Lovely World

baby

I was happy to give this doll and pair of shoes I made to a sweet, new baby girl born just a few weeks ago. I made the card as well. Of course, the gift was delivered with a tasty meal (including some ridiculously chocolaty brownies my husband made). Gifts of food are so important in the early post-partum time. As a matter-of-fact, gifts of food are always nice, aren't they?

berries

Our raspberries are coming in at an incredible pace. We picked seven quarts last evening. Adam is all kinetic energy, dashing in and out of the bushes, eating every berry he picks. Miriam is now old enough to be a big help. She carefully picks the best looking berries to fill her basket. Our strawberries were a big disappointment this year. I think the rainy, overcast days really took their toll. We also had a noisy group of crows help themselves to many of the strawberries. We now have a scarecrow that is definitely keeping them from the rest of the harvest. I'm not sure how the blueberries will be this year. We had very few flowers early on. Same for the apple trees. Last year we had an incredible apple harvest. I had never seen the tree limbs so heavy with fruit. I think the trees are taking a break this year.

fern

The fiddleheads are emerging from their winter slumber. Our local food co-op has them for sale, and there are plenty for the picking in the woods about the house. You can boil or steam them, then toss with olive oil or butter and salt and pepper to make a quick green for the eating. They are not a regular part of our diet, but my husband likes to tell about eating fiddleheads and other edible wild greens while low on food during his thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail. It's hard to believe that those greens gave him many calories to carry on with his hike, but there is a certain romance in imagining him foraging for his food.

I found this bright green, delicate fern growing along the shady side of the house. It inspired a small embroidery on some blue linen. This rectangle may become part of a handbag. I'm not sure yet.

botanical garden

We love to visit the Smith College Botanical Gardens, especially during the dreary winter months (and around Western Massachusetts, those months seem to take up so much of the year). The kids and I recently visited during the Spring bulb show. Although the complex of greenhouses is not large, the kids love all the different plant habitats they can visit - the fern room, the cactus room, the equatorial plants, and the like.

I am in love with this terrarium/mini-greenhouse in the fern room. I would like to find something similar for my own plants. I spent some time taking photos of it, and adore how this one captured my daughter coming into the room to find me.

I think the cactus room is one of my favorites. The shapes and textures found in these plants are so unique. I have plans to create some embroidery inspired by cactus.  The ability of these plants to survive in harsh environments is admirable as well.

Lucky for us, the day was pleasant and we were able to walk around outside and enjoy the Japanese garden and a stroll by the pond. A bonus of our trip was lunch at one of my favorite restaurants, Paul and Elizabeth's. They emphasize whole, natural foods, and I love that the kid's menu is stocked with nutritious choices. I am so tired of the typical kid's menus that are full of "junk" food - hotdogs, hamburgers, french fries, breaded chicken, soda, and the like. I don't even mind my kids having an occasional burger or fries, but the ones on most kid's menus are of such low quality. How is it we have gotten to the point of offering our kids such bad food on a regular basis?

Food for Thought

Here is a recent snack eaten by my 5-year-old son. Whole wheat toast with cream cheese and jam along with a glass of milk. I show you this because from time to time food can be such a big issue in our family. Really, it is a big issue for me, the mother. I want my kids to eat healthy food. I want to teach them about food: where it comes from, how it nourishes their bodies, how food production effects the health of the planet, how it can bring pleasure. I want them to know how to cook.

But, too often, I end up sounding like a nag. I tell them to eat their vegetables. I tell them that they eat too many sweets. I tell them to, please, just try one bite. Does this sound familiar to any one else?

Well, a gift came into my hands just the other day. I checked Ann Hodgman's book of recipes for kids, "One Bite Won't Kill You," out of the library. Initially, I thought the book would simply add a few more dishes to my repertoire. Rather, it has turned out to be transformative to the way I will forever after think of the tangled relationship of food and mothering. Hidden away at the back of the book is the last chapter, a mere two pages in length, titled, "Why None of This Matters." Here are the words of wisdom that woke me up:

"If you are reading this book, you're probably a fairly comfortable resident of the richest country in the history of our planet. Your concerns about feeding your children are therefore rather trivial compared with those of most of the world's parents, past and present. You wonder how to provide your kids with food they like - not how to provide them with food.

Keep that in mind the next time you worry that your four-year-old doesn't get enough vegetables...Give up the notion that having a child who's a picky eater is a problem. It's not a problem. It's a luxury. True, I wrote this book to make your life easier. But you and I already have easy, easy lives compared to most people, and we should keep that in mind every time we offer our children something to eat.

I'm not saying you should pull out the old "starving Assyrians" line every time your kids refuse to finish their supper. Parents are right to feel a pang when their children snub perfectly good food that could save other children's lives. But the pang should be one of sadness, not guilt. It's terrible that so much of the world is starving. But it's not (directly) your fault - and it's not one bit your children's fault. Not liking a certain food is not immoral. What's immoral is that this world could, right now, grow enough food to feed everyone on the planet. Your energy is misdirected if you heap sorrow on your children's shoulders because they don't like broccoli. Teach them to help the poor instead.

Global issues aside, having a child who's a picky eater is not and never will be your problem. If it's a problem at all, it's the child's to deal with, when he or she decides she's ready. Your job is putting the food down on the table. The child's job is eating it. And "job" is too serious a word for the process anyway. Your kids probably won't reach adulthood never having eaten a bite of salad. Or maybe they will! Do you really care?

If you do, I don't want to know you. Our children are only young for a little while. If we can give them enough to eat, we're lucky and so are they. Let's enjoy mealtimes and not waste anyone's time trying to fix a situation that, for most of us, is already pretty great.

And then let's push in our chairs and go on to more important things."

Food for thought, indeed!

My Dad's Mug

Last week I dropped and broke my favorite tea mug. I was very disappointed that I had done this because it was special to me. I had given the mug to my dad for Fathers' Day back in the 1980s. I remember spending a lot of time looking around the local gift shop before deciding on that mug. I chose it because my dad was always overflowing the little coffee cups that were a part of our family's everyday dish set. The mug was a generous size with a nice handle. My dad used that mug every day, for close to ten years. When he died, my mother offered the mug to me. I quietly took it home, wondering whether to use it, or display it as some sort of remembrance of my dad.

I did indeed use that mug, for ten years. Every time I took it down off the shelf to make tea, and every time I washed it, I would say to myself, "Hello, there's my dad's mug." I'm going to miss that mug. I know I can't really replace it. I have so little of my dad's things, because he was a simple man and left little behind when he died. I guess this is one of those times when I let go a little more, yet again, of the material things of life.

So, yesterday I went on one of my every-few-months excursions to Target. My list of things I needed to get had grown large enough to warrant the trip. I wasn't planning on buying a mug. But, there was the display of the Orla Kiely housewares. I like her slightly retro/slightly scandinavian design sense. The original Orla Kiely product line is expensive. Hence, we now have Orla Kiely for the rest of us at Target, just like Martha Stewart at Kmart. I hesitated only for a moment, then put three mugs into my cart. I've already used them for a couple cups of tea. I really like them, but I still miss my dad's mug.

Cream Puff

David is the dessert maker in the house, mainly because his sweet tooth gets the better of him quicker than mine grabs hold of me. He outdid himself and his usual repertoire of brownies and bars this week by making cream puffs. I had been out one evening and when I returned, I saw the tray of puffs, a pot of homemade vanilla pudding still on the stove, and a bowl of homemade chocolate sauce. The kids enjoyed building the puffs. We all enjoyed eating them. I particularly like all the different flavors and textures that come together, and the fact that they aren't too sweet. The easy recipe is from "Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook," a very no-nonsense guide, around since the 1930s, to making just about anything under the sun.

The Gift of Soup

Not long ago my friend who lives up the road at Caretaker Farm (that is her lovely red barn in the photo) left a bag in our mudroom. The bag contained dinner. When we arrived home that afternoon from a day of skiing, I was thrilled to find that in order to put food on the table, all I needed to do was warm up what was in the bag.

At first I was puzzled as to why my friend would leave me this delicious package. She is busy with young children and running a farm, and I'm sure she doesn't regularly drop food by her neighbor's house just for the heck of it. Then I read the note that was tucked into the bag. She was bringing me this food now because she had failed to get food to me after my mastectomy surgery last year. I was so touched. Even though this dinner was coming at a time that I was feeling recovered and strong (I had spent the day skiing along beautiful trails in Vermont!), I still felt that it supported and honored all that I had been through to get to this day.

This gift held another surprise for me. The food was packaged in a recycled yogurt container, and I couldn't tell what it was at first. As I took off the lid, I could see that it was some sort of soup or stew. I got out a saucepan and poured the contents of the container into it. Oh my, I recognized that soup! It was the Gypsy Soup from the "Moosewood Cookbook." I could see all the chick peas, sweet potatoes and peppers in a broth colored golden by the tumeric, paprika, and cayenne. I had been gifted the very same soup over eight years ago, right after the birth of my daughter. My midwife colleagues at the time had organized a group of women to bring us food every day or so for the first weeks after the birth. I so clearly remember the bowls of Gypsy Soup I ate while nursing my new little girl. That soup, and all the other food that was sent our way, nourished me not only physically but emotionally as well. That food served as a connection to other women, most of them mothers. That food welcomed me into my new role, my new life, as a mother.

Consider making someone Gypsy Soup (or whatever other tasty treats you have in your cooking repertoire). Your gift of food will connect you to others. It will serve as support and comfort for another at a time of illness, birth of a baby, death of a loved one, or other time of transition. And remember, it is never too late to deliver that pot of soup.

Homemade Doughnuts

In honor of Hanukkah, and the miracle of the oil that lasted eight days, we made jelly doughnuts today. This is not a cooking project for the weak at heart. It involves making a yeasted dough, frying in very hot oil, and (the true miracle) injecting the jelly neatly into the doughnut. We did not have the appropriate kitchen implement for that last step (there must be a nice pastry tool out there somewhere) but David improvised by making his own. Interestingly, this involved a fair amount of duct tape, his material of choice for many projects. There are countless recipes for doughnuts, but we found this one from the blog East Meets West Kitchen (based on a recipe from Gourmet) to be just right. If you are brave enough to make these, you'll definitely enjoy them. And they are much, much better than Dunkin' Doughnuts.

Mother Nature's Colors

Our home is nestled in the valley formed by the Berkshire Hills and Taconic Range. Depending on the weather, the season, or time of day these mountains wear just about every color imaginable. The pink of sunrise, the purple of the end of the day, the white frosting of winter, the autumn fiery reds and oranges, and the fresh bright green of Spring. Today, the mountains were gray, plain and simple. The overcast sky and absence of foliage set the stage for a stark, bleak November landscape. I went to pick up our share of vegetables at Caretaker Farm this morning. We now find the vegetables in the root cellar. I packed up my bag with dirt covered carrots, potatoes, beets, and parsnips. The farmers leave these root vegetables dirty because the dirt extends their life in storage. Once home, I rolled up my sleeves and started scrubbing. Behold, what was once a dusty, dirty, muddy mess was transformed into a pile of jeweled-colored beauties. A satisfying contrast to the gray day. I offer you some color today.

RED

BLUE

GREEN

ORANGE