Daffodil Cake

Daffodil season is here! I try to celebrate as many seasonal delights as possible through the year, and I think that Spring should have a new sub-season - let’s call it Daffodil Week. They are the brightest, cheeriest harbingers of warmer weather, and right now in my area they are at their peak. I especially love when they appear along my regular routes in places I’d forgotten they would be. They are sunshine in plant form, and who can’t get behind that?

Old cookbooks are one of my many loves in life, and when I found this recipe for Daffodil Cake a few months ago in the Dutch Oven Cookbook from Lunenburg, I knew that I had to make it for Daffodil Week. We had company over on the weekend, and although Adam knew one person in the couple, neither of us knew the other. I knew neither, and was hoping that the cake would be appreciated. It was.

It was lovely - there is nothing else quite like the feeling of making new friends, especially as an adult. It has the same feeling as Spring - that sense of energizing expansion and openness and realizing that there is so much out there in the world. We had a lovely visit and all enjoyed the cake for dessert. (I made a variation of Sophie Christinel’s spring soup for the main dish, using what I had on hand. I made it a few weeks ago more exactly following her recipe, and it is SO delicious. Can’t recommend it enough.) I love feeding company.

Daffodil Cake is a light, fluffy cake, much like an angel food cake in texture. There’s only one cup of flour in the whole cake, so it’s not one that will leave you feeling heavy and over-full. The yolks of six eggs are the base of one part of the batter, the whites the other. They layer into this delightful yellow and white magic that is just perfect. I served it with ice cream and a drizzle of black currant sauce that I had in the freezer from the garden last year; the next day I had to have another slice to see if whipped cream would be as good, and it was - I actually preferred it to the ice cream. Happy Spring!

Daffodil Cake

Adapted from Dutch Oven: a Cook Book of coveted, traditional Recipes from the Kitchens of Lunenburg, recipe from E Anderson (Mrs Roseville)

Yellow batter:

6 egg yolks

1/2 cup sugar

2 tbsp water

1/2 cup flour

1 tsp baking powder

1 tsp lemon extract

Preheat oven to 350. Grease, flour, and line a 9” round cake pan with parchment (this is a very sticky cake). Beat egg yolks with sugar and water on medium speed of stand mixer for 15 minutes using the whisk attachment. It will become light in colour, velvety and glossy. Add flour, baking powder, and lemon extract, and mix until incorporated. Pour into baking pan.

White batter:

6 egg whites

1/2 cup sugar

1/4 tsp salt

1/2 cup flour

1/2 tsp cream of tartar

1 tsp vanilla

Beat egg whites until stiff peaks form. Add sugar, salt, flour, cream of tartar, and vanilla, mix until combined. Spread over top of yellow batter. Bake for 40 minutes; cake will be fluffy and golden. Cool in cake pan for 20 minutes, run a knife around the edge, and carefully turn out to finish cooling on a wire rack. Serve with ice cream or whipped cream, and a drizzle of tart sauce - lemon or raspberry are lovely if you don’t have gooseberries or black currants. It would also be lovely with fresh berries. Enjoy during Daffodil Week or any other time of year!

March

March is one of my favourite months - it seems unsure whether it’s still winter or spring, both looking back at the long winter we’ve come through and looking ahead to all of the growth and beauty that is to come. It’s my birthday month, which is super fun, and I just heard the first peepers of the season a few minutes ago! Now that’s something to celebrate. Of course it’s the month that my favourite flowers all year really shine - snowdrops, of course, which I have posted about before. And I’m sure I will again!

The crocuses are up and cheery despite the rain. And the bees are trying to get out between showers to collect pollen - we could use a bit of warm dry weather for them!

Ostara, Spring Equinox, Easter, warmer weather - whatever you’re up for celebrating, there is lots to appreciate! I made devilled eggs for the first time to celebrate the first day of Spring, and served them in this fantastic dish given to me by my lovely neighbour. It’s the season of eggs and chicks and we will have some new hens arriving in a few weeks to add to our old girls. There is no real reason why I had never made devilled eggs before - I love them SO much, maybe I was unconsciously keeping myself from eating dozens of eggs a week. The recipe I used is straightforward and absolutely delicious; I modified it slightly from one I found in a community cookbook I picked up at a book sale last weekend.

Devilled Eggs

6 eggs

3 tbsp mayonnaise

1/2 tsp each salt and pepper

2 tsp chives (fresh or freeze-dried)

paprika for garnish if desired

Boil eggs for 5 minutes and remove from heat. Let eggs stand in the hot water for 15-20 minutes. Drain, and replace water with cold water. Peel eggs under cold running water. Carefully cut eggs in half lengthwise. Use a small spoon to gently remove yolks to a separate bowl. Mash yolks and stir in mayonnaise, salt, pepper, and chives. Mix well, and stuff the boiled whites with the mixture. (Filling can be piped in with a pastry bag if you’re feeling fancy.) Dust with paprika. Refrigerate until ready to serve. Enjoy!

I was given this rose cutting a few years ago, and it was unhappy where I had it. It wasn’t getting enough sun, so I moved it last summer to this spot, and it seems very content. I don’t know the actual name, and I’m going from memory, but I think it looks like this. I’m hoping for blooms this year! It seems keen on growing.

I hope that there is a glimmer of Spring in your heart, whatever the weather and circumstances. Much love to you, from me and the peepers!

The Grey-T Outdoors

This winter so far has felt pretty standard for this end of the province - some freezing weather, a few messy storms, some warmer days in between, and lots and lots of grey. There’s a huge snowstorm covering most of the rest of Nova Scotia this weekend - our roads are bare, but there’s a light crust of snow on the yard.

For just over a year, I have been making a concerted effort to spend more time outside - going for walks, hiking in the woods, going to the beach, gardening - and although I haven’t been tracking it persay, I know that I have spent more time outside than in previous years. I feel better every single time I go outside, whether it’s raining, windy (when is it NOT windy here?), snowing, sunny - whether it’s with my morning tea for ten minutes on the back step or a summer morning marathon session in the garden that lasts until lunch. The fresh air, change of sounds, and the reminder that there is so much more in the world outside the walls of home and work - it’s always a balm. Even if my face is kind of frozen when I come in, like it was yesterday.

I knew this all in my head before, but didn’t actually feel it in an immediate sense until after the kidney donation, which my 2023 kind of revolved around. After coming home, in those first few weird weeks, as soon as I stepped outside, my whole mind and body instantly felt better. Lifted, somehow. Everything felt more do-able. I felt stronger. I went outside every day, did lots of very gentle gardening (more like spending time in the garden with a water bottle and chair close at hand). I’m confident that my recovery wouldn’t have been nearly as smooth if I hadn’t. It gave me exercise, sunlight, a reason for going outside, something outside of myself to focus on, a deep sensory experience, and of course the rewards of the herbs, vegetables and flowers that I grew.

The benefits of gardening have been understood by people for ages, and science backs it up. Horatio’s Garden project in the UK is such a beautiful example of purposefully using gardening as the healing tool that it is. Gardening in Canada is a very different thing than in the UK, but there are examples of therapy gardens here, too. The Gardener’s Question Time podcast and Gardener’s World show (which has been running since 1968!) are two of my favourite gardening inspirations - let me know if you have any Canadian gardening favourites. I joined our local garden club last year, which is a great way to meet people who also understand what it is to love plants, and it’s also a great source of local knowledge.

I can write all of these things with so much enthusiasm, but I still don’t think I can convery how it feels. To work with your hands, to get sweaty and dirty, to learn skills and gain knowledge about the broader world, to steep in the folklore and history of our relationships with certain plants and how they can be and were used, and then to preserve them in my own kitchen, make dishes that millions of people have made before me to nourish my body - it’s an amazing way to connect to everything that is and was and will be.

And then there are the magical encounters that you could not predict or hope for but that can only come your way when outside. The early summer morning I was in the garden and a pair of bald eagles flew low over me toward the lake, chirping quietly to each other. When I went back to the lake last week and a coyote curiously trotted closer to me on the ice. The barred owl that flew across the path when Adam and I were in the woods and stopped to watch us quietly from a birch branch. And of course the sunrises and sunsets that bookend our days. There is so much to connect with and experience out there, and I hope that this encourages you to get out and feel alive. Even in February!

So much love from my garden to yours. <3

A dream to wrap up 2023

I dreamed last night that I was pregnant and at the hospital in Halifax, about to give birth. Oddly, the baby was entirely on my right side. I searched around the hospital, asking staff where to go and looking for the right place to be. Before I knew it, Adam was with me and I was holding a new and perfect baby girl - but her umbilical cord was withered and she wasn’t crying. I ran, carrying her, to try to find someone to help - but she soon started crying and was healthy and fine. We rejoiced.

I told my dream to Adam, who immediately pointed out that it was my brain processing the kidney donation in May. I then connected the dots - I donated my right kidney, it wasn’t working right away for Josh, and before long it was up and running and is now keeping him going. Wild things, dreams. I’m pleased that my subconscious wanted to wrap up the highlight of 2023 for me in that way - what a special thing to experience. Both the dream and the donation.

And with that, I will open the back door to release 2023 and open the front door to welcome 2024 and whatever it might bring. May it bring you joy, clarity, and many peaceful moments of appreciation.

Favourite Books of 2023

2023 was the year I did the most voluntary reading in my adult life. Having teenagers and driving a lot for work (audio book time!) certainly gave me more time that I could use to read than I have had at other seasons. Goodreads tells me that I’ve read 71 books so far this year - and there are still a few weeks left! I didn’t track my reading at all until 2016 - I think the thing that convinced me was having re-started more than one book and realizing that I had read it before. It’s nice to have everything saved there to refer back to.

The more I read, the more I realize what I like and don’t like - like food, everyone likes different things for different reasons and at different times. The books I am most likely to rate 5 stars, I have found, are non-fiction books written by women between 1920-50. Who knew? I also tend to read seasonally, and I think that is reflected in my list, too. Here are my top reads for this year, and why they made the top of my list - hopefully there will be something that catches your interest, too.

For the visual experience:

The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady - in 1906 Edith Holden kept a nature diary, with poems, quotes, notes about the weather and things that took place, and her paintings of the natural world. Apparently, it sat unread on a shelf until the 1970’s, at which point someone found it and had it published, and it was a worldwide bestseller. The BBC made a dramatised video version in 1984, which I borrowed from the library - honestly, even I found it too boring to commit the time to watch. I watched the first few seasons of the year, and I loved when specific plants were highlighted. But that wasn’t enough for me to finish watching the whole thing. The book, though, is such a delight to sit down with - her paintings are incredible, the descriptions are lovely, and the verses she includes are just so seasonal and timely - I loved it. It is beautiful and delightful and celebrates nature in her personal way - it was never intended to be published which I think gives it part of its charm.

Fiction:

Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt: I read this while solo camping this summer. I somehow managed to live for 42 years and missed this absolute gem of a book (and I still haven’t seen the movie!) It’s one of those children’s books that has so much to say to adults - it’s beautifully yet straightforwardly written, the characters are completely compelling and the setting is magical (literally, ha!) I absolutely loved it, and it is now in my top 5 of all time. It was actually because someone shared the introductory paragraph about August on Instagram this summer that I made it a point to read it, and I am so glad I did.

“The first week of August hangs at the very top of the summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. Often at night there is lightning, but it quivers all alone. There is no thunder, no relieving rain. These are strange and breathless days, the dog days, when people are led to do things they are sure to be sorry for after.”

As I’m assembling this post, I’m realizing that all of my fiction choices have an element of the bizarre. Elevation by Stephen King was the first fiction book of his I’ve read- (I read On Writing at the beginning of the year and enjoyed it so much that I made a point to try out some fiction) but the length of most of his books is completely daunting. So I started with this short one and really enjoyed it - I had no idea what to expect and was happy to be carried along for the story as I listened to the audio book (which he narrates). It’s short, the characters are compelling and the premise keeps you wondering. Reading and enjoying this

Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier was one that I have had on my list for YEARS (since 2016, I believe) and I finally listened to the audiobook this fall. It was lovely and strange and disturbing by times and at the end I was glad that every part had been included to - it all came together to make for a really great story.

Memoir:

West with the Night, Beryl Markham: Beryl Markham trained racehorses, had a zebra for a pet, her dog saved her from a leopard I think it was in the middle of the night as a child when she lived in Kenya, and oh, she was also the first person to fly nonstop from Europe to America (Cape Breton even makes a cameo in this memoir!). And as if that wasn’t enough, Hemingway said that he was ashamed of his writing after having read hers. I’m realizing I need to read this again. This was an incredible story of an exceptional life, perfectly written. 10/10, and ALL of the stars.

Tracks: Robyn Davidson: Wow- I never thought that I would be so invested in a story including camels - this is another excellently written solo-female adventure story that I could not put down. I loved learning about Australia and the outback, and I feel a bit more prepared should I ever need to treat a camel’s infected foot. What an incredible story!

Surrender by Bono. This was a long one, but I LOVED IT. I definitely recommend the audiobook - I think a lot would be missed if it was read on paper. Bono narrates it and there is lots of musical and audio magic included - the stories behind 40 of U2’s songs is the structure of the book, and it is a GEM.

I hope there’s something here that you will pick up and enjoy. Happy Reading!

Cranberry Coconut Shortbread Cookies

The thing I love most about recipes is the connections between people that they represent. In a similar way to plants in the garden that were given as cuttings by friends, I can’t help but think of the people who shared the recipe with me, who I shared it with, who I enjoyed eating the final result with, how our relationships have evolved and changed over time - that’s where the magic lies. Which is, I think, why people so often write blurbs like this on blog posts like this before sharing a recipe below - like this. Food is so much more than sustenance (although obviously that’s important too). I was reminded of this when I listened to a great episode of Kitchen Sisters recently about kimchi - I enjoyed it so much that I immediately re-listened. (I also love YouTube videos from korean families making kimchi, like this one.)

From kimchi to shortbreads - I was invited to a cookie exchange this weekend, and wanted to use up some of the 1.8kg bag of cranberries in the pantry. I shared this recipe on Instagram and Facebook yesterday, and thought I would share/save it here, too, partly for ease of finding and sharing it later on. This is a recipe that I came up with back when I listened to Martha’s Sirius channel while driving for work, when we lived in our old house in town (which I loved), when my love of gardening was just really getting going, and when iPhones were new and I didn’t have one.

I modified a shortbread recipe to use what I had on hand, and it was SO perfectly crumbly and buttery with brightness from the cranberries and had the subtlest coconut flavour - I was smitten. I made them every Christmas for a few years, and then somehow forgot about the recipe until I came across it again while preparing for a cookie exchange. It’s a quick and easy dough to put together, and can be refrigerated or frozen until you’re ready to slice and bake them. Since butter is so expensive these days, I appreciate how much you can taste it in these!

Cranberry Coconut Shortbread Cookies

1 cup salted butter, softened

3/4 cup icing sugar

2 tbsp (yes, that’s right) vanilla - if you love coconut, you can add a teaspoon of coconut extract

1 1/2 cups flour

3/4 cup finely shredded unsweetened coconut

1 cup sweetened dried cranberries

Beat butter and sugar in a mixer on medium speed until creamy and smooth, about 2 minutes. Mix in vanilla.

Add flour and coconut, and mix until combined, scraping the sides if needed. Stir in the cranberries by hand with a wooden spoon; this keeps them intact.

Form the dough into logs approximately 1 1/2 inches in diameter. Wrap in parchment paper and freeze until needed, or refrigerate at least an hour and up to 3 days.

When you’re ready to bake, preheat oven to 325. Remove parchment, and slice logs into 1/4 inch thick rounds, and space approximately an inch apart on baking sheets lined with parchment. They slice best if the dough is well chilled. Bake for about 20 minutes total: 10 minutes, then rotate pans and bake for another 10 minutes until just beginning to turn golden at the edges. Cool completely on cooling racks and store in an airtight container for up to a week, or they freeze well.

Makes about 2 dozen. The recipe can easily be doubled, or cookie sizes adjusted to your liking.

Enjoy!

August

I’m sitting at the dining room table with a cup of tea this evening, tip-tapping away at the keyboard as the rain falls steadily outside. (The tea is Turmeric Bliss, one of my favourite store-bought herbal teas. It tastes a bit like spruce tips, but in a lovely mild and sweet way.)

Tomorrow is my last day of summer vacation, after an extra-long break this year with my surgery leave. During the last week of summer I usually write a list of all of the fun things we did over the break to make the transition back to routine a bit easier, so I’ve been thinking of all of those things this week. I had so much more energy this summer than I expected; I planned for the worst after surgery and was thrilled and delighted by the best. And so, here is my list for this summer, in no particular order - it makes me so happy to think of all of the fun that was had, especially since it all felt like a bonus.

I kayaked, solo backcountry camped, cut alders, stacked wood, went to the beach, hiked in the woods by myself and with my kids on new trails and familiar ones, read books, looked after bees and harvested honey and cleaned wax, mowed the lawn, ran errands, drove my oldest to work, hosted company, ate a million watermelons. Found a new beaver dam. Climbed on the rocks at the lighthouse and visited with old friends. I lugged garbage out of the woods and took my oldest out driving. I was woken by lightning, I thrift shopped, babysat friends’ kids, visited my neighbour in hospital. I watched The Ashes with Adam (silly point cracks me up), tennis, and our youngest’s baseball games. I gardened and gardened some more. I organized closets and cleaned, grew my first dahlias and made black currant ice cream. I watched sunflowers and poppies grow themselves while I planted seeds that did nothing. I got sunburns, froze gooseberries, tended campfires, lamented the cabbage moths, watched deer in the field. I visited Svalbard and Sweden and LA and the English canals via YouTube. I made new recipes, learned a new card game, watched meteors and looked at the moon.

That’s a pretty great list. (One of the new recipes was today’s lunch, made with romaine that I grew and beets that my Dad grew. It was delicious.)

Thanks so much to Eireann for starting the Writing Together project - it has been fun to participate this year. Much love to you, and I hope that your September comes with new beginnings and that fresh-pencil-new-notebook feeling. Onward and upward!

Water lilies, birds, and Tomson Highway

Unlike many days this summer with fog (see above), it was one of those magical summer afternoons with clear skies and a perfect breeze; my youngest teenager did not utter a single word of protest when I said that we would be going for a paddle on the lake, which I counted as a spectacular win. We used the Merlin app (can’t say enough good things about it) on our walk back to identify a red-eyed vireo, and after our paddle, the cutest little common yellowthroat was very curious about us and danced all over the ferns. We identified it by its song first, and then it came over to get a good look at us and flitted around for several minutes. Yellow Bandit is another name for them, which, given their little black mask, is suitable and also adorable. (We weren’t able to get a good photo, but you can see one here.) We got sidetracked in the app by the fact that there is a bird called a Wigeon and it is a dabbling duck. Isn’t that the most delightful sentence?

Birds aside, the water lilies in our cove are at their peak right now. I like to pick a few every July - the scent is subtle and sweet, and they are just the loveliest in a bowl on the table. I also love the reminder they are of the beauty that can grow from the mud. Which, this year, made me think of the beauty of organ transplants that comes from the mud of conditions requiring them. It also made me think of a book I just finished - Tomson Highway’s Permanent Astonishment. It is a love song to the Canadian North, is funny and touching and filled with love. I listened to the audiobook via the library using the Libby app, and loved hearing the Cree words in my ears. One of the chapters is about his Dad and making the most of bad situations, which again, makes me think of the lilies and the mud.

It’s taken me the better part of a week to get this posted because of computer troubles - trouble #1 is that my laptop keeps crashing, and trouble #2 is that I hate sitting down at the computer in the summer. There is still one whole glorious month of summer left, and I want to soak in every last minute with summer visitors, time camping, being out in the garden, and puttering to my heart’s content. I am feeling one hundred percent back to myself since the kidney donation surgery, and I’ve been cleared to do “whatever I want”! Josh is coming along slowly but surely, for which I am SO thankful. It almost seems impossible that it even happened, which is what I was hoping for all long.

Lately

Here we are in June, and I’m on the other side of the kidney donation surgery at last. It went well, and recovery has gone smoothly so far. (My brother-in-law Josh, the recipient, is doing okay - the kidney is working, but he’s dealing with some complications that will hopefully be sorted out soon. I can’t wait for him to feel better - it will come, but it’s hard to be patient.) Another couple of weeks of lifting restrictions (no more than 10lb), and I should more or less be back to my usual self for the summer. I am feeling great most of the time, for which I am very thankful.

I’ve had to find ways to do certain things like transfer a load of laundry a few items at a time instead of lugging a full basket, which has helped me to appreciate just a little bit of the planning, thought, and extra time that has to go into everyday activities for so many people who for whatever reason need to do things their own way. This is something I give a lot of thought to in my work as a teacher of students with visual impairments; it’s always good to have some first-hand experience, while of course keeping in mind that this was temporary for me this time and everyone’s experiences differ.

An odd-yet-pleasing side effect of the kidney donation so far - I’m not sure if it’s because I haven’t been properly exercising and working up a sweat since the surgery, but I think that my body temperature regulation has been affected, and I am so grateful. I’ve always run hot. I could never relate to people who love the hottest heat of summer - I would often just feel the most intense melting misery if I was in the heat for too long or while exercising, and it would take a long time to come back down to a reasonable-feeling temperature. That hasn’t happened since the surgery, even when I’ve been in the sun and heat. I’m so hopeful that it will continue - it’s much more pleasant. (And I’m sure I’m much more pleasant to be around, too.)

Since I haven’t been occupied with work and haven’t been able to do some of the things I usually spend my time on, I thought I would share some of the things that I’ve enjoyed while passing the time over the past few weeks. I know that for some people, the opportunity to do nothing is a delight; it’s kind of the opposite for me. Keeping my mind and body busy and occupied is when I feel my best, so I knew that I would have to have some things lined up to avoid getting too restless.

Food: I have such a sweet tooth. A friend sent me a little care package that included a Lindt Milk Chocolate Crunchy Caramel bar, and it is perfect. It’s super sweet, so one square with a cup of tea is just right. (And then another one.) Hi-Chews are another perfect creation, a true marvel of science and food engineering - but watch out if you have fillings or jaw problems. I’ve baked my go-to banana chocolate chip muffins and everyone’s favourite rhubarb custard squares. (Friends delivered lovely meals during the first couple of weeks. I’ve also been eating loads of fruits and vegetables and mostly very good food. It’s not all chocolate and sweets, those are just the more memorable treats.)

Entertainment: Over the past couple of months, I have been a bit obsessed with narrowboats and the British canal system, which I didn’t even know existed until April. A favourite YouTube channel is Holly the Cafe Boat - I love Vic and Jo’s attitudes and approach to life and problem solving (of course I also recognize that they’re sharing selected bits of life). Their sense of humour is right up my alley, and I love their sense of adventure. The two nights I spent in hospital after the surgery, high on dilauded, their channel was all I could watch, while trying to drown out the sounds of other patients. (It’s also enjoyable if you’re not on dilauded.) I love how boating is a bit like camping, and everything requires extra planning and preparation. (Ula and Josh’s channel is another narrowboating one that I love - something about that sense of possibility and freedom and living life how you want is so appealing.)

Books: My brain definitely took a bit of a break after the anaesthetic and I watched a lot of YouTube and murder mysteries for a few weeks. I have been doing more and more reading lately, and recently finished listening to Grandma Gatewood’s Walk by Ben Montgomery. Adam and Josh hiked the Appalachian Trail 24 years ago, so I’ve heard so many stories about the trail. Her story is something else - it’s not an easy read, and contains detailed descriptions of domestic abuse. I also read Seed to Dust by Marc Hamer which was one that Adam spied at the library and picked up for me. I enjoyed it SO much. Right now I’m reading Tracks by Robyn Davidson (also some abuse and violence) apparently solo women’s adventure stories are where my brain is right now. And I’m re-reading Four Thousand Weeks - what a GEM!

I’ve also been getting so much joy and fulfillment from the garden. I’ve needed help with a lot of things, but have been able to to do lots of things, too. I worked really hard before surgery to get the beds as ready as possible, and with some help I managed to get things weeded and planted. We’ll see what comes of the zillions of cosmos and nasturtium seeds; my peas are doing great, haskaps are almost ready, gooseberries are getting fat, currants are weighing down the branches, potatoes look good, we’ve been enjoying asparagus and rhubarb, the herbs are all doing well, and I’m eagerly anticipating sunflowers, cucumbers, gourds, pumpkins, dahlias, zinnias…. I love everything about gardening. The problem solving, planing, the hard work and being tired and sweaty, the constant reminders of the brevity of life and the seasonality of everything - gardening has made my life so much richer.

Austen, the loveliest friend you could ever hope for, made me up a little knitting bundle so I can attempt a bandana cowl, which I think will be the perfect layer for barn chores and working outside this fall and winter. I thought that my sitting down time after surgery would be longer and wanted something to keep my hands busy, but was up and running sooner than expected. So I may not get to it for awhile, but I am definitely looking forward to it.

I hope that you’re enjoying the luscious greens of June wherever you are

Snowdrops

As Winter and Spring fight the battle for dominance this month, the weather swings between warm afternoons of sunshine to frigid, ice-crusted walkways and windshields. It’s bearable because of the knowledge that true Spring will be here soon - and honestly, there’s nothing we can do about it, so we might as well find some hope somewhere! The bulbs are emerging and are only temporarily paused by the aforementioned crusts of ice. Did you know that bulbs such as snowdrops, crocuses, or hyacinths have a protective waxy coating for exactly this reason? They can partially emerge, be completely covered in ice and snow, and just pick up where they left off once it has melted.

The arrival of the snowdrops (aka galanthus) mark the happiest time in the garden year to me. They are the first flowers to bloom, just slightly ahead of the crocuses. Sometime in February they start to emerge, and make a slow and steady progression from the tiniest leaf tips to open flowers in mid-March. They’re tangible proof of the triumph of light over dark, appearing just when daylight hours are becoming noticeably longer, and they herald all of the beauty, joy, and growth in the garden that is to come. Everything else comes afterward, until the cycle wraps up in November or December and will begin again next year. They are the first bookend of the garden year; the last is when even the kale gives up and rests.

Yesterday, I watched as two of our honeybees nestled themselves in amongst a cluster of snowdrops. The afternoon was balmy for March; over ten degrees in the sun and sheltered from the wind on the South side of the house. The bees vanished amongst the densely crowded flowers; I only knew that they were still there from the nodding and wiggling downward-facing flower cups. And today it’s frigid, windy, and we woke up to a light covering of snow that fell overnight.

There was one large clump of these snowdrops hidden in a ditch near the barns when we moved here; I split it up several years ago, leaving some there and starting several smaller patches around the house. I think they’re Galanthus nivalis 'Flore Pleno' (pictured here; maybe I should start selling them at that price!) I wonder who planted them here and when? Were they a gift from a friend? Were they tucked in next to to where a house once was? Did someone else take as much delight in their late-winter arrival as I do now? These tiny beauties have several layers of frilly petals edged by the loveliest green; they’re very short in stature (perhaps that’s why I feel an affinity to them). I love that I have to get down low to appreciate them; I only pick a few each year so the bees can enjoy the rest. The bulbs will multiply over time as each little cluster expands, and can eventually be divided again. They bloom earliest in a sunny spot; they seem to grow in most kinds of soil and are tough as nails. They can also be planted in weathered terra cotta pots for an especially sweet display, and to highlight these tiniest of flowers. Someday when I have an English-cottage style of garden with sweet nooks and crannies and stone walls, I will do just that. If you don’t have snowdrops in your life, I think it’s worth finding some - the joy they bring is such a balm in the final days of winter.

Hang in there through this last week of winter - the gardening year has just begun!

A chat about Kidneys

Polycystic kidney disease (PKD) is in my husband Adam’s family. It’s a genetic disease where cysts form in the kidneys and gradually take over the healthy kidney tissue. Adam and I met when we were teenagers, and the first time I met my in-laws in 1999, they had just undergone transplant surgery - my father-in-law Roger donated a kidney to Roxanne, my mother-in-law. They were literally still shuffling around the house in slippers and housecoats on the day I met them, and I am glad to report that the transplanted kidney is sill working well, almost 24 years later. I remember deciding in their living room that donating a kidney was something I would do, thinking at the time - and for many years after - that it would likely be to Adam. But when Adam’s older brother Josh’s function declined to the point of transplant discussion in August 2021, Adam asked if I would consider donating to him. Of course we talked it over at length and came to a decision together. I have plenty of sick time saved up through work, I’m healthy and able right now, we don’t know what tomorrow might bring, so we discussed and agreed that I would at least start the process and see where it led. Over the first few months, I passed the initial screening, which led to our blood being tested, and it turns out that we’re an excellent match. So after the initial few months of screening, I began the extensive work-up process to evaluate my health and suitability to donate just over a year ago.

Adam also has PKD and will quite possibly need a kidney in the future, but we don’t know when that might be, or what might happen between now and then that could affect my ability to donate. Our two kids each have a 50/50 chance of having PKD. They have not been tested (a kidney ultrasound would show cysts), and we don’t know if either of them have it. So they could either potentially need kidneys one day themselves, or be willing to donate one to Adam (or not). There are so many unknowns. I do know, however, that this evaluation process has been challenging, and that it would be SO much harder if I was hoping to donate to Adam. Juggling the stress of an ill partner at the same time as undergoing the testing, parenting, working a regular job and worrying that at any point I might be rejected as a donor and where that might lead would be a lot to handle. And so, we are going with the information we have, which is the best we can do, and trusting that in the future there will be people able and willing to consider donating to whoever in our family might need a kidney.

This is all very big and serious stuff, so memes are helpful.

I think that for most people, the extent of thinking about kidney donation is that they see a post online that moves them, they feel warm and fuzzy that someone did something good for someone else, and everyone lived happily ever after. Which is a small part of some stories, but there is so much more! By sharing my experience so far, I’m hoping that you, dear reader, will think a bit more about organ donation.

Firstly, it’s certainly not for everyone, for a million reasons. Of course, some people would simply not consider donating a kidney, which is absolutely fine. (I never want people to think that I think that they’re selfish or something for keeping both kidneys. By all means, feel free to keep your kidneys and appreciate them!) Some people might have religious reasons. A variety of health conditions would disqualify someone from donating (diabetes, high blood pressure, autoimmune conditions, etc.etc.) Here in Nova Scotia, the first basic criteria to donate are: that you have a family doctor, your BMI is under 35, and that you’re willing to donate without coercion. You need to have a family doctor to follow up on anything that might come up during testing. For example, my iron was low, so it was my family doctor who followed up, and my iron is now fine. (This could also be something far more serious, of course.) Don’t get me started on BMI - I am jumping through the hoops and can’t fight that rule. I lost 10-15 pounds back at the beginning of the process.

The testing process is thorough, and the donor needs to be prepared for anything to be discovered in the process. In most cases, the whole process takes between 6-8 months until surgery. I am currently at month 18. Anything at all that comes up in any testing is investigated as throughly as possible to ensure as far (as possible) that the surgery will do as little harm (as possible). So, for example, my white count is generally a bit low. Without any other symptoms, family doctors would call it idiopathic and send me on my way. My transplant team, while doing their due diligence, sent me for a hematology consult. Which meant a wait of two months to see the specialist and another wait of two months for the report. A cyst on my adrenal glad, ruled benign by two radiologists was then referred to an endocrinologist (wait of three months to see him, still waiting for the final report). You can see how the time adds up.

In some places (primarily in the US, it seems), they have a condensed two-day testing period. This makes so much sense to me, and I wish it was a possibility here. Let’s say a person had three people who stepped up to be tested to donate a kidney. Person #1 could go in, have all of their tests done over the two day period, and maybe something came up that eliminated them as a donor. Then person #2 could do their two day testing and maybe they were also disqualified. Then person #3 might be a good match, and they would have things settled fairly quickly. Here, I was responsible for booking the vast majority of my own tests whenever I can get an appointment, and I am still the number one candidate until I am either approved or rejected. Meaning: we are now currently at month 18 of my process, and I could still theoretically be disqualified (although it looks unlikely). In which case another person would begin testing, and Josh would probably have to start dialysis in the meantime. (He’s currently not on it, and we’re hopeful that we can get the transplant done before he needs to begin.) You can see how frustrating and time consuming the process is. Which for me, is so hard. I like to do things and get them done, and all of this waiting, the delays and not knowing have really been tiring. And of course the main thing is that during all of this time, Josh has been getting sicker. I would have gladly had surgery a year ago, but the system is so slow. To be clear, every person that I have encountered through this whole process has been professional, helpful and kind and has done everything they could to move things along, but the system is not designed for speed or efficiency. (This is all for the direct donation process; there are other ways to donate indirectly or altruistically.)

As far as the actual tests, I have had just about everything you can think of. CT scans, x-rays, ultrasounds, EKGs, 24 hour urines (x3!), SO MUCH BLOODWORK, mammograms, pap… I’ve had an iron infusion, a uterine polyp removed, and consults with hematology and endocrinology. I am fit as a fiddle. Right now, everything is done, including the repeat bloodwork, EKG, chest x-ray, 24 hour urines and mammogram because my results from last year expired. We’re just waiting for two reports (which we already know are good, but they need to have the actual reports) to be sent to my team, and then things will move ahead. There could always still be delays if either of us gets Covid (7 week delay until surgery if I get it), or an infection, or if a surgeon gets sick, etc. etc. I’m learning that my timelines don’t mean a thing. I’m still quite consistently hopeful, though - some days are easier than others.

As far as benefits to me, my coordinator keeps reminding me that this surgery is of no benefit to me, which is why they need to be so diligent. Which I understand. I think that there are two benefits for me, though. First, I know for a fact that I am in excellent health - they tried hard and couldn’t find much other than low iron. It’s nice to have that reassurance. Second, it feels good to do good things. So in a way, it’s a bit selfish, but doing all of this and knowing that it’s for someone else feels good. And it will feel very good when this whole thing is done and no longer hanging over me.

I am getting used to “the look", when a new doctor is reading my file and sees that I’m doing all of these tests to donate a kidney. They pause, sit back to process, and look me in the eye to see… something, and say something like “Wow, that’s amazing!” I am of three minds about this response. One: yes, it is - the fact that an organ that has been living in my body can work in someone else’s and that people figured out how to do this successfully is incredible. And it is a lot of work to go through this process. Two: I haven’t actually donated yet, so I don’t feel like I deserve any accolades (although at this point, I am convinced that the appointments and tests so far have actually been more difficult and time consuming (but not more painful) than the actual surgery). Three: not really. I don’t want people to think that this is something impossible or only for “heroes” or “angels”. (I am a very matter-of-fact type of person.) If people think that it’s only something that a certain “other” type of person could do, they might miss seeing the possibility for themselves. There are so many people in need.

The statistics are definitely in our favour. At the 1 year post-surgery mark, 98% of living donations are successful. There can definitely be some bumps along the way, through surgery and recovery for both donors and recipients, and some stories don’t end happily for all kinds of reasons. But the potential benefits far outweigh the potential risks. I risk my life every time I drive my car. I could slip in a parking lot and end up with permanent brain damage. I will be at a higher risk driving to the city for surgery than during/after the surgery itself. I don’t say these things to minimize the significance of the surgery, but it is comparatively less risky than many daily activities.

Josh (pictured above with our boys, many years ago) needs a kidney, through no fault of his own. I have two kidneys that function perfectly, through nothing that I’ve done. I can give one away and live a long healthy life. I want him to be able to walk up hills and feel good as he goes about work and washing dishes and playing with his kids. I want him to have energy to enjoy doing the things he loves. He loves nature and I want him to be able to be out in it, with comfort and ease. Functioning kidneys are something that everyone deserves, and it turns out that it’s something I can play a part in. As with everything in life, there are no guarantees, but taking all of these things into consideration, sign me up.

Even though so much of this process has been long and frustrating, I would do it all over again. There is still so much beauty and joy and funny memes going back and forth despite it all; I feel like this has all sounded quite serious. (Which it is.) I am so happy to chat with people about any and all of these things. I hope that this has been informative and maybe made you consider all of the amazing things going on in your body at any given moment. It’s truly amazing.

Winter Meals and a lot about freezers

In the back of my mind, I’ve been thinking about what to post this month. You know, A TOPIC. And nothing presented itself that seemed quite right. So I started to compose a post about little updates - the beaver has moved on to another pond somewhere, the chickens are fine, our holiday break was lovely, I love winter - and then I started in on food, deleted all of the preamble, and here we are.

At the moment I’m in January’s beautiful clean slate mode, which for me involves a lot of food management - I like to take the opportunity to see what’s on hand and use things up. Everyone in the house would say that I am always doing that, but it’s next level in January. (It’s not quite as intense as a few summers ago while in the same sort of mode I put some frozen soup in the Instant Pot for supper only to have Adam call when I was doing errands to let me know that it had, in fact, been a bag of compost. The bones gave it away.)

Knowing exactly what is in the freezer, fridge and pantry is so helpful in making weekly menus and not having things fall to the back/bottom only to become unrecognizable and inedible. Chest freezer tip: use sturdy, wipeable reusable tote bags (I love the ones from Bulk Barn for this) for different categories of food, in the bottom of the freezer. They can easily be lifted out for defrosting or cleaning, and to check what you have in there one bag at a time instead of needing to dive in to dig all of the way to the bottom. I have one bag for meats, one for fruit, one for vegetables, and one for other stuff. And then the baskets on top for butter, ice cubes, and things to use up, and sauces and soups on the shelf over the motor. Bread products are light and easy to move around, so they kind of sit on top of the bags when we have extras; they’re usually in our kitchen freezer. Oooh, another tip: freeze sauces and soups in large ziplocs, flat on a cookie sheet, then you can stack them upright like files and they’re much easier to manage.

Phew - who knew there was so much to say about freezers? Back to using things up for a second - I’m always trying to make sure that as little as possible ends up in the compost, and this week I’ve been on a kick. Warm stewed rhubarb on plain yogourt on a winter morning is its own special delight. As is banana bread with a lovely pat of butter. Baked beans and brown bread and friends over for supper after skating at the rink was another highlight of the weekend. All absolutely delightful, and fuelled by using it up!

On to the recipes! It’s always fun to have new ones to try, so here are a few that we’ve been enjoying.

Creamy Tomato Pasta with Italian Sausage: This is the most delicious supper recipe that I have tried in a long time. I’ve made it several times over the past few months, and I just can’t say enough about it. It is QUICK, it is easy, it has SO much flavour, the sauce is creamy and hearty, it’s filling and warming and cozy, it uses things that we regularly have on hand and we all like it. Here are my notes to accompany the linked recipe: I use whichever tube-shaped pasta I have in the pantry, although I do like the bite of rigatoni as recommended in the recipe, and the sauce fills the pasta in such a pleasing way. I always add a whole small onion, because who could be bothered to only use 2 tbsp of onion? I use mild Italian sausage, and keep a package of No Name chopped frozen spinach in the freezer for recipes like this. It comes in two large compacted cubes in the freezer section, and one cube is perfect for this recipe. If you forget to thaw it, like I always do, you can put it in a ziploc in warm water for a little bit while you’re making the rest of the recipe, or you can just toss the frozen block of spinach into the pan as you’re cooking the onion and sausage and chisel away at it as it thaws. As far as substitutes, I haven’t tried making this with a meatless sausage substitute, but if you have one you like, I’m sure it would be delicious. Likewise for the cream - if you need a non-dairy option, you’ll want something that’s really creamy but doesn’t have a flavour persay. And of course, you could use gluten-free pasta. All of these things would affect the outcome in ways I can’t predict, but of course it’s worth a try if those are the constraints you’re working with!

Sandra’s Baked Beans: Baked beans and brown bread as a Saturday night supper is a very Maritime thing. Since Sandra shared this recipe with me in 2019, I have made it countless times. (The recipe is in the description box of the video.) It’s inexpensive, simple, and one of those recipes that you can put in the oven and leave for hours. It freezes and reheats well, too. I had never had baked beans that I truly liked until meeting this recipe. Unfortunately, Emin’s Meat Market as mentioned in the recipe is now closed after the death of the owner, so there is no more double smoked bacon from there to use, but any smoked bacon will do; the smokier the better. I made it with sliced bacon on the weekend, but I do prefer chunks if unsliced is an option you can find.

Brown Bread

To go with Sandra’s beans - it’s a match made in heaven. This is my mother-in-law Roxanne’s recipe.

1 1/4 cup warm water

2 tsp yeast

1 tbsp butter

2 tbsp molasses

2 tbsp brown sugar

2 tbsp skim milk powder

1 tsp salt

1/2 cup old fashioned rolled oats

Generous 3 cups flour

I use my stand mixer and first dissolve the yeast in the warm water until it foams. Add the rest of the ingredients and knead with the dough hook for 10 minutes, adding a tiny bit more flour if the dough is too wet. Cover with plastic wrap or a damp towel and let it rise (over a furnace vent in our house at this time of year) until it’s more or less doubled in size. Shape it vaguely into a log and plop it into a bread pan, cover and let it rise again. I do this on the stovetop while the oven is preheating. Let it rise until it’s a bit higher than the edge of the pan, and bake at 375 for 50 minutes. This recipe makes one loaf; you could always double it! Serve with plenty of butter.

Enjoy! And if you have any favourite winter meals that you’re like to share, please do in the comments. Happy New Year!

December

This year, for whatever reason, I have been in a festive spirit for weeks. I wish I could pinpont it to some specific thing that I could share as a surefire way to get in the mood, but it’s been a gradual accumulation of little wonderful things, helped along splendidly by a couple of light snowfalls. Getting to visit schools filled with kids exploding with Christmas energy definitely sets the mood. Reading seasonal books helps; traditions help too.

For books, Winter Solstice (as suggested by Austen several years ago) is one that I am right in the middle of; I knew from reading a few other Rosamunde Pilcher books this year that I would have to allow a bit of extra time to get through it in order to finish on the Solstice - and I think I’m on track! I kicked off my seasonal books with listening to Murder in Season mid-November. (I will never choose one of the series as my best books of the year, but I will keep reading them!) Just this week, I listened to Nigel Slater’s The Christmas Chronicles as I drove. It’s a delicious, warming, cozy deep dive into English Christmas traditions, with luxurious food writing that was just a joy to listen to. (It did make me impulse purchase two types of cheese when visiting the grocery store, but they certainly won’t go to waste.) It covers Pagan and Christmas traditions and lore, markets in Germany, wreath making, Christmas pudding, and on and on. I will say that there is also a healthy dose of snobbery. (Heaven forbid someone buy a supermarket turkey! Or use red as a decor colour - how garish! And if you can’t send your cards in time to arrive before Christmas, don’t bother - you’ll offend the recipient. And if they’re written in ballpoint pen, you might as well resign yourself to eternal damnation.) Those laughable things aside, it was still cozy and comforting, instructive and informative, and after borrowing the audiobook through the library, I just ordered myself a copy of the print book to enjoy year after year. It has all of the Christmas feels.

Solstice has become increasingly meaningful to me over the years. So many things about the wastefulness, shallowness and commercialization of how Christmas is celebrated and advertised much (but not all) of the time just don’t feel good to me, and I’ve always felt that there is so much more. This year I’ve been learning more about the depth of the history and folklore of this season that predates Christianity. As for the Winter Solstice, it feels lovely to connect to the very visible shift that comes after the longest night when the light returns. It’s such a symbolically rich event to celebrate, and people all over the world have been doing so for a very long time. I’ve been watching The Witches Cookery videos on YouTube for the past few weeks; she’s Bavarian and shares so much of the lore and history of this time of year from the Pagan tradition. It’s so interesting to see how celebrations evolve as time goes by, and the things that stay the same - like the returning of the sun.

December 21is often a work day, but this year it falls on our first day of Christmas break. We keep things fairly simple, but here are three things I try to incorporate every year.

Oranges: In order to grow, oranges need a great deal of sun, which is essentially contained in each fruit. Isn’t that a lovely thought? They are round and orange, like the sun, and when sliced and hung on the tree, as the light shines through, each one looks like a sun with outward rays. And the vitamin C at this time of year is always good! You can slice and dry them in a dehydrator or the oven, or just enjoy the delicious treat of a perfectly ripe clementine or orange. (In The Christmas Chronicles which I mentioned above, I learned a story of how the tradition of oranges in stockings came to be when Saint Nicholas saved three daughters by giving golden orbs to them.)

Solstice Cake: For the past several years, I have made a gingerbread bundt cake, decorated with pomegranate seeds, icing sugar, and sometimes candied cranberries and rosemary. It’s a quick and simple cake to put together; it’s round to echo the shape of the sun, and the warmth of the spices is reminiscent of the warmth of summer. I include a little bit of honey from our bees to remember the warmth and bounty of the sun that still exists at this darkest time of year. The recipe is here.

That little lump on this side of the pond is the beaver!

Bonfire: If the weather cooperates, we like to have a bonfire down by our pond. It’s not so much fun when it’s gusting to 80 and pouring rain, but it is absolutely perfect on a clear and calm night. A hot drink and an old coat (cinders!) make it especially enjoyable. I’m not sure how it will affect things this year, but we have a beaver who has been hanging out around the pond for a few weeks now - I’m not sure why, or where she came from... my suspicion (although a bit of a reach) is that she saw the two giant piles of branches that we piled up this fall but didn’t get around to burning and saw a pre-fab lodge? Regardless, I haven’t figured out exactly where amongst the long grasses, pond edges and branch piles she is living - so I don’t dare burn the branches in case she’s finishing them up for some sort of winter shelter. We do have a fire pit there, so hopefully if we have a fire in it, it won’t disturb her too much. We’ll leave the branch piles. We have some old beehive boxes to burn; I love the idea of the beeswax and propolis remnants on the wood being consumed by the fire, and the vestiges of summer going up in smoke as we turn toward the sun.

I am very much looking forward to Wednesday and the pause it brings; to the looking back and forward, to thinking about the legend of the Holly King and the Oak King battling it out, to considering all of the light and summer sun that is contained in so many of the foods that we enjoy. May you find light in this darkest time of year. I’ll leave you with a Winter Solstice blessing I came across recently (author unknown).

A Winter Solstice Blessing

May you find peace in the promise of the solstice night,

That each day forward is blessed with more light.

That the cycle of nature, unbroken and true,

Brings faith to your soul and well-being to you.

Rejoice in the darkness, in the silence find rest,

And may the days that follow be abundantly blessed.

The novel in the familiar

I’ve been thinking lately about what makes life delightful. I think about this a lot, partly because so many things in the world (advertising, the news cycle) work hard to make us discontent and unsettled. I was born a very happy and optimistic person, but finding meaning and joy in the tasks of daily life is definitely a way of thinking that I have cultivated over the years. Partly inspired by blogs and Flickr posts back in the day as I was beginning my adult life, I loved seeing photos and reading words from women a bit older, a bit wiser than myself. Moments in time captured in photos, showing dishes on the table after a meal, garden harvests waiting to be washed, baskets of eggs collected, kids toys scattered on the floor. Always and forever the same refrain in different words - time goes by so quickly, we only have this moment, slow down and settle into this one life you have been given, find connection to everything in the world around you.

I shared something here a few months ago that I wrote about the path through our field that leads to the woods. The walk back to the lake via that path takes about 15 minutes at a good clip, 30 or more if I take my camera and the light is lovely. I try to do the walk back often - it always feels like a manageable amount of time, and I tell myself that things need to be checked on often at the camp. It can take as short or as long a time as I like, more or less. Some days, it’s a brisk zip there and back after work and before dark. Sometimes there’s magic like the fresh snowfall on the day I took these pictures, and a few hours pass as I putter along.

One afternoon last week on a quick jaunt, the phrase “find the novel in the familiar” came to mind, almost as though the trees were speaking to me. Of course, I applied the idea first to my walk - what could I find on these very routine walks along the same path that was new? Changed from the last time? Added rabbit or deer tracks, fallen leaves, the grouse who I scare, and who scares me in turn? What could I change in order to find newness? Go further off of the path, look up more often, listen more carefully?

Then I considered the things that are less obvious… perhaps the angle of the sun that has shifted again, just the slightest bit - and illuminates a tiny sapling between two large firs. The pendulous water droplets at the tips of branches that capture distorted reflections of the trees that hold them. The roar of the wind high in the trees, and the way that they move with such ease. (Which then prompts, of course, thoughts of the age-old wisdom and lessons we can learn about behaving like trees in stormy weather - holding our ground, not fighting the wind, relying on each other to shelter us.)

After thinking of the phrase in connection with one of my favourite places to enjoy, I wondered about the less fun and beautiful parts of everyday life. How can I find the novelty in writing reports for work, driving familiar routes, buying groceries, cleaning the bathroom? And I realized that I actually have unconsciously found ways of making even those tasks feel more enjoyable. (In the same order: getting set up comfortably with tea and music, listening to podcasts and audiobooks / taking a different route, making menus with things for us all to enjoy / making the most of sales / taking advantage of ordering online, and making my own cleaners.) Not to toot my own horn, but I even manage to get excited about garbage collection day - it’s known as “Trash Tuesday” at our house, and I try to make it an event. It is, like so many other household chores, satisfying to have done, and it is strangely pleasing that people actually come and take it away. And since it needs to be done anyway, why not try to make it just a bit more bearable? And dare I say, fun?

I fully realize that this whole approach to life may sound unrealistic, silly, or foolish to people with different dispositions and life situations, and I do hesitate to share my enthusiasm sometimes for fear of eye rolls and disbelief that taking the garbage out can be a joyous task. Of course I’m not ecstatic to do the dishes every night, but I am grateful for food to eat and dishes to wash and family to share the work with - I know that in an instant, everything could change and thinking about the choices I make to enjoy daily moments could be the furthest thing from my mind. Which is kind of what makes it all the sweeter, I suppose. So roll your eyes if you must - it’s Monday night, so I’ll just be over here getting the garbage ready to put out in the morning.

Reading

I have always loved reading. I remember my mom reading the Grandma’s Attic books to my sister and me before bed when we were little, and us laughing hysterically together over one of the stories called A Pig in a Poke. I couldn’t tell you what the story was about today, but the name and the memory of reading together has stayed with me. I had a bookshelf in my room, containing books which I would read and re-read and re-re-read countless times - Anne of Green Gables, The Witches, Matilda (I remember reading that as I was roller-skating back and forth across our unfinished basement floor), Where the Red Fern Grows, (which I covered in transparent patterned shelf liner for some reason) the Emily series by LM Montgomery, Gordon Korman’s Bruno and Boots series, and on and on. In elementary school, my friend Sarah’s parents would drive us to the library in their wood-paneled station wagon complete with the way-back seat, and we would have competitions over who could borrow the most books and get all of them read fastest. I remember my paper library card, the edges softened with use and my borrower number carefully printed on it in blue ballpoint by the librarian. My favourites to borrow from the library were always the books with that glorious “mystery” sticker on the spine - sometimes a skull, and sometimes a detective wielding a magnifying glass. That particular love continues to this day.

I usually have a few books on the go at any given time. An audio book from the library (through the Libby or Hoopla app) that I listen to while driving for work. Second, a non-fiction one for daytime reading (at this time of year, my progress is usually pretty slow through those ones), and almost always fiction on paper at night before going to sleep. Non-fiction at night is too engaging and keeps me alert.

I think that people sometimes pigeon-hole themselves into reading only a particular genre. Like with food or music, variety is what makes life interesting, and books are such a wonderful way to better understand experiences of other people who don’t necessarily share any obvious connection with you. Adam and I are in a book club that has been going for over a decade. We each take turns choosing books, so often I read books that I might not otherwise. I love reading books with the purpose of discussing them - there is so much added richness and depth that come along with the conversations and perspectives that everyone shares. And for me, reading with that in mind makes me a better reader. I think there’s a time and a place for just about any kind of book - I will freely admit that the Murder She Wrote books are mostly not the best written or most plausible (in Killer on the Court the murder weapon was a tennis ball machine, which may be the most ridiculous thing I have ever read) - but I still love them for what they are, and that is totally fine. They take me along with a character that I love on a new adventure, and I know that whenever I pick one up I can really suspend my disbelief and enter that world. Trick or Treachery is waiting for me to dive into later today. I also enjoy deeper books, but as with food, variety makes everything more enjoyable.

What’s a post about reading without recommendations? In case you’re looking for your next read, here are a few that I have read and given four or five stars over the past year.

Non-fiction:

Diability Visibilty: First Person Stories from the Twenty-First Century, edited by Alice Wong

Four Thousand Weeks by Oliver Burkeman

Fiction:

The Shell Seekers by Rosamunde Pilcher

The Seed Keeper by Diane Wilson

Clearly, I have lots to say about reading and books, and could go on and on… and on. I would love any recommendations that you have to share!

Writing Together

I am delighted to be participating in the Writing Together year hosted by Éireann, starting this month! I’ll be posting here at least once a month, about whatever happens to catch my fancy. And the best part is that everyone who is participating will be reading and commenting on everyone else’s posts, like it’s 2008 all over again, in the best way.

After sharing the Year of Light posts through 2021, it feels good to have (what feels like) another manageable project ahead of me. The freedom of being able to write and share whatever I feel like, within the framework and commitment of a monthly post sounds just right. And I’m very much looking forward to reading everyone else’s posts, too.

I have been trying to make writing more of a priority for the past couple of years, and when the invitation from my friend Sandra Phinney to attend the Birchdale Writers Retreat in August appeared on my Facebook feed, I knew that actually doing something was the only way forward, and that if I didn’t commit immediately, I just might chicken out. So I sent off an email, and the ball was rolling. One intimidating thing was not knowing who else would be there (aren’t so many writers just, well, odd?), and of course there was the reasoning that the money could be spent on any number of other “more important” things, etc. etc. As it turned out, I knew three of the other participants already, and the rest were also gems. One of the participants and I knew each other 20 years ago, were placed in a cabin together, and since the retreat, we have already begun to work through Julia Cameron’s The Right to Write together.

It feels deeply uncomfortable to call myself a writer - it’s not something I’m paid for, or that I’ve had formal training in, and I don’t have a book to my name (yet). But I do write, and so I am a writer, in the same way that I call myself a gardener, or chicken-keeper. I do, therefore I am!

On our final evening together at the retreat, we were invited to share a short piece that we had written. I had nothing prepared, so that afternoon, I sat at the ancient wooden table in our cabin, pen in hand, and scribbled out 5 drafts based on a prompt that I had saved on my phone on a cold day in February. Each of us shared our work by the light of a roaring fire in the massive stone fireplace in the lodge - it was so lovely to be together in such a beautiful place and hear each other’s work.

The Field

I trudge slowly up the steep field on this blue-bright February morning. My path through the knee-deep snow crosses intersecting lines of deer tracks, doe geometry in Mother Nature’s textbook. Field mice have left loonie-sized tunnels under the snow, but a few tiny tracks and the imprint of owl wings are all that remain of one who dared to scurry across the surface. At the top of the field, the treeline is grey and leafless between the snow and sky.

The light shifts, and suddenly it is summer. The deer tracks are now clearly imprinted in the warm mud of the path. Sweat trickles down my back as I crouch to gather precious clusters of dusky blueberries. Bindweed climbs the goldenrod and catches at my sandals as deer flies circle noisily before entangling themselves in my hair. The buzz of cicadas rises and falls as the bees bumble and the spiders lie in wait.

The light shifts again, and a pop-pop-pop underfoot tells me that I have found the patch of cranberries for Thanksgiving dinner - perfect ruby jewels buried under golden tufts of spent summer grasses. Frost gilds the edges of brown leaves as the berries bounce, bounce, bounce into my bowl.

The sun emerges from behind a cloud, casting deep shadows in the tracks, and the field is once again a glittering expanse of blinding beauty, to be remembered come July.

Is this what becomes of our lives? Snippets of memory connecting people and places and objects making themselves seen, and with every shift of the light, the refrain: remember this, remember this, remember this?

Serviceberry

Amelachier / Serviceberry / Juneberry / Shadberry / Saskatoon berry - this is a plant that goes by many names. Not only does it burst into the loveliest ephemeral white flowers in mid-late May, but it also fruits in July, with tasty berries. The berries don’t have a strong flavour, but they’re good - if you can get to them before the birds do. You can use them as you would blueberries - they’re good on yogourt, or in muffins or smoothies. Serviceberries are in full bloom right now, and as I’ve been seeing their beautiful flowers everywhere, I started to think a little bit more about them.

Gardener’s Question Time has been a favourite podcast of mine for several years now - it’s a weekly British panel show that has been on air for 75 years, and it never fails to bring me a sense of calm, and a feeling of connection to a community of keen gardeners. I learn something new with every episode. It’s my go-to podcast when I don’t know what I feel like listening to, or when I feel like I need a “forgiving” one - one that I don’t necessarily need to pay full attention to.

One of the plants that panelist Christine Walkden often recommends and regularly sings the praises of on the show is Amelachier. Of course, she pronounces it “amelanchi-ah” - part of the pleasure of the show is listening to the wonderful accents. I must have heard her recommend it at least twenty times before I realized that it is what I know as Serviceberry. I forget exactly how I made the connection - she must have given another of its names - but I realized that this prized tree that was regularly praised for its light, airy, open manner, its white fluffy spring flowers and the edible fruit is the very same ubiquitous Serviceberry that grows wild here in Nova Scotia - in ditches and roadsides and field edges. It was also mentioned in a recent episode of Gardener’s World, where one of the hosts mentioned planting them in his new garden. This contrast between how they view the plant - as a special one worth seeking out and adding to the garden - and how I saw it - as a commonplace wild plant that I didn’t even give much thought to - got me thinking about how our perceptions truly are what inform our opinions of the world around us. And how we can choose to change our perspective and thus, change our experience.

Then I started thinking about other things that go unrecognized, unnoticed, unappreciated, just because I’m used to them. How often is it that we fail to recognize the beauty and uniqueness of the things (physical and intangible) of the people and the world immediately around us? They fade into the background just by virtue of being so commonplace - but all it takes is a change of perspective and they become not only noticeable, but special, and valued.

It is so easy to wish away the circumstances that we’re in the midst of, because what stands out to us are the difficult parts, and as humans, we want those to go away. We tend to feel that in the future, things will be easier. But despite the inevitable difficulties in every season of life, there are often good things, too - and that is what I want to choose to focus on. Fortunately, choosing to focus on those good things and actively practicing gratitude makes the difficult parts of life easier to handle. I listened to an episode of On Being recently with Christine Runyan, and she talked about how gratitude functions to reroute our brains from looking for the negative. It was such a good episode - reassuring and comforting. And it also served as a reminder of the very real difference that practicing gratitude can make in our lives. And gratitude begins with noticing.

Noticing can be as literal as looking with your eyes at the world around you, but you can go as deep as you’d like. What things about the place where you live would you miss if you were to move? What about the season of life that you’re in right now - what would you miss, looking back? Are there characteristics of loved ones that you take for granted because that’s just who they are? Are there wonderful things about your very own self that it might be worth recognizing, celebrating and remembering? (There are, I promise.)

I really enjoy thinking about plants and life in this way, and I write all of these things to myself as much as to anyone else - all of these reminders that I need. Plants have so much to teach us - even the humble, remarkable Serviceberry.

December - A Year of Light 2021

Notice: Light and Darkness Test and Bless Each Other

from the Irish poet John O’Donohue

"At first, we are children of the darkness. Your body and your face were formed first in the kind darkness of your mother's womb. You lived the first nine months in there. Your birth was the first journey from darkness into light. All your life, your mind lives within the darkness of your body. Every thought you have is a flint moment, a spark of light from your inner darkness. The miracle of thought is its presence in the night side of your soul; the brilliance of thought is born of darkness. Each day is a journey. We come out of the night into the day. All creativity awakens at this primal threshold where light and darkness test and bless each other. You only discover the balance in your life when you learn to trust the flow of this ancient rhythm."

Make

Beeswax ornaments: Beeswax is literally the summer captured and preserved. Beeswax ornaments are easy to make; you just need beeswax, string, and a mold (look for candy or cookie molds at stores like Bulk Barn). Heat beeswax over very low heat (double boiler preferred) and pour slowly into the mold. While the wax is still liquid and just barely starting to cool, gently place the ends of the string in the wax so it’s looped to make a hanger. Let cool completely, and remove from molds. You can see some that I made a few years ago here.

Solstice Cake: I started making this cake as a Solstice Cake several years ago. It’s made in a bundt pan, so it’s round to echo the closing of the loop of the seasons and the shape of the sun. It’s made with warming spices and can be decorated as simply or elaborately as you’d like. I think a light sprinkling of icing sugar and a few pomegranate seeds is perfect. You can see some pictures and my original post with the recipe here.

Solstice Cake

1/2 cup white sugar

1/2 cup butter

1 egg

3/4 cup molasses

1/4 cup honey

2 1/2 cups flour

1 1/2 tsp baking soda

1 tsp cinnamon

1 tsp ginger

1/2 tsp cloves

1/2 tsp salt

1 cup hot water

Steps:

Preheat oven to 350. Grease and flour a bundt pan really, really, really well. (See the lumpy bits of my cake? It didn’t release from the pan properly.)

I use a stand mixer - if you don’t have one, no worries - just do the rest by hand or with a handheld mixer. Cream together butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add egg and molasses and mix well.

If you want to be proper, whisk together your dry ingredients before adding them (I almost never do, and it turns out wonderfully every time.) Add dry ingredients to butter mixture and mix briefly, being careful not to overwork the batter - you don’t want a tough cake. Add hot water, mix until uniform, and pour into bundt pan.

Bake at 350 for 45-50 minutes, or until cake tester comes out clean.

Allow to cool for 15-20 minutes, and release from pan. Dust with powdered sugar - shaken from a fine-mesh sieve is the trick - and garnish with pomegranate seeds and sprigs of greenery. I used dried rosemary from this summer’s garden, but if I hadn’t had that on hand I would have cut sprigs from our Christmas tree. This cake is even better the next day, so it’s a great make-ahead dessert. Just cool and cover well, then add the icing sugar and pomegranate seeds and greens before serving. Enjoy, served with whipped cream. Happy Holidays!

Simmer Pot: This couldn’t be much simpler, and is a nice way to add a bit of festive scent to your kitchen. Just add some items to water in a small crockpot or pot on the stove and simmer. You can come up with a million combinations, but here are two of my favourite combinations. 1) orange slices, cinnamon sticks, and cloves (classic!). 2) Rosemary, lemon, and vanilla (fresh and bright and herbal.)

Do

Celebrate solstice! There are plenty of things to celebrate in December, but (as always) what speaks to my heart is the beauty of the natural world and the cycles of nature. We like to celebrate solstice with a fire if the weather cooperates and the solstice cake above. You can be as into it as you want - writing down things you want to release from the past year and burning pieces of paper in the fire is one nice way to mark the longest night.

Find light: This year especially, as we continue through the pandemic, finding metaphorical light is more important than ever. There are so many good, generous, kind, and openhearted things happening everywhere - look around in your community and find something that you can contribute to or acknowledge.

Decorate a tree outside for the birds and wildlife: This is a lovely way to bring some birds to your yard. You can decorate with a fresh cranberry and popcorn garland, orange slices, or seed ornaments. The birds will thank you!

It has been such a delight for me to put this project together for you this year; I hope that you have enjoyed it as much as I have. I hope that it has helped you to find ways to appreciate the world around you throughout the year and given you some fun things to do as well. So much love to you from my little corner of Nova Scotia!

November - A Year of Light 2021

I couldn’t choose between these two options for November’s picture for your phone background - choose your favourite and enjoy it this month. Grasses and seed heads have turned golden for the winter ahead, and the light is starting to take on a bit of its winter quality. Despite the last leaves falling from these beautiful birches, they are still beautiful - and there are still blue skies, even in November.

Notice: Cold and warm, dark and light

It’s usually November here when the first really crispy frost arrives (and maybe snow!) Some things I’m looking forward to noticing are crunchy leaves blowing around in the wind and getting stuck in puddles, the sparkle of raindrops on windows when headlights pass on a dark night, the contrast between dark and light on long evenings, a beeswax candle lit in the early morning, the warmth of feet in slippers, and the dark shapes of bare branches against the sky that are beautiful in their spareness.

Make

Dried grass arrangement: Go for a wander with some scissors in hand and see what kinds of grasses you might be able to find - they’re a lovely way to bring some of November into your home. Just place them in a brown glass bottle or vase, and you’ll have a delightful, free arrangement to enjoy. The possibilities are endless! Cats may find them very intriguing - one of ours loves to pull them out of vases and chase them around the house.

Curried Squash Soup: This has been a favourite recipe at our house since 2004. It is warm and cozy, vibrant and delicious. It also freezes well, and a flaky, buttery biscuit on the side is just perfect.

2 large onions, finely chopped

2 cloves garlic, minced

2 carrots, peeled and finely chopped

2 tsp curry powder

1 tsp cumin

1 large butternut squash, peeled, seeded and chopped (other squashes work fine if that’s what you have on hand)

1 bay leaf

1 tsp salt

6 cups vegetable stock (I use better than Boullion mixed a bit more weakly than on the label)

sour cream and chives for garnish

In a large saucepan, sauté the onion, cumin and curry powder in butter or olive oil. Add garlic and carrot and sauté until softened. Add squash, bay leaf, salt, and broth. Simmer until the squash is completely soft, stirring occasionally.

(I haven’t tried making this in the instant pot, but I think I will; I will sauté the onions and spices first, then add in all of the other ingredients with 1 cup less broth and cook for 15 minutes, then blend with an immersion blender.)

Do

Find a good book or audio book to listen to as the evenings are darker and the cozy vibes get cozier - I find the best book reading experience is with books that echo something of the season. The Night Circus is pleasantly kind of spooky for November - I listened to the audio book a few years ago and enjoyed it. It’s not what I would usually gravitate to, and I think that’s partly what I liked about it. The Lost Man is set in the sweltering Australian outback (so not exactly reflected in Canadian November weather) but it’s a slightly creepy mystery that I couldn’t put down. It’s perfect for bedtime - I like to read fiction before going to sleep, and the best is when it’s a combination of easy to remember and follow when I’m sleepy, along with a story I’m eager to figure out. Audio books are nice and cozy for listening while puttering or doing other things, and I love the Hoopla and Libby apps from the library.

Neighbourhood walk after dark: one thing I miss about living in town is being able to go for walks on sidewalks (there are none where we live now - just shoulders on rural roads). Seeing and imagining all of the complex lives and people and things going on between the walls of many separate houses is fun to think about. And in November, the atmosphere of leaves swirling around (it’s almost guaranteed to be windy here in November), warm cozy lit windows against the cold and dark of the evening - I find it so very lovely. And a walk down Main Street with shop windows to look in, whether the stores are open or closed, just feels good. I’m planning to make an evening out of a walk in town this month - I’ll take a cup of tea, bundle up, and enjoy the dark and light.

October - A Year of Light 2021

October and its colours are my very favourite of all seasons - so here are three pictures that you can choose from for your phone background this month.

Notice: not-so-subtle changes

In October, so much changes here in Nova Scotia. At the beginning of the month, trees still have all of their green leaves, and by the end of the month many are bare. Usually the peak for colour is the second week of the month or so, and in the blink of an eye the colours are fading. At our house, we made it through the entire month of September this year without needing to light a fire in the furnace. Pay attention for the smell of woodsmoke on the air when the mornings become cooler - it’s one of my favourite scents. And when the first frost is imminent, you can smell that, too. That’s usually around the middle of the month, too. October always feels like the year is just hustling to sum up the warm months with a spectacular show before the long dark and quiet of late fall and winter.

Make

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip cookies - a perennial favourite since I was a kid. These are cakey and soft and it is very easy to eat waaaay too many.

• 1 cup white sugar

• 1 cup canned pumpkin

• ½ cup vegetable oil

• 1 egg

• 2 cups all-purpose flour

• 2 teaspoons baking powder

• 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

• ½ teaspoon salt

• 1 teaspoon baking soda

• 1 tablespoon vanilla extract

• 1 cup semisweet chocolate chips

In a large bowl or stand mixer bowl, combine sugar, pumpkin, oil, and egg. In a separate bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt. Add dry ingredients to wet and stir to combine. Add chocolate chips and vanilla and stir gently until combined. You can add as many chocolate chips as you’d like.

Place on cookie sheets by spoonfuls, and bake at 350 for about 13 minutes. I find the first tray takes up to 15 minutes, and about 12-13 minutes for the ones after that. These freeze very well, and are actually kind of delicious when partly frozen.

Enjoy!

If you’re Canadian, Thanksgiving is next weekend. I always make a turkey dinner, and Aimee’s turkey technique has been my go-to for Thanksgiving and Christmas since she first published it many years ago. It has my stamp of approval, 10 years running! For some reason, my link button isn’t working, so here you go: https://simplebites.net/how-to-roast-a-turkey/

Do

I feel like I’ve written this every month this year, but take a moment whenever you can to appreciate nature and what is changing and happening this month - there is so much in such a short time! The obvious beauty of the leaves, the scent of the woods when plant matter is rotting and it smells sweet and clean, gathering the last goods from the garden, and the morning chill in the air. There is so much to appreciate and pay attention to this month. Happy October!