hours left, I told Mary to put on her jacket and go down the alley to Karen's -- and not to come home until she had a decision. Forty-five minutes later, she was back -- with a firm decision. To this day, I don't know what Karen said to her, or what questions she asked her, but I do know that each of my children have looked to Karen for her sage advice.

Karen has always been there for Maggie, our oldest, acknowledging every milestone, every accomplishment. In 2015 Maggie was invited to ring the closing bell of the NASDAQ, an honor that was bestowed for having won a business plan competition. When Karen heard that she was headed to NYC, Karen booked a ticket and was there cheering her heart out for Maggie. Really? Who does that. Especially given how busy Karen was with her own family and work commitments. For Maggie, it was an act of support that Maggie will never forget. 

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I have spent the last few days in an unsettling fog. The only other time I have felt this discombobulated was another Tuesday morning, more than twenty years ago. Karen and I were at our office when we got a call to turn on the TV. We watched in horror as two planes hit the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center. Our world was turned upside down. By Friday of that week, we were worn out with worry, distraught about our country, anxious about the future. 

    Let's gather our families and head for the woods, said Karen. 
    Yes, let's do,  I replied. 

We piled five kids, four adults, sleeping bags, tents and coolers into two vans and headed for a campsite, far from news of the world in turmoil.

We pitched our tents and just as the sun went down and the stars came out, David picked up his guitar and began to play. After an hour or so -- and after singing all the verses of Alice's Restaurant -- David began to strum Kumbaya. Julie began to sing, then Jack added his voice: Kumbaya, my Lord, kumbaya. Then we all joined in, asking the Lord to Come By Here. It was our soft-voice anthem of togetherness, our plea for peace. On that starry night, it was just what we needed to be comforted and find our way forward.

May all of us who so loved Karen come together, remember her goodness, and begin to find a way forward. Rest in peace, dear friend. You are loved.

Celebrating Norbert

Sometimes the smallest thing can take up the most room in your heart.

– A.A. Milne/Winnie the Pooh

Last weekend we celebrated one-year-old Norbert. Parents, sister, grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts and cousins gathered for a cozy afternoon of family time. 

Cousins sang their happy birthday wishes to their youngest cousin who seemed to relish the attention and his first taste of cake.

Even though he is only one years old, he certainly takes up a lot of room in a lot of people's hearts. 

We love you, Norbert. Happy 1st Birthday. 

If Only Quilts Could Talk...

Blessed are the piecemakers. -- anonymous

I organized the upstairs linen closet this week which is only remarkable in that our closets are never very organized (or don't stay that way for long.) This job was long overdue. When I would open the door, pillows would tumble out. You get the picture. 

I took everything out and started folding the quilts, tucking them neatly back into the closet.

All of a sudden, I was not alone. I was upstairs with three loving spirits: Ed's grandmother, Mama Fitts (Eliza Bristow Fitts); my paternal grandmother, Ree (Marie Hettiger Carpenter) and my maternal grandmother, Grandmommy (Mary Blacklock Rinehart), for these were the ladies who stitched together all the quilts that our family has found comfort in over the years. Forts have been built; children have been tucked in; fragile items have been wrapped; tables have been set; picnics have been laid; and Christmas trees have been skirted. If only quilts could talk...

Every one of Mama Fitts' quilts was used as a tablecloth for this engagement party.

Sister Sherry's birthday party, featuring Grandmommy's star quilts

Four little beds: all ready for grandchildren

Each treasured quilt is a work of art. I only wish the artist had stitched her monogram in the bottom corner. But even without initials, I can tell whose hand stitched each quilt.  

Mama Fitts' quilts are all tiny postage-stamp coverlets, patchworked together from outgrown or outworn clothes. Ed can even point to a tiny blue patch made from a shirt he wore as a young child. 

Mama Fitts

Many of Mama Fitts' quilts we inherited from Ed's mom; they are the ones Ed remembers growing up with. They are well loved (i.e. well worn) and in need of some repair. Others came from his Aunt Gladys, who never had children; those quilts are in much better condition. 

The quilts made by Ree are all appliquéd, most with orange and yellows poppies on a white background, with scolloped edges. She made quilts for each of her nine grandchildren, a gift to each upon their marriage. I remember having pretty intense conversations with her about when I might get my quilt if I chose to never marry. We settled on age 35. 

Ree (with Grandpoppy)

Grandmommy's quilts are geometric and of traditional design: mostly stars and rings. But my favorite is one she made for me when I was born: two lambs appliquéd in the softest cotton and palest of blue, pink and yellow fabrics, now faded nearly to white from 65 years of use. If I look hard enough, I can just make out my name: Debra Lynn Carpenter and my birth weight: seven pounds, eleven ounces, embroidered on the border. 

Grandmommy (with me)

These quilters were born more than a century ago; none of their children or grandchildren showed any interest in the craft of quilting. But I'm encouraged. Daughter Mary has taught herself how to quilt and has made a quilt for her nephew, Norbert. Amy, Sister Sherry's daughter, is an accomplished seamstress and perhaps quilting will be in her future. And Sister Julie's twin daughters, Katie and Molly, are both amazing and accomplished artists that love hand crafting.

Norbert, happily playing on Mary's quilt

So, who knows, perhaps quilts will once again be produced by the women (or men) of our family. I hope so.

On a related note...

Last spring Ed and I traveled to Paducah, KY and while there, spent an afternoon admiring the quilts at the National Quilt Museum. If you are ever in the area, you should go. 

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)

Tornado Destruction Becomes Intensely Personal

"That snapshot looks like it could have come from one of our Christmases," was Jack's first reaction when I showed our kids the photo that Ed found in our fields yesterday. It was of two young girls, with hair that looks red -- much like Maggie's and Mary's. The younger child is holding a bell -- much like the one that hung on the Bailey's tree in "It's a Wonderful Life."  

When Ed picked up the photo, it was wet, but perfectly intact. We wondered where it came from. Then, I remembered that friend Ellen had found an old photo of a young woman this past weekend while on her daily photo excursions in The Parklands of Floyds Fork.

That evening, she posted the photo to a Facebook page created to reunite found items from the tornado with the owner (or family): Quad State Tornado Found Items. Within half an hour, she had a response from Haley Burton: "My Nana." 

Haley's Nana, Judy Miller, and grandfather, Billy Miller, both died in the tornado. Seven others have found photos that belonged to the Millers. There was a story about it in yesterday's Washington Post. Ellen is quoted, "I hated the universe and loved the universe with such intensity. I hated what had happened. I just loved that we could get something back to these families." 

Taking a page from Ellen's book, I posted our found photo to the same Facebook site. And within minutes, I got a message from Rachel in Madisonville. "That picture is of me and my sister. I'm on the right." She continued: "My parents lost their house (in Princeton, KY) and my dad lost his life. I would be grateful if you can send the photo to me." 

I had no words. It floored me to realize that a paper photo could survive -- and turn up 160 miles away -- but a house and a dad were lost forever.  When asked what I could do for Rachel and her family, she simply said: "Just pray for my mom." I am, and I hope you, my readers, will too. 

I've come to find out that Rachel's mom is in critical condition at Vanderbilt Hospital. There is a Go Fund Me page set up to help Rachel's family. I've made a contribution and hope you will consider making one as well. 

I can't help but think about Clarence from "It's a Wonderful Life" who comforts a deeply depressed George Bailey with a little secret: "Every time you hear a bell ring, it means that some angel just got his wings." My wish for all who have lost so much: may you find peace and comfort in the days ahead.

___________

Update to post: A news station in Nashville broadcast this story about Rachel's family. 

Making a Better Bitters

Last December, Friend Alisa gave me a small book that she suspected I would like. I do, very much. Called Blotto Botany, written and illustrated by Spencre L.R. McGowan, it offers lessons in making cordials and other plant magic. Between its covers, there are dozens of recipes for cordials, and chapters on producing shrubs, bitters, and herbal medicinal remedies. 

Taking a page out of this book, I recently bottled up my latest foraging experiment: bitters. (And no, for the record, I did not get blotto.)

After researching bitters and how to use them – both in cocktails and as a digestive aid – I set out to create my own version using burdock root from our fields, berries from our spice berry bushes and fennel seed from my herb garden. Loosely based on this recipe from David Lebowitz, I added orange peel, a cinnamon stick and gentian root. I covered the ingredients in Everclear alcohol and waited three weeks, shaking the jar daily. Then, I transferred the finished tincture to small eyedropper bottles. 

Sunday evening, Ed and I did a taste test between our homemade bitters and two others that we just happen to have in our liquor cabinet: Fee Brothers Orange Bitters and the classic Angostura Aromatic Bitters. Not to brag, but we were both impressed by how well the Farm Dover version stood up to these industry standards. Ours tasted like tropical oranges with spicy overtones. The Fee Brothers was much more floral; the Angostura, more herbal. 

According to this article in Wine Magazine, you can think of bitters as the salt and pepper of a cocktail. One or two dashes can drastically change the flavor profile of a drink. Something magical happens when you add bitters to a Manhattan, Martini, Old Fashioned, Negroni (or any number of other cocktails): the nuances of flavor bloom and the cocktail tastes slightly drier, more balanced, and complex. 

You can also use bitters as a digestive aid, letting a few drops sit on your tongue before or immediately after a meal to improve gallbladder and liver functions. Alternatively, a dropper full can be added to sparkling water for a barely alcoholic beverage.

Whether we end up using our bitters to augment the flavor of our favorite cocktails or simply for their health benefits, it was easy to make our own version. Cheers to a delicious cocktail and to good health! 

One pumpkin goes a long way...

It all started earlier this month when my three sisters came to lunch at Farm Dover. The four of us had not been together in far too long. We had a lot of catching up to do and did so over bowls of Pumpkin Black-Bean Soup that Sister Kathy had made. It was delicious: rich and hearty, earthy and warm. 

Fast forward three weeks and I was still thinking about that soup. I was also getting tired of looking at a giant pumpkin that grew in my garden and had taken up residence on my kitchen counter.  It was time to take action (and the timing was perfect as Son-in-law Nate had sharpened all of my knives while we waited for the turkey to cook on Thanksgiving.)

Last night, I sliced the pumpkin in half and scooped out the seeds. The pumpkin was so large that I had to roast half of it at a time. It produced A LOT of pumpkin flesh. 

With the first half, I made a large pot of Kathy's soup and froze three jars of pumpkin purée, each containing enough to make a future pot of soup. 

The roasted second half was designated for pumpkin butter which I use in my pumpkin pie recipe. The pureed pumpkin was added to my slow cooker, along with cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and ginger. I now have enough frozen to make a half dozen or more pies. All I need to do is add eggs, milk and cream and bake it in a pie shell. 

Too bad I only think of making this pie once a year at Thanksgiving....

And, the seeds were roasted as a thank you to Nate for his knife-sharpening session. 

My basement freezer is now full of pumpkin purée and spiced pumpkin butter. I'm all set until next year. 

I can't quite give up planting lots of pumpkins. They are easy to grow, fun to let little ones pick, and interesting to cook...but just one for me, thank you; it goes a long way.

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Pumpkin Black-Bean Soup

Serves: An army (well maybe more like 12 people). Great to freeze for a later date.

INGREDIENTS

3 15-ounce cans black beans, rinsed and drained

2 15-ounce cans of diced tomatoes

1 small onion, diced

4 cloves garlic, minced

5 teaspoons ground cumin

2 teaspoons salt

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1/2 stick unsalted butter

3 cups vegetable or beef broth

2 cups pumpkin purée (canned is fine, just make sure it is plain purée -- not pie filling)

1-1/2 cups red wine

PREPARATION

In a food processor or with an emersion blender, coarsely puée beans and tomatoes. 

In a 6-quart heavy pot cook onion, garlic, cumin, salt and pepper in butter over moderate heat, stirring until onion is softened. 

Stir in bean purée. 

Stir in broth, pumpkin and wine until combined and simmer, uncovered, stirring occasionally for 25 minutes or until thick enough to coat the back of a spoon. 

Serve topped with roasted pumpkin seeds.

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Pumpkin Pie

INGREDIENTS

1 (9-inch) unbaked pie crust

2 cups of pumpkin butter (see recipe below)

3/4 cup whole milk

3/4 cup heavy cream

3 large eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

PREPARATION

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Blind bake the crust by lining it with parchment paper and filling with pie weights or dried beans. Bake until the edges just start to brown, 12 to 15 minutes. Remove the weights and lining and bake for another 5 minutes. Remove from the oven. 

Whisk the pumpkin butter into the milk, cream and eggs and then add vanilla. 

Fill the pie crust. If it looks like there is too much filling for the curst, stop when you come close to the edge of the crust.

Transfer the pie to the hot oven and immediately turn down the heat to 375 degrees. Bake for 50 to 60 minutes -- until the pie is puffed in the middle, but still jiggles when you gently shake the pan. Let the pie cool before serving -- it will continue to set as it cools. 

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Slow Cooker Pumpkin Butter

INGREDIENTS

7 cups of pumpkin purée (or three 15 oz. cans of 100% pumpkin purée)

2.5 cups of brown sugar packed

1.5 cups of apple juice (or cider)

1.5 teaspoons ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

1/4 teaspoon ground ginger

1 dash of salt

PREPARATION

Add the pumpkin purée, brown sugar, apple juice, spices and salt to slow cooker. Stir until combined. Cover and cook on LOW for 4 hours or HIGH for 2 hours. 

Stir once the pumpkin butter is cooked. Cool before spooning into jars. Refrigerate for up to two weeks or freeze for up to 12 months. If freezing, leave an inch of room at the top of the jars.