Never mind it’s been raining heavily since 2 am, and the garden is half underwater. The seeds have arrived! I can sort and file them, plan where they’ll go in the garden, and dream of sun-warmed tomatoes as enjoy a cup of tea by the fire this evening.
Author: Robinne Weiss
Stories of a Rock
You sit in my hand and tell me stories.
I am not as I appear
Stories of ice and fire.
My colours fade here, away from my home
Stories from deep within the earth.
Only anoint me in the sea and you will see my true self
Stories of heat and pressure,
Once smooth, featureless, grey
Of torturous change,
Violence tore at my very structure, squeezed me until I wept
Of slow cooling,
My tears still glisten, and trace my scars with brilliance
A condensation of minerals,
I glow with the translucence of accumulated stress
The story of your journey from crucible to mountaintop.
The angles of my fractured existence plain upon my face
The story of your tumbling fall to the sea.
My pain worn smooth from repetition
Tell me your story.
Let me rest now
Your whole story.
Soothed by abrasion
So like mine.
Slowly giving up my identity to the sea
Nostalgic Baking
I made Irish soda bread to go with dinner today. As I mixed up the dough, I remembered making soda bread back when the kids were preschoolers. The recipe I have is easily quartered, so I would make a full batch, and each of the kids would make their own quarter-sized loaf. It didn’t even require any calculations—I simply gave them a smaller measuring cup (1/4-cup and 1/4 tsp to my one-cup and 1 tsp measures) and they could follow the recipe just like I did.
They loved baking their very own loaf, and then seeing it next to their plate at the dinner table.
Of course, these days, the teenagers are less keen on baking the bread and more keen on eating it, but I reckon one day they might make their own Irish soda bread again and remember making mini-loaves with Mum.
The recipe I use comes from Beard on Bread, by James Beard. I don’t know if this wonderful little cookbook is still in print, but I encourage you to find a copy—if you’ve never made bread before, Beard will walk you through it. If you’re a seasoned baker, Beard’s comprehensive selection of recipes will give you plenty to riff off as you experiment.
3 cup wholemeal flour
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp baking powder
2 cups buttermilk
Combine dry ingredients. Mix in enough buttermilk to make a soft dough. Knead on a lightly floured board for 2-3 minutes. Form a round loaf and place on a buttered baking sheet. Cut a cross in the top with a sharp knife. Bake at 190ºC (375ºF) for 40-45 minutes.
Trying New Things
I regularly check out cookbooks from the local library. I enjoy trying new recipes and getting inspiration for new dishes.
I’ve gotten some fabulous recipes from library books.
I’ve also gotten some duds.
In winter, I gravitate toward the baking books, so when I saw the book, 500 Cupcakes on the library shelf, I checked it out without even opening it.
The first recipe I scribbled down and tried was mint chocolate cupcakes. Everyone in the family loves chocolate bars with mint, so why not a cupcake?
I had my first misgivings as I was mixing up the batter. The recipe called for only 1/4 cup of cocoa. Surely a chocolate cupcake should have more cocoa, I thought.
But I don’t bake with mint often, and I decided to trust the recipe on quantities—I would hate to get the balance off and not be able to taste the mint over the chocolate.
Unfortunately, I should have gone with my gut feeling on the chocolate. The resulting cupcakes are simply not chocolaty enough to stand up to the strong mint flavour. They’re not awful, but after the whole family weighed in on them, I wrote “meh” on the recipe.
Oh, we’ll eat them all. They’re not that bad. But I won’t be making them again, at least not by the recipe.
Still, it wasn’t a wasted exercise. Every time I try a new recipe, I learn. That’s worth eating some lacklustre cupcakes now and again.
Pear Crisp
We’ve run out of our own frozen and bottled fruit from summer, so when I found a tin of pears in the cupboard yesterday I immediately decided we needed dessert.
Commercial tinned pears can be overly sweet, so I ‘pimped’ my usual crisp recipe to enhance them. The result was truly spectacular.
First, I tossed the pears into a shallow baking dish and squeezed an entire lemon over the top of them.
Then I made the topping. I mixed:
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
scant 1/2 cup brown sugar
1/4 tsp each cloves and nutmeg
Into this mixture I cut 1/4 cup of cold butter
Then I mixed in 1/2 cup of finely chopped walnuts.
I spread the topping over the fruit and baked it for 30 minutes at 190ºC (375ºF).
I served it warm with a dollop of unsweetened yogurt and a dollop of lemon curd (which ended up looking like a fried egg…).
The sour lemon and yogurt and the bitter walnuts beautifully balanced the sweet pears.
Tinned pears never tasted so good!
What are the Odds?
A winter storm dropped nearly an inch of sleet on us overnight. I crunched through the ice in the dark this morning to feed the animals. After emptying sleet out of the chickens’ feed tray and filling it with pellets, I turned and saw, in one of my footprints, a bright green/blue glowing spot.
Bioluminescence. There was no mistaking the colour. I carefully scooped up the bit of glowing sleet and held it in my hand. I could think of no terrestrial source of the glow. There are no glowworms in my vegetable garden, and no bioluminescent fungi. Besides, this was in the ice, not on the ground.
The spot glowed for a moment between my fingers. Then the ice melted, the light went out, and whatever had made the glow dripped to the ground.
I spent an hour online looking for any reference to bioluminescence in snow, and found none. The only explanation I could come up with for my glowing sleet was that a phosphorescent marine creature was picked up in sea spray four kilometres away, frozen, and then deposited in my garden. My stomping foot disturbed it, and it glowed briefly before, most likely, succumbing to a deadly infusion of fresh water.
What are the odds that organism would be picked up from the sea and whisked four kilometres inland? What are the odds it would land in my garden? What are the odds it would have still been alive when I trekked out to feed the animals? What are the odds I would step on that tiny organism and induce it to glow?
Very, very tiny.
I was given a tremendous gift this morning. One of those gifts that reminds me to always keep my eyes open. You really never know what you might see.
Explore the Forest Floor
Thursday’s weather forecast is looking perfect for some good indoor Kidsfest activities.
Join me, this lovely metallic green ground beetle, and the Lincoln Envirotown crew for a morning of fun activities exploring the forest floor.
There will be crafts, a log tunnel, live insects (including an insect petting zoo), and lots of other fun stuff.
I’ll also have books for sale, including special pre-release copies of Backyard Bugwatchers!
Thurs 13 July
10.00 am – 12.30 pm
Lincoln Events Centre
FREE (koha appreciated)
More info
Old-fashioned Fever Remedy
So, with the family head cold this week, my daughter got a fever. She’s terrible at being sick. She can’t stand not being constantly in motion, but the fever dragged her down so much she couldn’t do anything. It was bad enough feeling icky, but to not be able to go outside and ride her unicycle, or do some climbing, or build something was a fate worse than death.
I suggested some paracetamol to bring the fever down, but she refused (she hates taking medicine). I was a bit frustrated—the brunt of her bad mood landed on me (because I was sick, too, and we were both confined indoors).
Then I remembered that my mother used to give me crushed ice to eat when I was sick. I reckoned it might just do the trick.
She briefly refused the ice, but I think the novelty of a glass full of crushed ice and a long-handled spoon to eat it with won her over.
The results were brilliant—a glass of ice, and she was out the door and on the climbing wall. The fever came back in an hour or so, but the window of exercise did the trick for her mental health. When the fever spiked again, she happily retreated to the fireside to read a book. When she got antsy to get out once more, I made her another glass of ice.
Proof once more that Mother knows best. Thanks, Mom!
Citrus for Sickness
Salty lemons and sweet lemon curd…mmmmm.
The entire family came down with a nasty head cold last weekend. We’re all still feeling under the weather a week later.
The scientific evidence is pretty clear that, contrary to popular belief, vitamin C doesn’t actually help a cold. Regardless, we’ve all been gravitating to citrus fruit this week. We went through more than six litres of orange juice, a kilo of lemons, half a kilo of oranges, and the better part of a bottle of lemon juice. I made lemon cornmeal pound cake for the week’s lunchbox treats. I made lemon barley scones with lemon curd for Sunday breakfast. As I type, my husband is making roast vegetables with salted lemons for dinner.
There’s something soothing and clean about citrus on a sore throat. Something refreshing about a juicy orange, even if you can’t taste it because of a stuffy nose. No, it doesn’t actually help us get over a cold faster, but it’s pleasant. When you’re sick, all you want is comfort.
So bring on the citrus. I’m under no illusions about its health benefits, but if that’s what tastes good, I say enjoy.
Planning Season
It’s that time of year again, when I eagerly await the seed catalog. The garlic has been planted, and I’ve made a list of the seeds I have and the seeds I need. I’ll determine what seeds I want once the catalog arrives.
I’ve created the garden map for this coming season, but haven’t yet filled in the spaces. I’ll wait for some cold, nasty evening to do that.
I’ve been eyeing the garden itself, too. There’s still clean-up work to be done out there, and there are big mallow plants to be pulled (the chickens manage many of the weeds, but they can’t deal with mallow). I keep telling myself it won’t be long before I can get out there again. It’s a bit of a lie—it’s still six weeks before I can realistically start preparing the garden for spring. But if I keep myself busy with planning, spring will be here before I know it.
That’s my hope, anyway.
Robinne Weiss 