Garden

With the equinox less than two weeks away, spring is in the air, quite literally. It smells of change, a watery freshness that has beckoned the migrating birds, the slumbering bears, the silent buds. The ground was speckled with an ethereal frosting of something this morning—teensy hail? powdery snow?—that's already dissipating as I write this. The first sign of the new season, fragile yet hardy snowdrops, have popped up beneath the river birch. I leave for Hawaii on Sunday. With a couple of posts in the hopper, the blog won't be completely silent this week, but travelogues won't post until my return. This is a vacation, and vacation I will.
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Yes, yes, the hair is mostly grey now. People congratulate me on having a "good" color of grey. But what if it weren't "good"? What if I had a weird, ashy, muddy color? Would I be forced to keep coloring it in order to look "good"? There is often some level of discomfort when I get into these conversations, because inevitably people (read: women) start to question their own commitment to artificial color. I do not judge. I religiously colored my hair for 15 years and, if the inconvenience of spending precious city time in the salon chair were not a factor, I might still be doing it. But the move upstate and all it has engendered do seem to have connected me to a more authentic expression of myself I find gratifying. That said, this post is about a different sort of grey altogether. Read on to find out more, and to check out my latest list of inspiring links.
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Angelica, known in some parts as Holy Ghost or Wild Celery, is a member of the genus Umbelliferae, which also endows the kitchen with parsley, carrot, parsnip, fennel, anise, coriander, celery, dill, cumin, lovage and caraway. Its subtly sweet flavor hints at many if not all these sister plants, with prominent notes of licorice and celery. Its botanical name, angelica archangelica, derives from the legend that it was the archangel Michael who told of its medicinal use, and every part of the plant has been prized for centuries for remedies addressing diverse complaints, especially digestive and bronchial problems. The leaves are used for tea; the roots and seeds flavor wine and spirits, including gin, Chartreuse, Bénédictine, vermouth and absinthe; the ground dried root and candied stems are added to baked goods; and the fresh leaves enliven salads, soups, stews, custards and ice cream. A flute-like instrument with a reedy sound can even be made of its hollow stem (entertaining for kids), and I’ve also seen the stems used as straws for drinks.
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TO HELP STOP THE INTERNET CENSORSHIP BILLS, SOPA & PIPA, CONTACT CONGRESS NOW.
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I am officially obsessed with black walnuts. It may be some sort of genetic thing. As far back as I can remember, my mother was always craving black walnut ice cream. It used to make an occasional appearance at our local ice cream parlor in Santa Cruz, but since that heyday it seems to have completely fallen off their still impressive roster of flavors. Were she still alive, I could now proudly present my mom with a bowl of the stuff, made by me from walnuts gathered on a friend's land. This particular wild-crafted version may have been a one-time thing, though. Why? you ask. Well, that would be because of the incredibly labor-intensive ordeal it is to process black walnuts. After we'd endured it, we discovered that these nuts can actually be purchased at nutsonline for a mere $13 a pound. Shelled. By hand. (They must have some illegal Guatemalan children doing the work.) Anyway, G doesn't agree, but I think it was worth the effort. Full disclosure: He did most of it. But the ice cream was incredible. Divine. The best yet. Made with a recipe from Jeni's Splendid Ice Creams, of course.
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On New Year's Eve, just before midnight, we went for a much-needed hike along a country road, four of us and a white dog that showed up like a ghostly spectre against the pitch-black night. We huffed and puffed in the bracing air, our stomachs heavy with brisket, risotto and many flavors of Jeni's ice cream, straight from the source and drizzled with various homemade sauces (salty caramel, bittersweet chocolate, raspberry). It was actually the second hike of the day for G and me. That afternoon, we'd walked deep into the woods as we had our annual chat, reflecting back on the year gone by and discussing our hopes for one ahead. 2011 got a mixed review, mostly due to a certain broken leg that took the better part of 8 months (and counting) to fully heal. We are both committed to getting into fighting shape this winter and planning some physically challenging trips in the coming years, possibly including climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro. But in general we want to simply continue on our paths, doing more of what we love and getting better at it.Here are a few highlights from the year, as I shared it with you in this space we inhabit together. The first is the multi-tasking goddess, above, a new icon for my blog commissioned from illustrator extraordinaire Liselotte Watkins.
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You've earned it. The right to put your feet up. To zone out. To nap. To sit in front of the fire reading that book that's been tempting you for months. To try a new recipe, listen to music, have a long, meandering chat with a loved one. To trawl the interwebs for loot. To watch silly YouTube videos, favorite movies and fabulous TV shows. To stuff your face. To get drunk or high, or both. To go for a run, a ride, a hike. To pray, to celebrate, to review the past year and meditate on the future. To be grateful for what and whom you have. Remember, even though the kids are melting down and your mother-in-law is irritating and your sister is crying and your husband is gone: This is your time. Carve out some space for yourself and do exactly as you please.Here are some links I've been compiling for you. May they bring you pleasure, inspiration, knowledge and fun, as you sip some delicious wine (or sparkling cider) and dream of what's to come.
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We came. We cocktailed. We conquered. I feel hungover this morning, but not from drinking. Last night's event was both energizing and exhausting, and I think we can say it was an unqualified success. More than 200 people turned up at Warby Parker's Holiday Spectacle Bazaar to visit Best Made Company's pop-up shop and sip Glutton for Life cocktails made with foraged ingredients and Stranahan's Colorado whiskey. Although I think of myself as a bit of a grumpy misanthrope at times, I was deeply happy interacting with all the lovely people (old friends and new) that stopped by my little makeshift bar to sample the evening's three specialties: The Nutty Professor, Pining for You and Drunken Indian Lemonade. The mood was very festive and everyone really seemed to be having a good time, especially after a cup of the Johnny Appleseed Punch.
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We took advantage of the nice weather the other weekend to really put the finishing touches on the garden. The beds got a last weeding and were cleared of everything but a few kale and collard plants. All the pots had to be emptied and many of the perennials trimmed back. Living closer to the land like this makes you much more aware of the seasons and so of the passing of time. I look down at my hands stuck in the dirt, the beginning of arthritis just starting to swell a few knuckles, and I see my mother's hands. I was blessed with long, slender fingers and have been proud of my hands all my life, but this, along with my dark hair, is just one of the many vanities the years will strip from me. In return I have gained other things, including the pleasure of hearing G crow upon finding a cache of brilliant pink potatoes buried under the straw where he planted seeds late last summer. He had given up all hope of success in this department, so the discovery was that much sweeter. Have you ever seen such a vividly colored spud? I cut one open and was amazed to find that it was a rosy pink inside, and unbelievably crisp and juicy, almost like an apple. The freshest potato I've ever encountered and a sight to behold.
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The nasturtiums were among the last things to flourish in the garden, along with mint, rosemary and a host of straggling green tomatoes. Kale and collards are still hanging on, but these vibrant blooms gave up the ghost with the first hard frost. Fortunately, I had harvested a bunch after listening to a recent episode on NPR's Splendid Table. I think I've mentioned before my deep and abiding love for host and über-mensch Lynne Rossetto Kasper. My favorite part of the program is when listeners call in to ask for her advice on any number of food and cooking issues. No matter how challenging or arcane the question, Lynne always has the answer. And she's so warm and nurturing! I want to go to dinner at her house. Anyway, a woman called in wanting to know what to do with her bumper crop of nasturtiums, and Lynne suggested she candy the petals. Although I didn't want to do this, it got me exploring other ways to use my nasturtiums. Lots of people are eating the flowers raw in salads, and using the peppery leaves to make pesto. But the idea of crushing the petals into a compound butter really captured my fancy.
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