After nearly none last year, it hit suddenly and dramatically last night: cold, intense, beautiful.
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Some Things I Learned This Week
A lovely autumn day with a few flowers still in full bloom. Snow starts at ten tonight they predict.
In spite of this loveliness, I keep thinking about a few sad facts I learned this past week.
On June 2, 1924, Congress granted citizenship to Native Americans born in the US and finally, the original inhabitants of the USA could actually vote. Well, some of them. Certain states still barred them from voting until 1957.
More tigers live in captivity in the United States than in the wild worldwide. 95% of wild tigers gone in just one century.
More people have died from opioid addiction in the US in the last few years than from Viet Nam, Afghanistan, and Iraq wars combined.
You’re Gonna Eat That?!
This is the title of my newest book which currently resides at the designers for formatting, placing the photos in the correct place and position, making sure everything is just right. The subtitle is: Adventures with Food, Family, and Friends. It includes family and travel stories, adventures, poems, and recipes. Here are a couple of food photos which will be in the book with recipes.
Every Sunday until publication, I will post an update as to progress. My goal is to have it available for purchase for Christmas presents for those who love food adventures.
Autumn
dramatic weather changes
one day cold, next one almost hot
late blooms, gayfeather, groundswell,
native grasses blowing in the wind
owls hooting, robins on the patio
praying mantis, walking sticks
working on their last hunts,
other insects singing night songs
Almost Autumn
Golden glow lays over the land
Praying mantis walks up the window
Storm clouds gently glide through azure
September 1, on the Rim of Wonder
Sunrise
Dappled clouds
Owl hooting
Wren climbing
Later, I graded papers and watched part of John McCain’s funeral, some of which almost brought me to tears. I often disagreed with him but never did I question his passionate love of country, his courage, his willingness to buck the norm, to defy convention when he thought it was the right thing to do. I think he and I shared certain values on which this country is based even if the country as a whole rarely lives up to them. These include the conviction that all people are equal, that everyone deserves justice, and each person carries the right to find his or her own share of happiness without judgment and condemnation from others who may think differently.
Later, while working on the latest book I am writing, I found handwritten recipes written by my grandmother, my mother’s mother, Nellie Narcissus Duke (Kaiser),whose father came here from Switzerland as a child. One, for dumplings, remains readable. The other written in pencil on the front and back of thin paper is fragile. It is for Strawberry Shortcake. If Grandmother Duke ever made dumplings, I do not remember it. Mother did–chicken and dumplings. I wonder if she used this recipe. I do remember conversations about the shortcake because Dad did not like strawberry shortcake even though he liked strawberries. I took photos of these two recipes written decades ago in my grandmother’s handwriting.
Black Raspberries
Mom filled the white bowl with black raspberries.
I pour Bossie’s white milk over them,
watched it form a pattern,
flowing around the raspberries–
a design in deep purple and white.
I thought it almost too beautiful to eat.
I was seven.
Now I rarely find black raspberries. Red ones won’t do. They lack intensity, the beauty. Every year we went to Hunt’s Orchard north of Amazonia, Missouri, to buy black raspberries, took them home, sorted to discard the imperfect ones, then threw them way behind the garden next to the timber–huge trees, oak and hickory. Eventually, these imperfections transformed into thriving black raspberry bushes. We had our own patch, created from the discarded, the imperfect.
Mom fed us fresh raspberries for a few days. The rest she used to create her famous pies, froze a freezer full. Baked, they transformed a winter kitchen into the warmth and sweetness of my mother’s family devotion.
I bake pies, many kinds of pies. I have never made a black raspberry pie.
Note: this will be published in an upcoming publication by the Story Circle Network. In July my daughter, grandson, and I went to Hunt’s Orchard–yes, it still exists. I asked about black raspberries. We were too late; the season was over. The timber behind the garden area was to the right in this photo. The person who bought the land years later bulldozed down all the big trees.
New Adventure: A New Teaching Job
Monday I went to my new job, finished decorating my new room with a few posters, a giant puma drawing from one of my former students, and an old National Geographic photo of a giant redwood tree with several men stationed at varying heights. This year I will be teaching English Language Arts to grades 7-10, a writing class, and Spanish 1 and 2. The 7th and 8th graders will be a new experience. However, several have already come by to meet me, chat, hang out. Hard to knock that for starters. It is a nearly new building out in the country surrounded by fields and pasture with a feed lot down the road–ranching country where rodeo is a major activity.
On the east side of my classroom a giant window takes up 1/3 of the wall. A small section of the window even opens. Twice I have opened it and listened to the birds singing outside. The window sill can hold several plants because it is long and at least one foot wide. Plant shopping occurs this weekend. Students begin next week.
Cod Loin with Fennel and Lemon
This recipe, one of my favorites, will appear in my soon to be released cookbook full of family and life stories about food, family, and friends. I made this tonight around eight. As usual, I made enough for leftovers for another meal. Makes it easier if you work or are really busy.
Two small cod loins or one large cut in half
3 gloves garlic, chopped
1 poblano pepper, deseeded and coarsely chopped
Fennel essential oil
Lemon essential oil
Vegetables of your choosing cut into bite sized pieces
1 small handful of pepitas
Olive oil
I vary this by using different vegetables, e.g. spinach, Swiss chard, Brussel sprouts, beets, carrots. Tonight I used Brussel sprouts.
Saute garlic in olive oil until golden. If you use beets or carrots, sauce them with the garlic until nearly tender. If you use spinach, beet greens, Swiss chard, add them last.
Add the cod loins to garlic mixture and sprinkle each one with several drops of lemon and fennel essential oil. If you do not use essential oil, sprinkle with ground fennel and add deseeded lemons. If using Brussel sprouts, cut them in slices and add at the same time as the cod. When the cod is half cooked, add the poblano peppers and cook only until cod is done and the peppers are cooked but still bright green. If using spinach, etc., add them just before cod and peppers are done and stir until wilted. Sprinkle pepitas over the rice and vegetables. Serve over pasta or rice.
Note: I have also used fresh fennel for this recipe. If you decide to do this, saute it along with the garlic.
Almost done.
Served over Basmati rice. Salad is red bell peppers, red cabbage, romaine lettuce, radishes, and scallions with roasted sesame seed oil for dressing.
Cutting Yucca
Yucca will take over if you let it.
Every summer after the blooms dry, I tackle them with long,
red-handled clippers and cut off long stalks.
Not bothering to put on boots, I set out in black and grey Chacos,
cutting stalks in places unreachable by tractor.
I climb down to a rough area, open these long, red-handled clippers,
chop off the dead blossoms, then look down.
She lies there, her body slightly bigger than the size of my upper arm,
fat, not long.
A snake stretched out, only 1/8 inch from the front of my Chacos.
I look again. Crap. She’s a rattlesnake, one of those short,
stout prairie rattlers, perfectly blending with the grey and brown
rocks and soil.
Slowly, I inch backward, taking care not to fall on the steep slope.
When several feet away, I run to the barn, grab two shovels off their hooks,
run back. She’s gone. I search everywhere around.
I never find her.
