The Cream Rises to the Top

Oh how I love skimming fresh cream off the top of the jar of milk! Unless we're on our last jar, cream is always ready to hand when we need it. Most of it goes into the cream whipper to top our mochas and hot cocoas. Sometimes a little goes into mashed potatoes, or a desert recipe. Occasionally I make sour cream or butter with it.

Did our parents' and grandparents' generation really give up this little luxury just to avoid having to shake the jug a couple of times before pouring the milk? Surely not. Probably homogenization* was was an industry convenience. Whatever the reason, it's a loss. A small one, sure, but a loss none the less.



*Homogenization is the process of pulverizing the milk fat so that it stays suspended in the more watery portion of the milk, rather than rising to the top as it does naturally. It is not related to pasteurization, which is the process of heating the milk to kill any potentially harmful pathogens. Most milk at the grocery store is both pasteurized and homogenized.

The Fruit Bowl

Do people still have fruit bowls? Thanks to my husband, we do! A few weeks ago, he pulled most of the fruit from the fridge, stuck it in my big stainless steel mixing bowl and set the bowl on the dining table. Then he proceeded to leave little notes for us some mornings when he observed specimens going soft: "Time to eat the mango!" or "Time to eat the pears!" Lo and behold, we are eating more fruit! Above is our bowl after yesterday's trip to Horrocks. There are several varieties of apples, pears, avocados, mangos and kiwi fruit. Bananas are elsewhere so that they don't get bruised, and grapes stay in the fridge so Ethan doesn't help himself to a choking hazzard. Here he is hefting a blurry mango. :o)

The only downside? Having to dump all the fruit on the table when I need the mixing bowl for, ya know, mixing stuff. Otherwise, I highly recommend reviving the fruit bowl, at least for the winter months.

Beautiful Living

Tonya at Plain and Joyful Living has a post up today entitled Vision.  She relates how her family's decision to live simply in rural Vermont has meant coming to terms with the fact that not everything on the homestead is beautiful.  Money to landscape nicely, haul away rubble from building projects, or repair the barn is not usually available, so they live with visions of future beauty among the not-so-beautiful parts, relying on the work of their hands and Providence.  This passage exemplifies her can-do spirit, I think:

I didn't want to look at those big ugly concrete blocks, however, so I am in the process of building a branch fence to put right in front of them. I will plant sweet peas in front of the fence and I can envision the beautiful flowers and green vines climbing over the fence this summer. I piled up rocks around the well head as a worked in the garden. There was trash to remove. I found some flat rocks to add to our entryway walkway. (The chickens enjoyed finding insects and worms while we were cleaning up!)

After reading (and admiring) her post, I found my thoughts taking a tangent on the role of consumerism in our conception of beauty and ugliness.  Beauty -- that is, the orderly, manufactured beauty that requires purchasing things -- is lifted up in our culture as a key to a happy, meaningful life.  This is a marketing ploy, of course, but it's wielded not only by mainstream corporate interests (which I am fairly successful at ignoring), but also by interests which are much more alluring to me. I'm invited to furnish my home with beautiful organic products, to purchase aesthetically-pleasing, artisan-made toys, tools and clothing that support local, independent manufacturers and merchants. (I almost feel guilty NOT buying them.)  I could landscape my yard with native vegetation and pave my ugly mud driveway with permeable concrete -- as beautiful as it is environmentally friendly!  My home really should have bamboo or cork floors (gorgeous!) instead of the dirty, undoubtedly toxic carpet we live with, shouldn't it?  Even at my co-operatively owned grocery, special products for beautiful sustainable living abound, strangly tempting even when I don't really need them. Hand-thrown pottery with eco-friendly glaze, or my grandmother's hand-me-down 1970's Corelle? Hmmm... (Actually, that one's a no-brainer with kids, and we could never afford the pottery anyway, but you get the idea.)

Frankly, waging this constant internal battle to resist these messages can be exhausting.  Marketers -- even ones who pay their office cleaning crew a living wage -- are clever, clever, clever.  They can make me forget what is truly beautiful in my life, and that's a shame on me, as much as them. 

On my best days, I feel good about how we are resisting consumerism in favor of other, more meaningful life experiences.  I can catch Tonya's vision and see that we are working toward a different kind of beauty in our lives, a kind of unkempt, wild beauty of gardens and fruit trees, of family togetherness and honey bees.  On my worst days, I feel like I'm not even doing a good job with the meaningful life experiences part, and I really just want some matching furniture.

October 2009

It's been a while since I've posted anything here. I've been wanting to put up something of substance, but honestly, my brain hasn't been ruminating on much that is original lately. I've been getting into the homeschooling routine for this year, finishing up the garden (still don't have the garlic planted yet), running to sports practices and games. I guess all of that external activity is not good for introspection and reflection. I still think about things, but mostly they are things that are brought to my mind externally -- from reading or hearing a news item or someone else's thoughts about a subject. I'm not reflecting long enough to form many  new or interesting ideas of my own. This doesn't feel bad or wrong; it's just where I am right now. As we head into November and the natural world goes dead and dark, perhaps I will be able to turn inward and find something worth writing about. In the mean time, here are some scenes from our house in October. Missing are pictures of Alexander's flag football. I really wish I had some, because 7 year old football players are super cute. :o) I think all of the recent pictures of Alexander are on Firmin's iPhone and I don't know how to download them. My own hit-or-miss shots with the real camera will have to do:

This is a typical mid-afternoon scene in the living room. The older kids are off playing elsewhere -- perhaps outside or on the computer -- having finished their school work for the day. I'm in the kitchen. Ethan has finished his nap, had a little Mommy time, and will play contentedly by himself for quite a while. What you can't get from the picture is the background sound track: The Wiggles, most definitely!


Firmin has always loved spending special one-on-one time at the table with the kids while they are little. I think Ethan looks especially like Firmin in this photo. He always has, but this picture captures a more mature face than Ethan usually exhibits, so the similarity stands out all the more. Ethan usually looks much more toddler-ish -- more like this:

Friend Ann washing some of the 200 chairs stored in our garage for eventual use in the new Meetinghouse. Between the grime from their previous life and the dust from being in our garage for a year, the cleaning crew had their jobs cut out for them!

Even hard work is fun if you get to use a power washer!

Brianna's bookshelf. (Found this on the camera -- she must have taken it.) The top shelf is her "stack" -- the books she is planning to read, aranged in the order she plans to read them. Most of the stack is composed of library books. The bottom shelf is a selection of books that she owns. This stack is average to small. Since this picture was taken, we've been back to the library. Her current stack is larger than usual and fills the top shelf completely!

First Batch of Tomatoes

I intended to can peaches today, but the half bushel I bought last night was not ripe enough. Since I had the kitchen all prepared for canning, I decided to do tomatoes. Turned out to be a good choice! I was able to completely fill this basket with ripe tomatoes from the garden, some of which really needed to be dealt with ASAP. The peaches will wait for a couple of days.

This picture didn't quite capture the beautiful colors of the heirloom tomatoes the way I hoped it would. They were so bright and juicy that I found my self smiling throughout the process of chopping them up. What one would think might be a mundane task was really quite enjoyable.

Filling the jars and loading them into the (new!) pressure canner.

Ready to process!

The canner to survive the Apocalypse! (Let's see what kind of Google hits *that* phrase gets me, lol!) It was a little tricky getting the lid screwed on evenly, but after that, it was so easy to use. Good old American-made quality!

The finished product: 7 quarts of heirloom tomatoes canned in their own juice. Should make some yummy chili and spaghetti sauce this winter!

For the curious canners among you, this was a simple raw pack, which is partly why the fruit is floating as much as it is. Not as pretty on the shelf, but oh so easy and probably more nutritious.

Back to the Garden

I took a break from my garden this year, since Ethan was at a very attention/vigilance-demanding stage during the spring and summer. It was absolutely the right decision, but I've missed having my own produce right out the back door.

Next year, Ethan will be able to toddle around the garden with me, digging holes and generally entertaining himself. So I've been getting ready for next spring. Having a baby in September of last year meant that the garden never did get "put to bed" in 2007. There were dead garden plants and weeds everywhere. Not to mention gobs of grasshoppers, which I recently learned thrive in messy, weedy garden plots. Earlier this fall, I got out and cleaned up the mess. Then last week, Alexander and I weeded one corner and planted lots of garlic.

This week, we finally managed to get the tiller from my parents' house (thanks solely to my father -- thanks Dad!) Firmin tilled up everything but the garlic patch yesterday before dinner. After dinner, I worked like a maniac until after dark, picking out as many quackgrass rhizomes as I could -- a whole wheelbarrow full, and there are still more than I want to think about left in the garden! Those plants play to win.

Today, I gave the kids the day off from homeschooling so that they could help me get the composted manure in and plant the cover crop (field peas and fava beans). A trip to Lowes for the manure put Ethan to sleep, so we were able to work uninterupted by him. Brianna and Alexander were incredibly helpful and we got the work done in about an hour.

Here's what it looks like now:
It's not much to look at, but my garden has never been so nice and clean in the fall! I think I'll add some straw or mulched leaves when I can get some. This isn't the final look, however, as the cover crop will come up and cover the plot during the winter, fixing nitrogen into the soil and discouraging weeds.

It feels good to get back to the soil. It feels good to work hard and see progress. It feels good to share this endeavor as a family, each of us doing our part to provide some portion of our own food. It feels worth every minute.

It also feels small. I'm starting to gently work on Firmin (because I'll definently need his help) about putting a large plot further back on our property. I'd like to grow quantities of bigger crops -- squash, melon, potatoes, corn -- that I don't have room for now. But that would entail breaking a lot of sod and building a good fence to keep out the many critters (including deer) that inhabit our urban "nature oasis" back there. Getting it set up would be a project for next summer, with planting beginning next fall at the earliest. I'll let you know how it goes. Those of you who know Firmin can help me butter him up! You know -- what a great husband he is, how nice our land is, how it would be perfect for a big garden, how educational it would be for the kids, etc., etc. ;o)

Everyday Sacred

For the longest time, I needed an apron. I spend a substantial amount of time in the kitchen, and going apron-less was proving hard on my clothes. The aprons I already owned were of the stiff, canvass, men's grill-out style. They bunched around my waist and were too big around the neck. They're simply not comfortable to leave on for any task besides cooking, so I tended to take them off during a break in the kitchen action, then forgot to put them back on when I went in to finish up. I needed a nice woman's apron -- one with full coverage, soft fabric, and a narrower waist. One that I could leave on all day if need be. But there were two problems. First, I couldn't find anything for sale that seemed to fit my needs. Second, I had a mental block: it seemed so 1950's house-wifey to wear something like that! To make matters worse, I often wear long skirts, so I needed one with a full skirt to properly protect my clothes. Forget 1950's housewife, think Amish farm wife! Eek!

The I attended Friends General Conference Summer Gathering. I participated in a week-long workshop (run by Robin M.) that addressed, among other things, ways in which contemporary Friends can find new meaning in the practices of early Quakers. One of the peculiarities of early Friends was that they did not celebrate holidays. Partly this was because of the pagan origin of many holidays, but also it reflected their belief that every day was sacred, that every act and every moment should bring us closer to The Light, to God.

Now, in practice, I'm not very good at remembering the sacredness of mundane moments. Not many people are. This is why we create rituals and yes, even holidays -- to remind us of the sacredness of life and this moment. Yet there is danger in ritual as well. Early Friends were harsh critics of "empty forms": rituals that were performed mindlessly out of duty or habit. Rather than sacred, such rote rituals were a denial of the Living Spirit within. Thus, to the extent that Quakers had rituals at all, they tended to serve some practical purpose as well. For example, plain clothing, without extraneous trim or complicated styling, reminded them of their faith, but also served to simplify their morning routine, ostensibly leaving more mental space for God and more money for good causes.

Thinking about early Quakers and the sacredness of daily life provided me with a shift in my frame of reference. Ruining my clothing was wasteful and inconsistent with the testimonies of simplicity and stewardship, but that wasn't quite enough to get me past my cultural hang-ups about aprons. The concept of every day being sacred was the clincher. I would make the apron myself, and both the making of it and the wearing of it would be a sacred act.

When I put on my apron, I'm reminded of why I do so -- to be a good steward of my clothing, sure, but also to provide sustenance for my family, to cook (as often as possible) in a way that is consistent with my ecological and community values, and to remember to make mental room for the Sacred, the Divine, even in the most mundane of tasks. Who'd have thought an apron could do all that?

I still feel a tad house-wifey when I wear it. (I'm thankful I'm not called to wear it outside the house!) Yet, in truth, the slight discomfort is probably a good thing. Without it, I wouldn't remember all that the apron signifies.

Photo credit: Brianna Charlot