Scenes from Our Garden and Table

I'm still very excited about what I am reading in "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" and am going to try to document my own experience with eating locally as much as possible. Here are some pictures to illustrate.

Back in early May, ds used our new raised bed planter as his favorite hang-out. I was afraid he wouldn't give it up, so we built him a similarly sized sand box in the back yard and he has spent many happy days digging in it and leaving the box in the front yard for vegetable appreciation. Before I planted the box, though, ds got in to help turn over the soil. I couldn't imagine a more enthusiastic helpmate.




Here is the garden in its happy adolescence, the picture taken earlier this week. The lettuce had already started to bolt - we have been getting so many salad greens from Full Sun Farm (our CSA) that I left our lettuce in till the last minute, just so I could enjoy its pale green beauty next to the vibrant green and reds of the chard. Both got fully harvested a few days ago to become multiple salads and a delicious dinner of Eggs in a Nest - a recipe from Camille Kingsolver in A, V, M.








Tonight my parents came over for dinner and I prepared a chilled Patty Pan, Leek, and Buttermilk soup from Butter Beans to Blackberries, a cookbook written by Ronni Lundy, my former next-door neighbor, and an incredible resource for using up the bounty from Southern gardens. We've been getting patty pans from our CSA almost every week since mid-June. The squash has a delicate yellow skin, pale white flesh and looks like a flying saucer - who wouldn't love them? We also got the leeks from a neighboring farm featured at our farmer's market. The soup was delicious - cool, light and tangy - just perfect for a hot, humid July evening. Ds loved getting into the act by ladling it up and ate every drop from his bowl.

Summer Pleasures

Gosh, where to start? The chickens are fat and happy, the garden is blooming, and my ds sees it all with these new eyes, not missing a trick and helping me to take it all in. Every morning he wants to go to the tomato plants with me and point out the new growth: "baby 'mato, mommy 'mato, daddy 'mato" for the small, medium, and large fruits on the vine. He loves our evening walks when he spots the first firefly and encourages me to catch it. He then holds it on his little finger and lets it go. Then he looks at me and says, "More fireflies, mama!" and off I go to capture the next one.

We went to New York City last week and had a lovely time. We sublet a small apartment in the East Village which made a perfect jumping off point for many wonderful adventures. Mostly we appreciated the perfect microcosm of the city within a 4 block radius, where we spent most of our time shopping at the market for food, eating at restaurants and, best of all, playing in the Sesame Street-style, circa 1970's, playground. Seriously, we think we recognize it from one of ds's Sesame Street musical dvds. And there were none of the safeguards you see in modern playgrounds - the ground was hard asphalt, the juggle gyms consisted of towering metal ladders leading to slides with no protective covering. Ds insisted on climbing all by himself and standing *on top* of the small metal railing on the side of the slide. The swings seemed to go impossibly high and he would be happy only if we gave him a "Big Swing!" like the much older children. One of the best parts was a sprinkler, more like a fire hydrant spray, that all the kids would circle around. Ds would then quickly strip and join in the revelry - the perfect antidote for a hot, sunny day. Sadly, but perhaps not surprisingly, the other mamas at the park talked of plans this Fall for a complete tearing down and "renovation" of the park. I think we will come back next year to find a park that is safe, but perhaps not so fun.

One of our express intentions was to get to see and just hang out with family (my younger brother and the adored uncle) and friends. It was wonderful to have so much unstructured time in such a vital and enchanting city. Our big excursion out of our adopted neighborhood was a trip to the Bronx Zoo. Ds delighted in the camels (and even got to ride one!), lions, monkeys, and giraffes. We also got to ride the "bug carosel," and with many different insects to choose from, he chose, of course, the Pennsylvania Firefly. And that is the picture you see here.




In the last week I have been fairly obsessed with Barbara Kingsolver's new book, "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle," in which she documents a year of her family's adventure in eating only local food. Each family member chose one "luxury" from outside their community: coffee, dried spices and fruit, and chocolate. I think those would be my choices, as well. For dh it would be tea. For ds? He is not at all picky. And loves vegetables, especially those just-picked-from-the-farm. He would probably want more fresh fruit. Especially shudder-to-think-of-the-farm-workers-conditions grapes. Because, again, "organic" just means not-chemically-produced, and says nothing of the conditions on the farm. And because profit is always king for these producers, the conditions are probably pretty grim for workers and livestock.

As the zeitgeist would have it, earlier this Spring I already had begun to form my own closer relationship with the food I eat. The chickens arrived in March, I planted my vegetable garden in May, and we started to receive our weekly share from local, organic Full Sun Farm in June. After reading this book I've become practically evangelical. My first official conversion: no more apples from New Zealand (I love their Pink Ladys!) when I live next door to one of the apple capitals of the world. The case of the apple is an interesting one, I think. I would buy them from our local "whole foods" grocery and choose the organic variety I liked, not thinking much about from where they came. Barbara Kingsolver points out that eating organically grown produce is all fine and well, but if it comes from half way around the world, with the necessity of petroleum for transportation and refrigeration, it is like drinking a quart of motor oil with every bite. Yikes. Looking more closely at where my food comes from is very sobering. It seems that the emphasis in my store is very much on the organic, and not at all on the local. Again, we are not talking bananas here, but apples - and on my most recent visit there was not one local choice among the 6 varieties on display. Most were from Chile and New Zealand. There was only one domestic variety - from Washington! From now on I will *at least* choose local apples, acquired from our local farmers market. They will not be "certified organic" and mostly likely the best they could be is "low spray", but I am going to bank on them as, truly, the healthiest option for my diet and my planet. I'm not quite half-way through with the book. I'll let you know about any other future conversions.

An Amazing Weekend!

A big weekend! My ds turned two on Saturday and I went to an "Art of Allowing" workshop with Jerry and Esther Hicks on Sunday.

We had a Cinco de Mayo fiesta for our little guy and it was everything I hoped it would be - after I got a piece of great advice from Abraham. Abraham is the collective consciousness, the "nonphysical" being, that Esther Hicks is able to channel. I found out about the Abraham-Hicks partnership a couple of months ago when I read their book, Ask and It Is Given. I was so impressed by the book that I went on their website and signed up for their daily email quotes that are culled from past workshops. Then I saw that they were coming to Asheville for a workshop and I signed up for that, too.

I planned ds's birthday party for months. There were so many things I was excited about: a local taqueria was bringing their lunch truck and parking it in our driveway so everyone could have their fill of their delicious Mexican food, a Tres Leches cake brought by our Mexican family, cases of Corona - but those were the things that perhaps *I* was most excited about for me. The thing I thought would put ds and his friends over the moon was a giant bounce house I reserved for the party.

Have I mentioned that ds LOVES to bounce? This kid is all about defying gravity. I was so excited about the bounce house for him. Then the morning of the party arrived and it was *pouring* rain and the forecast was for more of the same. The bounce house people called early and said they would have to cancel. I was sad when I realized there would be no bounce house. And then I started to feel anxious because the rain was interfering with all of my hopes for the party. Then I read the email quote from Abraham.

The gist of it was, "Today make it your goal to see only what you want to see." You see, Abraham is all about the Law of Attraction - your thoughts create your reality. So here I was sad about the bounce house, anxious about the rain - and creating more and more thoughts that were making me stressed and unhappy. I immediately felt better after reading the quote, and I knew they were on to something. So, I thought, what do I want to see?

I wanted to see ds happy and smiling and having a great day. And then I realized he *is* happy - especially when mom and dad are happy. And I still wanted to see sunshine. I knew I couldn't manipulate the weather, so I thought of sunny yellow helium balloons and quickly ordered 2 dozen of them. I strung them up on our porch and the kids loved them - many asked for them to be tied to their wrists - so there ended up being lots of sunshine after all. Everyone had a wonderful time. Especially ds who ended the party by jumping in giant puddles with enormous glee. The next day we were taking a walk and came across one of his 3 year old buddies. He said, "Thanks for having your birthday!" I couldn't say it any better.







The next day I went to the Abraham workshop and it was also everything I hoped it would be. I still feel like I am gathering evidence when it comes to believing that I *am* the creator of my reality. That I can be, do, or have anything I want. These are things Abraham says again and again, and they (they are a collective who call themselves Abraham) illuminate their teachings by answering questions from the audience. I feel 95% convinced. And the difference between believing and *knowing* will certainly make all the difference. I am working deliberately to make sure the shift happens. I am very much looking forward to it!

One interesting side note: I sat next to a psychic from Atlanta. We had a short, friendly exchange before the workshop started and then "out-of-the-blue", at the first break, she asked me, "So, are you involved in music or are you a writer?" I was so surprised by the remark that I said, "No, neither, I'm a midwife and a mama." She looked very intently at me and then we went our separate ways for lunch. Dh and ds joined me for the lunch break and after the meal we walked on the beautiful Biltmore Estate grounds, where the workshop took place. I told dh about the psychic's comment. As I mentioned it I got goosebumps, because I realized: I am a writer. I wrote a story I love, Ravenna. And it is going to be published. After the break I sat next to her again and asked her why she asked me that question. And she said, "Because you have a lot to say, but you are sitting on the fence. You need to get your book out there." When I told her then that I had written a book, but wasn't published yet, she said, "When you do, I want you to come on my radio show and talk about it." I'll let you know when I have the date.

Sweet Signs of Spring

After a rather devastating cold snap that withered all of the blossoms on our blueberry plants and the fledgling leaves on the Japanese Maple we planted in honor of ds's birth, we are truly settling into Spring. We had a "Dia Del Conejito" (Day of the Little Rabbit) celebration with our Mexican family. It was the first time they hunted for Easter eggs, and it took no time at all to find all of them. So sweet.





Even sweeter was letting the now teenaged chicks outside to live in their new coop and run. We kept ds always separate from them when they were small, fearing he would squish them. Turns out, maybe I shouldn't have worried, because when I let ds into the coop with me he was very gentle and so very delighted. He squeaked and squawked along with them and ever so softly petted their feathers. They seemed very happy with their new surroundings and their new friend.

Thich Nhat Hanh's Camera

Last year I met a woman, Kate, who traveled with Thich Nhat Hahn on his first trip back to Vietnam in 40 years. She collected amazing stories and photos from that experience. One of my favorite stories is of TNH, surrounded by photographers all jockeying for the perfect shot. He smiled and raised his hands up to his eyes, pantomiming holding a camera, and also took a picture. I think about that moment a lot as I'm going through my day with my ds. Dh and I do not take many "actual" photos of him, but I use my Thich Nhat Hahn camera quite often. It helps me feel more present and available to every perfect moment I have with him. And they are all perfect.

Of course, this leaves my friends who live far away a bit at a loss. So these pictures are for them. With much love.

New Beginnings

A little over a month ago I created 2 vision boards: one to focus my energy to write Ravenna and the other to allow myriad other blessings into my life. The fact that Ravenna manifested so quickly after I finished my board is, to me, a huge testament to the power of vision boards. Another smaller dream, that also found its way to my "opening and allowing" board, was to raise chickens. I have wanted to raise chickens for *years*, but thought I couldn't while living in a city. When I learned I could, I couldn't find anyone else to share the minimum order - 25 chicks. That was a few years ago, and since then I've thought it just wouldn't happen.

Never really having released the desire, when I saw a picture of a cute little chick the day I was collecting images for my vision boards, I cut it out. It got a rather prominent place on my board and it made me feel very happy when I saw it. A few days after I made the board, a friend and neighbor told me she knew someone who was placing an order for chicks and was willing to share whatever number we wanted. And today, mine are happily eating, drinking and foraging in the little kiddie pool we set up in the basement. There are 2 Rhode Island Reds, 2 Black Stars, and 2 Araucanas/Americanas. They are unbelievably sweet and I am incredibly happy. Here is a picture:

Chicken and Cornbread

I've been researching the publishing world for children's books and have found that most publishing houses and literary agents are a little reluctant to take on a new author who has just one title to her name. You know, they worry there's a monkey at the typewriter. I thought their concern was valid, so this monkey got back to her trusty G4. Here's the result. It's an Appalachian Stone Soup - I know it needs some work, but I still love it and want to get it out there...


One day when I was a girl growing up in the mountains a stranger came to town. My two brothers and I ran up to him. He said, "I’m just passing through. You got any food for a hungry traveler?" We ran home to ask if we could bring the man some food. Our mama said she was sorry, but we didn’t have any to spare.

We ran back to the man and found he had started a cooking fire. He pulled a small grate out of his pack and put it over the pit. We asked him what he was doing. "I’m fixin’ to fry me up some chicken." We looked around and didn’t see any food, just an old iron skillet. "Where are you going to get a chicken?" we asked.

"Right over there," he said and pointed to a clump of big, yellow, wrinkly mushrooms growing a few feet up the trunk of an old oak tree. "Mister," we said, "Those are just some old mushrooms." "Yeah, that’s right, that’s a hickory chicken. And when you fry it up in a little butter, it tastes just like the real thing. The shame is, we don’t have any butter."

My younger brother looked at me and I knew what he was thinking. We had about a pound of fresh butter. We could take a little bit and it wouldn’t be missed. I nodded at him and he picked up and ran for the house.

When he got back, the man smiled and motioned to the skillet, "Just put it right in there. Be ready in a minute." After he fried up the chicken he passed the pan around and we all ate our fill – it did taste just like the real thing! We ate it all and then the man said, "Now, nothing I like more after eatin’ some chicken, then a little bit of cornbread."

"This here is a magic skillet and I can make the cornbread from just a little bit of cornmeal and salt - I keep ‘em in my pack." Our eyes got wide as he pulled out the little bags. "Of course," he said, "It would be a whole lot better if we had an egg, but there’s no use asking for that."

I knew our hens were laying plenty and sometimes they would even leave an egg in the shoes I left on the back porch. I thought if I found one now, I could give it to the man. Nobody would miss it. Sure enough, there was one in my old shoe. I ran back cradling it carefully in my hand, my mouth watering.

The man smiled as he pulled the ingredients together. "This is going to be good cornbread. Yes, sir - it would be fit for a king if we just had sweet milk. Too bad we don’t have some."

My brothers and I knew that we had a pitcher of buttermilk in our ice box. No one would ever miss a cup or two. Without saying a word, my older brother ran to get it.

The cornbread smelled so good while it was baking. The man had a lid that made the skillet into a little oven when he banked it in the coals. When it was ready to eat I asked if he could cut up slices for all of us. He laughed, "No, ma’am. Breaking bread was good enough for Jesus, so it’s good enough for us." And with that he turned the hot pone out on to his old tin plate, and we all broke off a piece. It was the best cornbread my brothers and I had ever eaten.

Later that night my family gathered around the woodstove. My brothers and I told our mama and daddy the story of our afternoon with the stranger. They wanted to hear it again and again. We marveled at how the wandering man had almost no food, yet always feasted from that magic skillet.