CAMPFIRE

Blue-orange flames lick glowing coals; cedar resin fires up - intense bursts that fill the nose with forest scent; exposed skin searing while backsides stay cool; crackling, shifting, feeding, burning. Smoke follows beauty, anyone dare to jump over?, oracles in the fflames, can I have another marshmallow? Stories and remembrances flow from the kiln of cleansing fire. My eyes glaze, my thoughts travel the past and future at equal speed. My body is here ... on this log. My spirit has flown with the heated ether.

POETIC WORDS OF WINE

Angels, Thieves and Winemakers written by Joseph Mills, has come to my attention. Mills is a literary critic who has written a book of poetry about wine. A few poems for your enjoyment...

Wine's Beautiful Illusions

Opening a bottle of wine is an act
of optimism. We're confident it will
improve the moment, the conversation,
the relationships. Each time we pull a cork,
it's as if we're saying, Here, I think this
will help make things a little better.

Some Hypotheses on Why a Second Glass May Taste Better:

Perhaps the eyes see the refill
and signal to the body
At ease:
you're here for a while so
you might as well
loosen the tie
and settle in,
or perhaps the wine itself relaxes
slips out of its cork corset,
begins to breathe
and make itself more sociable,
but it's probably because
you are wiser
than a glass ago.
There is no mystery now
about what the bottle holds.
You no longer have
expectations
or illusions
but you still have
desire.

Twenty Years Later I Make a Realization About Her Shampoo:

What do you smell,
the winemaker asks,
and I hesitate to answer
because it's an old girlfriend
and weekends in her studio apartment,
milk carton bookshelves
and cracked walls and ceilings
whose stains we pretended formed maps
of countries like Mythica and Fornucopia.
He waits politely
but you can't say
you smell a lover,
broken plaster,
old jokes,
a life you used to have.

Finally, he suggests,
Grapefruit?
and I realize, yes,
that's it,
the nape of her neck,
her ears, her hair.
Grapefruit.

WINERY DISCOVERY

I'm delighted to have stumbled upon a new, very local winery -- Westport Winery. On the way to the beach to watch the surfing competition, my hubby noticed a new sign on the beach highway. When he called to tell me about it, I was incredulous that there would be a vineyard this close to the coast. Growing conditions are not ideal in our cool part of the coastal northwest. It turns out that the vintner has been making these first wine releases from grapes grown in eastern Washington, where we have a reputation for excellent wines. However, he has planted his own vineyard and is being courageous -- hoping that, in the future, he can make wines from estate grapes.

The reason I say "very local" is because the labels for the wine offered are each different and unique to the history of Grays Harbor county. In addition, the winery wins points with me for giving portions of each sale to various local service and charity groups. These include animal rescue organizations, the Surfrider Foundation, Habitat for Humanity, Grays Harbor Shorebird Festival, the county master gardeners' association, theater groups, libraries and even the Kurt Cobain Memorial Committee (he was born near here). Because of my veterinary background, I am partial to the Jetty Cat Red! There are many jetty cats in Westport and I've been involved in the past with spaying and neutering them to control populations. But, that's another story.

I suppose one could talk about wine labels getting gimmicky. But, the quality of the wine inside is what counts in the end. If the wine is good, why not have a little fun with the marketing? And if some of the money goes for a good cause, so much the better!The gift bottle I received today was the Surfer's Last Syrah. I haven't opened it yet, but, when I do, I'll post my tasting notes! I do love my vino!

GREENHOUSE DOINGS

Nicholas decided to "help", as I planted seeds in flats and generally just puttered in the greenhouse today. The day was sunny, but the wind was quite cool, so the comfy warmth was just what I wanted.

The fig tree I have planted permanently in the back of the greenhouse has just leafed out -- I hope for fruit again this year. Last year was such a cool summer that nothing happened. I looove figs! Today's plantings were: another batch of butterhead and oak leaf lettuces, parsley root, celery root and more basil. No such thing as too much basil! The scent of pesto is green electricity to the nose, in my opinion. Heady with garlic, zippy basil, pine nuts, fresh Parmigiano ... knowing it will soon bathe hot pasta ... ungghhh. Seriously happy eating!

Already in the ground are leeks, sweet onions, potatoes, red and green cabbages, spinach and pac choi. I'm fairly sure the last frost has occurred (???), so it's time for the big push to get the rest of the garden in. Then it's the battle to keep the chickens from foraging among the tender seedlings! The rhubarb is going mad...I have more than anyone could possibly use. Tonight's dessert is rhubarb raspberry crumble.

I'm grateful to have such a big vegetable and herb garden -especially in the current economy. It'll be even more valuable this year, to be able to walk outside and harvest dinner! Wish I could have each one of you come share in it!

CITY MOUSE OR COUNTRY MOUSE???

A friend wanted me to do this blog, so here it is. A few years after moving to the country from Seattle, I wrote this essay and it was published by the Seattle Times newspaper. About a third of it was edited out, as they have a strict 1000 word guideline. I tried to scan it, but obviously, that didn't work. So, I've typed it all out here...

City's energetic beat no match for nature's peaceful rhythms

The day's heat is suspended in the damp, humusy air of the woods. I walk on moss and step over rotting logs along a narrow trail under Douglas fir and alder. I'm going to the swimming hole, a few minutes behind my house, for a cooling soak.

My address for the last three years has been a town few people have heard of and even fewer have visited. I don't even live in it, but 14 miles away, on a river named for an obscure Indian tribe.

Shoes on, I step into the rocky-bottomed river and wade upriver 50 yards, my rough-coated terrier gliding beside me like an otter. Where the depth rises from my knees to my waist, I pull myself up onto the logjam and hoist up the dog. The unprecedented floods of the previous year deposited this natural dam and created a swimming hole behind it that beckons in the heat like a promised embrace.

I slip out of my clothes, heart beating faster at the thought of the icy plunge to come. With a ragged intake of breath, I jump high, knees hugged in tight. I hear a split-second of splash, then the gurgle of water as I sink until my rear hits the mud. Uncoiling, I surface with great, startled gulps of air filling my contracted chest. I may not reach beatitude here, but I can approach it, if only for a moment.

-Out of city, into Eden

I spent my first year in the country pining for the city. Against the advice of nearly everyone I knew, I persuaded my husband to move away from traffic, pollution, noise and crowds to the Eden I thought I'd find. But the perfect vision I'd had eluded me, at first.

Every two weeks, I drove the two hours to Seattle, feeling relief as the downtown buildings came into view, solid and familiar symbols of my early adulthood. Rushing from restaurant to bookstore to appointments, I'd absorb the city's energy like a solar panel. I had left my soul in Seattle. My body lived a hundred miles away. It took a long time for the restlessness of city life to seep out of me.

When I came to live here, I was unused to such enveloping quiet. Where I could hear a crow's wing beats as it flew overhead and the rain approaching before I saw or felt it. In the space of a week, I had a list of 11 bird species I'd seen on our acre. I was ashamed that I felt guarded in such an open place.

Before the move, I'd laughed at stories of city people who fled the country after hastily making the decision to relocate. It wasn't funny anymore. It wasn't only the sudden thrust into a place ruled by nature that put me off balance. The people were very different.

Environmentalism is profanity here. They laugh when I ask about recycling. People leave injured animals, wild or domestic, in the road to die slow deaths. This is the land of clear-cuts and slash burns, where every other man you meet either works for Weyerhaeuser or Simpson timber companies or has been laid off.

But trust and support are the norm in this place. In October of my first year, it became bitingly evident that I needed a cord of firewood -- soon! I called on a local ad, but the man could only come while I was at work. "Just leave the $100 on the door," he said. As I stood shivering in my dining room, I reluctantly agreed, expecting to find an empty envelope and no wood when I got home. But on my return, the wood was exactly where I'd asked it to be placed, with the opened envelope sticking out of the pile. That same winter, when we were without power, and therefore water, for 10 days, "neighbors" in the next valley offered a hot meal, the use of their shower and their freezer in which to store the Christmas ham.

-Listening more

I'm learning as I go along about the conflicts of ideas and values. Listening more, preaching less. The edges of my spirit are not as raveled. The mornings I spend with coffee and notebook at the battered picnic table are a ritual I wouldn't give up.

Gradually, I'm feeling this is home. It is no longer surprising to me to see deer on my way to work, eagles flying overhead, a herd of elk ascending a hill or a great blue heron flying over corn fields. I am still in awe of them all. This land is patiently weaving me into its fabric. I am becoming part of the design.

c.

RHUBARB CUSTARD PIE

Even people who dislike rhubarb or pie love this one. I just gathered some eggs and cut some rhubarb, came inside and baked this. A nice spring dessert! The recipe posting isn't working, so it's here in my blog...

One unbaked 9" pie shell
3 c. thinly sliced rhubarb
1 - 1 1/2 c. sugar (1 cup is usually enough for all but the sourest rhubarb)
2 T. flour
1 T. melted butter
3 eggs, separated
Cinnamon

Heat oven to 450 F. Make your favorite pie crust recipe and place dough in pie pan. In large bowl, combine rhubarb, sugar, flour, melted butter and egg yolks. Mix well. In separate bowl, beat egg whites until stiff but not dry. Fold whites gently but thoroughly into rhubarb mixture. Pour filling into pie shell and sprinkle with cinnamon. Bake 10 minutes, then reduce oven heat to 350 F and bake 30-40 minutes longer, until golden brown and set. Cool, cut and serve.

LUSCIOUS MIELE, HONEY, MIEL, HONIG...

Today, I saw the first bees -- two bumbles and one honey bee, buzzing in the heather. I had an immediate craving for honey and perused my collection from which to choose (hey, excess works for me). Since moving beyond commercial clover honey many years ago, my tastes have blossomed and honey can be as varied as wine. I ended up licking a big spoonful of two of my favorites...cardoon honey, from the island of Elba, and Girasole (sunflower) honey from Italy. Sunflower was my favorite until cardoon honey supplanted it two years ago. Ohhhhhh...the nuances and depths of flavor honey can encompass. Tasting notes of the honeys I have here will follow below as well as a recipe for Finnish Mead that I will post under "recipes".
Whether spread on toast, served with cheese, baked into a dessert or drizzled on skin, honey makes its own statement. Its viscous quality and sweet, true-to-its-origins taste are enchanting. The floral source of nectar heavily influences the taste and color of honey, just as type of grape and terroir influence those of wine. We are all a product of our environment, no? Honey has its own personality determined by the flowers from which it was produced.
Although I generally frown on the practice of food being marketed as health benefit, honey does have historical and proven use in promoting health. Generally, darker honeys have a stronger taste, and higher anti-oxidant and nutritional properties. Two tablespoons (30 ml) contain 25 mg. of potassium. Honey's antibiotic and preservative qualities are well-documented. It helps in the body's absorption of calcium. Honey lends healing benefits to soaps and cosmetics; beeswax candles are lovely and burn cleanly. The Egyptians used honey as a tonic, skin treatment and even as payment or tribute. Injured German soldiers in WWI were treated with honey poultices to help wounds heal and keep infection at bay. By-products of honey also have health benefits - propolis, royal jelly, bee pollen, etc. I won't go into these, but there's a lot of information out there for further research.
Raw honey has much, much more flavor than processed honey. Try them side by side and the difference is amazing. If there is a chunk of honey comb or a bit of bee leg, so much the better! Nutritive benefits are preserved in raw honey.

• There are more than 300 unique types of honey available, each originating from a different floral source. It's interesting to note that, if bees collect nectar from poisonous plants, the honey will be toxic, as well. Honey from primarily rhododendron or oleander blossoms can kill a person. On a macabre side note (heh heh) oleander is particularly deadly...even the smoke produced from burning it can be fatal, as well as the water in which the flowers are placed. Agatha Christie, where are you? So, let's see what I have in the cupboard and I'll do my best to convey their flavors...
• Mimosa Honey - medium color, flavors of caramelized sugar, distinct floral scent and taste, sharp, citrusy notes...tastes a little bit wicked. I told a friend about mimosa honey and she said, "there's no such thing," Oh, YES, there is.
• Strathdale organic honey - from New Zealand, slightly creamed. Raw honey from white clover. Clean, light, sweet but not cloying like processed clover honey is. Good all-around honey for toast.
• Girasole/Sonnenblumen/Sunflower honey - One of my favorites. Sunny yellow, thick, bright and light on the tongue, but the flavor fills your mouth. There's a slight hint of sunflower stem. It really does taste like summer and you can't help but smile.
• Mt. St. Helens Wild Black Raspberry honey - As with all alpine honeys, the freshness stands out. Taste reminds me of apple blossoms. Very floral quality. This honey includes a chunk of honey comb in the jar and the wax adds to the depth. Remember that honey comb is edible.
• Miele Cardo/Cardoon honey - Cardoons are part of the artichoke family. I have two cardoon plants in my garden that grow to over 8 feet tall, with huge purple, thistle-like blooms. Once I tasted the honey from these blooms, I was lost. Medium-dark in color, heavy in the mouth, vegetal flavor behind the floral. Tastes like languid, deep summer.
• Swiss Alpenhonig - Clean, very liquid, sweet with earthy, farmy overtones. Must be the cows! Great for tea.
• Provence honey - heavy with lavender, but given more complexity from other warm season flowers and weeds. Creamy and sumptuous.
• Rosemary honey - this one is from Italy. For me, not one to eat on its own, as it tastes more savory than sweet. Delightful drizzled on strong cheeses or on figs or used as a glaze for pork or chicken.
• Chestnut honey - Very dark, very strong. Distinctly bitter aftertaste. I use this honey to make German or Dutch honey cake as it imparts the best flavor. Tastes of sweetened sap and dirt.

I'm always on the lookout for new honey flavors, and, with 300 varieties, I have plenty to try! When I go to Munich, one of my first stops is the Honighaüsl in the Viktualienmarkt. There, I can get a glass of hot Met - a honey-based alcoholic beverage - as well as many types of honey and schnapps. I just learned that honey is available from the blossoms of my favorite tree, the tulip poplar. I'll be looking for that one next!
~Sweet as sweetest Grecian honey will my song be when I sing, O Beloved, in the season of the Spring! -Ruben Dario