Tag: garden

Eggplant Rescue and a Re-discovered Cookbook

Cookbook Shelf

We’re a little sick of eggplant around here. We joined a different CSA this year because the previous one (that I loved – every week a new culinary adventure of heirlooms and weird vegetables)  no longer drops at a convenient pickup location. This new farm, while perfectly fine with very generous shares,  has a rather blah selection and too much repetition. Green cabbage again and again, cucumbers, cucumbers and more cucumbers. (I think we’re done with them… no photos to show.) Yummy – but just same ol’ tomatoes and collard greens gigantic enough to cover a roof with. And eggplant. Week after week – at least one, and usually more, eggplants. And that’s even after splitting the share with my friend. (Do I sound like a brat, complaining about this bounty?)

Farm Tomatoes, My Peppers

Of course there is eggplant parm, baba ganoush, stir fried, thin slices salted and made into ‘chips’. I’ve made them all for what has become, an ambivalent audience. And in the next week’s load of vegetables – more eggplant!  This weekend I remembered a recipe I’d made years ago out of  Festa del Giardino: A Harvest of Recipes and Family Memories.  While this not the kind of cookbook I’m usually a sucker for — no beautiful photos — it has concise, easy to follow recipes that result in obviously memorable dishes. Like this Caponata I whipped up yesterday.

Caponata

I remember Molly being younger than 10 and a kid who hated veggies, digging in. I’m afraid you might be hard-pressed to find this book now out-of-print, by local author and lovely Sally Maraventano who came to the store for a book signing in 1999.  (But she does have her own cooking school.)

Festa del Giardino

I’m delighted to have found this obviously well-used cookbook again and inspired to rediscover the great recipes in it and the rest of this overflow stash that always escapes my periodic book-purges. Next, maybe I’ll bake bread…

Cookbook Cabinet

The Expatriate’s Itch

In the early hours of the morning I woke not sure of where I was. Italy? Kyoto? Croatia or some other place I once lived long enough for the exotic to become familiar? Sometimes I feel transported in time and space from sleep, and last night, inspired by what I read before nodding off. One of my favorite bloggers, Luisa Weiss, has written a memoir with recipes: My Berlin Kitchen.

Luisa grew up straddling the Atlantic – traveling between her divorced parents from Boston to Berlin. Any expat will tell you that the itch, the longing for a place we have loved, and perhaps, where we were loved (definitely enhances yearning) never quite goes away. One’s sense of home becomes an aching wistfulness about that other light, streets, sounds, smells, food. And for the author, this perpetual pining is in her DNA born to an Italian mother and American father and growing up between Europe and the States.

I’ve followed The Wednesday Chef for a few years now, savoring recipes and glimpses of Luisa’s life and travels. And love. Little glimpses of heartbreak, longing and now, blissfully, reunited with her first love and a new baby to boot. And always, fantastic food (recipes included! at B&N you’ll find this in the cookbook section).  I don’t know about you, but this is stuff I want to read about.

And now the glimpses she gave us in her blog have been fleshed out into a book – the same enchanting writing with the details filled in – of how this gal found her way. But as the traveler/expat knows, things are not always as they should be for example, as the foreigner in Paris. The beautiful streets can be lonely, every day may be grey in every sense of the word, and Luisa captures it all brilliantly.  A beautiful reminder to us always ready to pack our bags and disappear with some notion that things will be better there.

Why does one place resonate with us as opposed to another? I loved San Francisco where I spent a summer a thirty years ago – renting a studio with my friend in the Mission District – wandering the streets from sun to fog and exploring Pacific beaches. Luisa didn’t. I never loved Boston – a city I landed in for a few months. Kyoto will always feel like home, I’d move back to Italy in a flash…see? Don’t get me started.So much of it has to do with timing, and… as does anything and everything in my opinion – love.

I revel in my my garden, the fireplace, the kitchen, my bed, my dog, my home. I feel lucky to have my Connecticut home. But always, their is the faintest of siren calls — to make a move again. Not just to pass through — but to really inhabit another place, make friends, share meals. Well, there are always my dreams and awake in my kitchen I can cook up some of the yummy recipes from My Berlin Kitchen and pretend to be in Tuscany.

Dragonfly Close-Up

Is this beauty just resting or… dying? Crunching close through the dry grass, I took multiple photos of dragonfly without it flinching a diaphanous wing. The Monarchs flap frantically these days of cooler nights, clearly anxious to be on their way south, but what do dragonflies do when it freezes? (I’ll get back to you on that.) Such delicate creatures could not make it through a Northeast winter, could they? I imagine those fragile wings shattering like thin ice. I love these insects, dodging and dive-bombing through the air like miniature helicopters. This opportunity for a close-up felt such a gift, I thought I’d share.

I’m back after finding this cool website by someone who is wonderfully Dragonfly-obsessed. Turns out these extraordinary creatures mostly die at the end of a season in these parts although some may also migrate. That’s what I gathered from a quick read. How can we track them? It seems impossible that we could ‘tag’ them like birds. I find it incredible imagining the speed of development from larvae to full grown mosquito-eating-machine within such a short time. So perhaps this beauty chose my neglected garden as it’s last resting place. Farewell.

Magic of a Morning

Here’s what I love about my day-off early mornings: The light. The light.

The light. The gentle slants of sun stretching across the grass, easing in through the wavy-glass of our old-house windows, magically illuminating floating dust.

And I love my cup of tea.

And another and maybe, another again.

Through the open window, there is an almost-silence. (crickets and cicadas gently buzz)  Birds swoop by to assess the feeders and quickly spin off annoyed, I imagine, by the empty grates.

I try not to think about the rest of the day – not yet. I avoid making the mental lists of to-do: filling the empty feeder or following that fairy-dust as it creates yet another layer to be cleaned on the many neglected surfaces in my house. I push away thoughts of laundry piles or what groceries to buy, menus for the week. Not yet.

This morning, almost-autumn cool, I sit a little longer to marvel at the Monarchs hovering around the butterfly bush. I notice how the green of the hedge seems brightened by yesterday’s rain. There has been a seasonal shift and now, it’s cool enough for a sweatshirt. A sense of a fleeting inspires me to savor these moments — just as the solitude of these early mornings is sweeter for the thought of my still-sleeping loved ones.

Summer Torpor Respite

Steamy-hot days seem to wilt everything but the weeds. What’s left of my vegetable garden is being swallowed by renegade grasses and the border of browning hostas and now-skeletal daylillies is barely visible behind pigweed and chokecherry.  The unruly mess of my garden taunts me as I search out a shady spot and a breeze to read the paper. I should weed-wack, mow, clip… but just can’t. Yesterday, it was almost 3 by the time we rallied enough out of our torpor to take the kayak out. We agreed we’d only loll about near a sandbar — no paddling out to the islands. So that’s what we did.

A patch of bliss.

We have a favorite spot not even 10 minutes from our launch — a teeny island that disappears with high tide. Yesterday, the timing was right and our sweet patch was there to welcome us. As planned, we lolled about: floating in the salty shallows, stepping across sandy boulders.

Breezes sent an occasional wave of chatter through the sea grass, a pair of terns swooped through with flirty calls, punctuated by plaintive screeches of the odd gulls. As we stood on the still-wet rocks and watched the Sound move out and the sun go down, the rocky stretch exploded with mini-geysers. Clams! Alas, faster than we could dig with our hands through the rocky muck, they disappeared. Next time, we’ll bring a spade.

The grittier view that reminds us where we live.

What Next?

As my daughter enters her last year of high school, I’ve joined her in pondering the question: where do I see myself in 5 years time? While I love this little house and neighborhood, the idea of no longer having to stay in one spot or to live life according to a school calendar, excites me. So just like Molly, I am researching and dreaming.

While floating out on the Long Island Sound, Rob and I sometimes concoct crazy ideas. He likes barges and imagines us living on this big metal stretch planted with a garden. No groundhogs – I like that. But where to dock? I’ve trawled around houseboat blogs that make it look enticing, but honestly, I think the perpetual rolling motion of being on water would get to me. I love a few hours of heaving-about but mostly, prefer land.

So my latest favorite fantasy involves a RV. Vintage Airstreams appeal to us  but we’re more inclined toward the less-cool, all-in-ones rather than dragging something behind us.  Tootling around at our leisure, we’d explore the country, scour garage sales and thrift-shops for hidden treasures we’d then turn into lamps, chairs and tables to sell to Anthropologie-type stores.

Tetley could come with us… but who would feed the birds?

How to Take a Vacation (Hint: Check the Guilt)

It’s been years since I’ve taken a vacation. I mean a vacation when you go somewhere with the intention of having no intention but to lay-about, eat and sleep – maybe a beach is involved. I seem to have lost the knack.

This is the last of 5 days off in a row — and other than a doctor visit, I had nothing planned. A de facto vacation, right? I spent my days mostly doing what I always think I want to do when I’m longing for time off: reading, napping in the middle of the day, and… I don’t remember what else…

That’s what is disconcerting. I feel a little bit like I wasted my time off, that I should have accomplished something. Written something brilliant or finished painting the house, cleaned out the garage, that sort of thing. I can blame the weather a little. The first day was oven-hot so I hunkered down inside with air-conditioning and made a half-hearted attempt at cleaning before picking up a book. I read and then, fell asleep sprawled on the couch. Thursday and Friday were rainy and cold. Perfect excuse to read and nap. I did splurge on a facial and went to the first physical I’ve had in years. (perfect, thank you very much)

Yesterday, the clouds parted, the temperature dropped and a spectacular day gave me no excuses. I did mow the lawn. Then lethargy hit again and I napped between reading the New York Times (the joys of home delivery – you get a head start on Sunday’s paper.) It was too cool to kayak. Anyway, we didn’t. Maybe today.

Sounds like an ideal vacation, doesn’t it? So why this gnawing guilt that I didn’t get anything done? Piles of papers I should have sorted, weeds still entrenched, dust-bunnies multiplying like live ones. I’ve barely written a word, no visits with friends, no yoga classes or gourmet meals. Tomorrow, I am back to work – to carving the things I want to do from the things I must do out of the time that remains after 40 plus hours at my job.

Tucked in my wallet is a lottery ticket – to feed my fantasy that were I to win, I’d figure out what to do with all that time to myself. Or at least, how to take a guilt-free vacation. At a very distant beach.

 

Why I Hate Groundhogs

In a brief walk around my garden this morning, this is what I found:

Nibbled Tomato Plant
Devoured Spinach
Decimated Gladiolus
Ravaged Black Eyed Susans

But most upsetting of all is this –

Wounded Tetley

That flash of green is his foot wrapped in gauze. To be fair, the groundhog responsible for Tetley having to wear this mortifying cone is dead. He killed 3 in one week. Not the beast of a rodent lurking around here for years, but smaller ones. A 4th adolescent (at least) has been brazenly loping about, teasing my brave hunter who throws himself against the screen door to get at him.

Not a banner garden year, as you can see. Between the weeds and the critters and some scorching days, I’ve lost heart. Not quite given up but certainly disheartened. I drove by a community garden yesterday – all neatly penned-in and bursting with health. How does your garden grow?

Sunday Morning in the Neighborhood

What is it about Sundays? On my street, there is a divine tranquility, almost silence. Garage doors remain closed – no work today for my neighbors. Through the thick hedge, I can see the passing feet of the odd jogger or dogs and owner. No mowers, blowers or hedge clippers yet. Even the not-distant-enough highway sounds soothing — a steady whoosh rarely broken by the squeal or roar of a truck. It will be another hot one later but at 7:00 AM, the cool of night still lingers.

Across the street is a triangle of land owned by the city, overgrown with weeds. My neighbor has called to complain that it needs cutting because it’s hard to see if there is traffic when pulling out from Sterling Place. But from my window, it’s a field of Queen Anne’s Lace. Maybe I’ll don some boots (tick-terror) to cut a bouquet. Then I’ll water the tomatoes, pots of Petunias and herbs. We’ll kayak. But now, this hour of mine before the house and neighborhood really wakes, I savor the morning light, the kaleidoscope of greens, the quiet.

Garden Drama

The peonies took a beating from last week’s rain. An explosion of densely packed petals, the exquisite blossoms already seem more weight than the stems can bear – but a clinging rain is definitely too much. Collapsed against each other like drunken buddies, pinks turn to rust and shatter. I managed to pick a few bunches for the house and to give to neighbors – a day or so of peony perfume, captured.

Yesterday the sun returned, bringing summer. Or so it seemed. The air heavy with humidity, the garden a jungle. It was a day to garden. Yanking at the bittersweet that threatens to strangle every growing thing in my yard, I felt like our house might get swallowed up by this invasive if I just let it go. I am only eliminating twisting sprouts – the network of grasping roots runs deep and stretches far like some alien creature lurking just beneath. So I stay vigilant, not willing to sacrifice my lilac, the blueberries, not even the mint also trying to swallow up my vegetable patches.

Or rather, the varmints’ vegetable patches.  So far, they’ve devoured the parsley and red basil plants, the cucumber seedlings I’d admired one day were gone the next. Ground hogs, rabbits, squirrel? I think they all join in the feast. They don’t bother the tomato plants – not yet. It’s early days – still time to get a better fence. But more likely, as in years past, I’ll surrender to sharing.

Follow

Get every new post on this blog delivered to your Inbox.

Join other followers: