a golden anniversary

The eternal optimist within me likes to think there is something momentous or outstanding about each day. Today needs to be magnified exponentially as it is the occasion of my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary.

Married 10/4/58 – Still Married 10/4/08

When challenged with how to describe such a titanic event, my trick is saying it out loud so I get to the point quickly. Here are some favorite “out loud” stories I like to tell as memorable lessons I learned from my parents.

1. Know when to throw out the rules
My long-time bachelor father had three rules about selecting a wife: he had to like her family, she had to be a good driver, and she had to be a good bridge player. When he married my mother, he had never met her family, and she neither drove nor played cards. Way to go dad. Way to go mom!

2. Do it yourself
I grew up with a dad who could fix or build anything and a mom who could cook or draw anything. Strong memories of dad working are in the woodshop and house, not the law office. Our house is filled with rooms he built, artifacts he carved, woodwork he stained. Strong memories of mom creating are in the kitchen or at the “old family room” table with pastels and chalks. Sometimes it took time to appreciate her fine cuisine. My annual grade school dismay that mom always made rum cakes for the cake walk, quite unlike the other moms’ iced pastel fabrications, turned to pride when her cake was always selected first.

3. Let there be fondue!
Fondue is undoubtedly the iconic meal for our family. A good Riesling, the right combination of Gruyere and Emmenthaler, crusty bread, and some Elizabeth Schwarzkopf music are a recipe for family togetherness by the fireplace. Seriously, unlike many families we grew up with, we ALWAYS ate dinner together (except when dad was at the Hermit Club rehearsing for the Christmas concert). My husband and daughter and I virtually always eat dinner together too. A fine family tradition continued.

4. Speaking the native tongue
My sister and I were lucky to share a bilingual early childhood—German and English. This experience gave good perspective on words and meaning, and I have made a point to learn some of native languages where I have traveled for work—Russian, Bulgarian, Macedonian, Japanese, and a little Albanian. The story of my father meeting his German in-laws for the first time is priceless. A little tale about simply reversing “ie” and “ei.” He was invited to go boar hunting with my mom’s brothers. Schiessen is shooting. My dad, who had some high school german, said he was excited to go “scheissen.” You’ll just have to look that one up!

5. Be comfortable expecting the unexpected on vacation
I need to use a little shorthand here, but my family will know what I mean. Kind of like numbering favorite jokes and then calling out the numbers. Expect on their honeymoon in Ireland, my dad will get thrown from a moody white movie star horse into a pasture with an unknown angry bull. Expect that when everyone else is catching bass off Scudder Dock on Pelee Island, mom will catch a rare bowfin. Expect that my little brother will see our close neighbors in Teton National Park, 2000 miles from home, and act like it’s no big deal. Expect that the sheep will escape from the pasture and run through a christening at Walnut Hill Farm—three times. That was a long christening. Expect that the suitcase holding all of our camping gear will blow off the car in Paige, Arizona, and we get it back. Expect to wear rubber boots and raincoats the entire month we travel to Germany and Holland because it rains—every day—so we pick mushrooms and mussels—every day—instead of swimming. Ok, that’s enough.

6. Bring your own dictionary
It’s virtually impossible to have a conversation with my parents without looking something up in the dictionary or encyclopedia, especially my dad. This affliction has plagued me since childhood, and in fact today, as I took a walk with friends, I flagged three different things to look up when I got back to the house. There are several dictionaries at my parents’ house, which is helpful when several family members want to look up things at the same time. I was proud when I saw my parents’ passing on this vital tradition to the younger generation when we spent nearly an hour investigating the origins of the word of their choice,“booger.” Interesting etymology indeed!

I tried to select fond memories and stories from different time periods during the last 50 years, and what golden memories they are. Thanks mom and dad so very much for sharing these many lovely lessons and family love. My great love to you both. I can't wait to celebrate with you in person next week with the special liqueurs I made from homegrown currants. Love, m

Please join me in celebrating my parents’ anniversary by posting well wishes and thoughts.

haiku challenge

I have long been enamored with the elegant verse of haiku. The simple construction of five syllables, seven syllables, and five syllables sounds so natural and is nice to say aloud. When I feel too busy to write, I often turn to the haiku to distill what it is I want to say without a lot of additional text. As these waning days of summer have been so full, I turn again to the haiku to illustrate overflowing thoughts, more than I can write about. Just a haiku. Plain and simple. Less is more, less is more.

On brewing liqueurs for a fiftieth wedding anniversary

a mad scientist

mixing ruby elixirs.

berry alchemy

You probably didn't notice that the title was in haiku verse either? But seriously, returning to the simplicity thesis...

Sweet Tresses

What do I love so

much about weaving little

girls' hair with flowers?

Canning

Green peels, steamed and stirred.

A garden harvest transformed.

Summer in a jar.

So, did you think the haiku challenge is for me? By thinly veiled subterfuge at the end of my poetic streamings, I reveal that the challenge is for you! I challenge you to respond to this post in haiku. Or if you prefer, send me a favorite haiku and I will likely post it in the new monthly haiku column.

backyard leopard

Last week, my husband and four-year-old were headed to the chicken coop when she stopped to play on the swings. When my husband came out of the coop, she burst out, "Daddy, I saw a leopard!" I know right where she saw it too, because I saw it in the same place the week before. Can you guess what our backyard leopard is? It's a shy bobcat (Lynx rufus). Lynx is the Latin word for "lamp," which refers to their specialized eyes with expanded irises that allow them to hunt effectively at night.

Since their mottled coats blend in perfectly with their habitat, we're both so lucky to have seen it. Even when they curl up and sleep, they are almost impossible to see, unless they are sleeping under our backyard apple tree. This gnarly ancient tree has been a bobcat beacon for years, and once a hungry bobcat treed our monstrous peacock in it.

Perhaps the bobcats have been using the base of the tree as a hunting bed, where they will crouch for hours waiting for prey to approach--in this case my chickens. This year, our beautiful leopard has already claimed two bantams: a blue belgian and a speckled cheswick. (My chicken connoisseur friends will know I made up that last name to describe my mysterious chicken hybrid).

Bobcat tracks are rarely seen, although I usually see them every year or so. I have an advantage here having worked for famous cat biologist Ted Bailey in Alaska. There, as a US Fish and Wildlife Service employee, I used radio telemetry and snow tracking to study lynx, wolves, and marten. My animal tracking skills get constant practice up here in the mountains.

Although usually nocturnal, bobcats are also known to be active in the afternoons. One year, we saw a bobcat on four succesive Friday afternoons between 2pm and 4pm, each time with a chicken tucked between its teeth. I don't mind losing an occasional chicken to a bobcat and much prefer that to the cache kill survival technique of weasels and mink. As I say to my friends who really want to see a bobcat, try getting some chickens.

Seeing the bobcat reminds me how lucky I am to live where I can see wildlife instead of reading about it or seeing it on TV (which we don't get up here). Often right in the backyard. Obviously, I did not take the photo seen above. To see some really incredible photos of bobcats, go to link: http://www.oceanlight.com/lightbox.php?x=bobcat__mammal__animal

I keep looking out the kitchen window hoping for another glimpse of our leopard under the gnarly old apple tree. The chickens are under house arrest for the time being. While our bobcat is not that much bigger than our wiley housecat, I'm glad this is one kitty that my daughter chose not to pet. Here kitty, kitty, kitty!

twist on a tea party

Recipe for Mystery Kid Tea

one rainy day, not too cold

five assorted glass jars

five different flavored tea bags, wrappers removed

plenty of hot steaming water

one qualified tea taster to test it

When it rains on your party, there's usually a recipe for fun. This recipe received the honored kid seal of approval recently. One of my daughter's favorite books is Kid Tea by Elizabeth Ficocelli. Each weekday, described by a sing-song daily poem, ends with the evening bath. The bath water becomes Kid Tea and turns the color of whatever fun they were having. Blue Kid Tea for berry picking. Green Kid Tea for grass clipping. Brown Kid Tea for garden digging.

We adapted Kid Tea to a more culinary, sensory, empirical experiment. I placed mystery tea bags randomly in glass jars, poured hot water, and enlisted the services of a qualified tea test taster. Our discerning tea sommelier carefully described impressions of each tea cup aroma, color, and flavor, as well as each dry tea bag appearance and aroma. A scribe recorded the utterly unpredictable results below.

YogiTea "Hibiscus Paradise"

Tea Bag appearance-red. Tea Bag aroma-white flowers. Kid Tea aroma-pear. Kid Tea color-red. Kid Tea flavor-pear.

Salada "Orange Pekoe"

Tea Bag appearance-blue. Tea Bag aroma-toast. Kid Tea aroma-tea. Kid Tea color-brown, or little girls. Kid Tea flavor-bears.

Stash "Peppermint"

Tea Bag appearance-ground green. Tea Bag aroma-mint. Kid Tea aroma-mint. Kid Tea color-orange. Kid Tea flavor-mint.

Organic Genmaiche "Green Tea with Roasted Brown Rice"

Tea Bag appearance-brown, no yellow. Tea Bag aroma-bread. Kid Tea aroma-bread. Kid Tea color-yellow. Kid Tea flavor-granola bars.

Chanakara "Blue Ginger"

Tea Bag appearance-not sure. Tea Bag aroma-candy. Kid Tea aroma-blueberry. Kid Tea color-blue. Kid Tea flavor-blueberry.

I hope you liked our twist on a tea party! It's good rain-rain-go-away Kid Tea.

petal revolution

I love cut flowers, so have treated myself to a flower share at a local farm each year. Each week for 10 weeks, I visit a towering, four-story, historic, white barn and stroll among the bins selecting brilliant flowers to display at the dining table where I can feast my eyes. Belles of Ireland. Lisianthus. Purple Coneflower. Teddy Bear Sunflower. The flower share follows in the vein of a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) share--a direct marketing practice--where you buy a share of weekly produce. In my town you can also get seasonal shares of lamb, beef, pork, and chicken, all of which spillover into our pastures from a neighboring farm at times.

This summer, a new flower phenomenon has evolved. The day after the flowers arrive, I've discovered that they have migrated. Small hands rearrange them elsewhere or replant them. Sometimes, I'll find most of them replanted under the birch tree, or tucked into the perennials, or keeping the lettuce seedlings company (see below). Sometimes they've been painted new hues. Recently, they have transitioned into still life in muffin tins, perhaps because we had a tea party for the dolls and made petal upside down cakes with grass and earth.



I've been searching for words to describe this phenomenon. Petal revolution? It's surely four-year-old performance art, with a constant succession of images. Altered states of still life? Except these still lifes readily migrate to other venues. I have not guided these creations, and I've been influenced by their wonderful and unexpected manifestations. I guess I'll just be content in knowing that bouquet deconstruction is creating a new beauty paradigm in my own backyard.

vacation, migration

QUESTION: What do you do on your vacation when it rains 10 days straight (torrential downpours for hours)? ANSWER: Get out your mushroom guide, your rubber boots, and watch the storms roll in. Think this is a haunted house? Hardly. Rather a stormy 7pm in August. These photos were taken about three minutes apart in our dooryard. We quickly took shelter on the porch where we were dazzled by yet another eye and ear stunning tempest.

I try to take August vacation at home, a growing trend called "stay-cations." Millions of people migrate here for vacations, and I already live here. It's one of the precious opportunities of a rural, remote lifestyle. The persistent rain allowed me to hear large volumes of live music and read ravenously instead of the usual painting, haying, logging, and trail clearing. Did a lot of swimming too, which seemed a vertical in addition to a horizontal experience this year.

We had our annual visit to a nearby lake where a dear college friend has a family camp. Flash floods caused the lake level to rise two feet the day before we got there. I saw whole trees with a dbh of 8 inches (that's diameter at breast height for non-forester types) spit out by brooks and beached sideways on deltas, leaves, roots and all. The inundated shoreline sure made it easier to get in and out of the canoes, on the grass instead of the dock. I was a bit unaccustomed to removing sticks and other woody debris from my hair after swimming, though.

Mushrooms were spectacular! Several soggy hikes yielded so many shapes and colors. Coral-colored coral mushrooms, really. Orange and green Pfifferlinge look-alikes. Savory Steinpils. Chanterelle. Along the river, I had fun making up bizarre common names. Troll Tongue. Frog Futon. Southern Belle Parasol. Raccoon Eyes At Night, the whole extended family. Tired Toadstools. I could just imagine all the toads being excited about all the extra forest furniture this year!

The biggest gift this vacation was seeing migrating Sandhill Cranes. Wow! My exceptional, ornithologically inclined nephew would have been thrilled (although he sees them regularly where he lives out west). There was no question what they were--red forehead, white cheek, tail bustle, gray with reddish brown streaks. Two adults with two juveniles which were slightly browner, slightly smaller. Sandhill Cranes summer in Alaska, Northwest Territories, and north-central Canadian provinces. They winter in Texas and Mexico, generally, and some go to Florida, NOT New England. I've only seen them in Wyoming and Idaho.

I was tagging along with some of the other moms on a blueberry picking mission while our kids were at camp. I saw the cranes in a field, my heart skipped, and I stuttered, "Those are Sandhill Cranes." I might as well have said there's a loaf of white bread out there. I said, "We need to turn the van around, really." They said, "We're going to be late." I said the same thing over again, so they humored me. Luckily, we had binoculars and a camera in the van as we watched, awed, by the side of the road. After speed-picking blueberries, and driving back the same way, other cars were pulled over with people toting monstrous viewing lenses. Awed, all over again.

I feel so relaxed after my two-week vacation, and best of all, the migration came to me!

Drenched Dragonflies

August is Dragon Boat racing time, and my team the Dragonflies raced for a second year. Dragon Boat racing involves 20 paddlers, one crazy drummer, and one steerage expert to maneuver 40-foot-long dragon boats attired with painted, carved dragon heads and tails. The Dragon Boat Festival is organized by Dragonheart, a breast cancer survival group that raises funds for breast cancer awareness, treatment, and care. I was instantly inspired last year when I saw a festival announcement flier and began the arduous task of recruiting. The festival races two types of teams: breast cancer survivor teams from around North America and local community teams, most of which are corporate. Amidst a field of 80 community teams, the Dragonflies were one of the few all women's teams, although each team required at least eight women paddlers.

It was a wet affair this year. It was raining when I got up 4:30am to get to the waterfront. It was raining when I returned home at 5pm. I wondered why after all my extensive wilderness survival training and experience I chose to wear such a large volume of cotton, which I shed later that afternoon after finally reaching chill point. Honestly, the rain hardly dented the spirit of the festival. Nearly 2000 paddlers danced in the warm rain and we spoke of transforming it into liquid sunshine.

What I really like about this event is that it is not about strength, rather it is about synchronicity. That, and it is a heart rush to feel these large boats plane and rise out of the waves under arm power. While we did not win a cup, we gained comaderie and many, many smiles. That said, we won in the spirit category--last year for best overall banner, this year for best T-shirt. Another satisfying "win" was during the practice paddle a few weeks ago. We practiced racing against a corporate team of 20-something-year-old men and women....and we crossed the finish line first. What a sweet moment for our team of one third 30-somethings, one third 40-somethings, and one third 50-somethings. Murmured comments of old, flabby moms rock made me laugh. As I said before, it's all about synchronicity, not strength or attitude.

To see and HEAR what the races look like, visit the Dragonheart Vermont website. Immediately below the center homepage photo it says "Click here for Audio Slideshow of the Dragon Boat Festival." http://www.ridethedragon.org/