Thankful for Home

Happy Thanksgiving! I was home for the first time in four years, which was really nice. It was a mellow holiday at my mom's with good food and good company.

My culinary excitement of the day was making my first Tarte Tatin. I had never heard of it until a few years ago when my friend Miri had me over for dinner and whipped one up nonchalantly for dessert while we were chatting. I was struck by the beauty, and deep caramelly flavor of the apples, the rustic elegance. I found a great recipe on Orangette, and while my process was a lot slower than I remember Miri's being, I was really happy with the end result.

Later I went to a friend's house who was hosting an "orphans" Thanksgiving. The post-meal lethargy eventually wore off and turned into a dance party. It was the perfect way to end a day of lots of eating and sitting!

Seabrook, or, A Crash Course in Razor Clamming

For the 3-day weekend of 11-11-11, my family rented a house in the little community of Seabrook on the coast of southern Washington. I mean immediate family, as well as grandma, first cousins, aunts, uncles, and a few friends- 21 of us total in 2 different houses. Coincidentally, it was just announced that razor clamming would be open for 2 days only on a small handful of beaches in this exact place!

By the time we got through the holiday traffic on I-5 and made it out there, it was later than we had planned. It was practically dark and almost dinner time, but my step-dad Larry and I couldn't be confined indoors for the night until we had at least attempted clamming. The only problem was, neither of us had ever clammed, and my uncle who was going to show us the ropes had already headed out. We didn't get cell signals in this stretch of coast, so there was no way to get in contact. Shrugging, Larry and I geared up for foul weather and decided to head out anyway, admitting that we were the blind leading the blind.

We found a beach, pitch black except the evenly-spaced dots of yellow lantern light from the other clam diggers. At least we are in the right spot. So with heads bent to the wind, and awkwardly gripping our flailing buckets and clam guns, we started walking across the beach toward the water. If you've been to the Washington coast at low tide, you know that this can be a long, flat stretch. It was dark ahead of us and dark behind us. It was the most extreme weather I've been in for a long time- the kind where the wind is so strong you can barely breathe, and driving rain has a way of finding any tiny cranny of clothing. Luckily it didn't last long, and by the time we got out to the shore, the rain had stopped and the full moon came out from behind the clouds.

We knew we needed to find the airholes in the sand, and in my head I was picturing compact, round black holes. We saw a few of those and dug, but to our dismay, nothing came up. We stooped over in the wind, eyes strained on the sand, til Larry said, with an intuition that amazes me, "That looks like something." It was just a faint dimpled crater, not an obvious dark hole. But Larry dug, and lo and behold, up came a big razor clam with its oblong yellow shell and long neck and digger foot at each end. It was sort of shocking at first, that the tiniest of clue could indeed yield a real creature living down there. It reminded me of digging potatoes, how you can't see them but you trust that they're there, and up from the darkness comes food. We dug for the next hour, until Larry reached his limit of 15, and I had a solid 10.

We got back to the house cold and tired, but happy with our catch. The whole family had arrived and convened for dinner, various carloads from Seattle and Oregon managing to find each other. Dinner turned into dessert, for which I had made nutmeg pot de creme. (Years ago, my grandma gave me a set of baking ramekins when I graduated college, which I thought was a completely useless gift. But I already loved eggy, custardy desserts, and found that with ramekins in my possession, I became a creme brulee making machine that summer.) This recipe is like creme brulee without the torched sugar top, and with nutmeg and vanilla and heavy cream tasted just like the holidays.
Then dessert turned into drinks and games and poker... but those of us who had caught clams had to clean them before any more fun could be had. My uncle showed us how to blanch them so that the shells would open and easily slide off. Here's a particularly big one with his neck stretched out. Then you have to gut them, and fillet them open to get all the sand out.

On Saturday morning we awoke to... you guessed it, more rain! I went for a soggy run on a back-road logging trail, where I saw no other humans but did see bear scat, a large 3-point buck, and a random hand-painted sign that said "My man Otis". The next few hours went like this: coffee, a group walk to the beach,

my 3 year-old niece in mini-human raingear,
clam chowder and fried razor clams for lunch, a dip in the pool and hot tub... all just distractions until it was time to go clamming again. Since we hadn't been able to go together the night before, we planned a group departure at 3:30.

Razor clamming is best 1-2 hours before low tide. The low tide was at 7:20 so going out at 3:30 was a little too early, but we were hoping to do some clamming in the light. We got down to the beach and saw similar dark black holes to the night before, and on the off-chance that they were clams, started digging... only to find sand shrimp! I had no idea that there were shrimp that lived under the sand. The seagulls overhead were happy with our find, but it wasn't of much use to us. The tide was still in too far for us to get to the clam zone. So I headed back to the house with my sister and a few others for a self-imposed "happy hour". We drank some wine and ate some brie and home-smoked tuna dip and felt fortified to head out for a second round.

There were about 12 of us out there clamming, so it was quite the family endeavor. As people reached their limit of 15 clams, they headed in, but of course those of us who had gone back to the house were a little behind in numbers. My 10 year-old niece was my faithful assistant, holding my catch bag when I couldn't in the whipping wind, and staying out as long as my step-dad and I did. My brother-in-law had already reached his limit, so he wasn't digging anymore, but he was scouting holes for us. He would call out, "Amber, over here!" or "Larry, here's one!" and keep his light trained on the tiny crater until we came over. That might have been my favorite time of the whole weekend- the working together, the inter-generational and almost tribal mentality of helping each other forage for food.
Later we had a pizza potluck and I made mulled wine. Then the music got turned up so loud that we could hardly talk, and the only thing left to do was dance. Cousins, aunts, sisters, mom, and yes, even my grandma couldn't help but shake it at the end of this wintery vacation day.

Babies Galore

You know those times when it seems like all your friends are getting married or having babies? Well, right now is one of those baby times. Just in the last couple weeks, 2 friends have given birth to beautiful, healthy babies. First, congratulations to cousin Mary on the little girl! Luckily she lives close by so hopefully I can meet the baby this week. Also, a big congrats to my friend Annie in California. I probably won't meet her son that soon, but I'm sooo happy for her and her husband.

Also recently, within the same two weeks, we found out that our immediate family is about to expand. Congrats to my brother Isaac and his girlfriend on their pregnancy, and to my sister Laura and her hubby on theirs. Two more nieces or nephews on the way!

Garlic Planting

So it's fall, which mostly means things are winding down in the garden. Maybe you planted root crops months ago to overwinter, or recently transplanted some established brassicas, but otherwise it would be crazy to think about seeding anything in this cold...That is, of course, except for garlic!

Mid-fall is the perfect time to plant garlic in our climate, so it can start to sprout, overwinter, then keep growing in the spring. I've been meaning to get garlic in the ground for weeks, and now is a tad on the late side, but better late than never! If you are thinking about it, Seattle Tilth has a great, simple guide to garlic planting with all the basics. You can use any cloves really, preferably ones that were grown in this region so you know they will do well. I got a red variety from Irish Eyes garden seeds.

And as I was prepping the bed to plant the garlic, I found some red potatoes that were somehow overlooked this summer. Bonus!

Day of the Dead

Halloween is my favorite holiday, hands down. There are the costumes, creativity, carved pumpkins, cold air, and candy. Heck, I don't even eat candy, usually only sweets that are homemade and/or organic, but for some reason the little chocolate bars that I usually find waxy and overly sweet are enjoyable.

But Halloween can swing too far in one of two directions- the preoccupation with goofy, slutty costumes and intense partying, or with darkness and fear. In my eyes, Mexican Day of the Dead (Dia de los Muertos) exists as the perfect foil and balance to Halloween. On November 2nd in Mexico, families congregate around home and community altars to commemorate dead loved ones. It addresses death but in an intentional, festive way. The idea is that the spirits of the deceased are present, so you should set up the altar with things that they would enjoy- candles to light their way, their favorite foods, flowers, water so they can drink and wash their hands, etc. I recognize that I'm not Mexican, and this is not my culture's holiday, but I respect and value the space that is created to remember the deceased, something I feel we don't do enough of as Americans. Perhaps we visit a loved one's grave on their birthday, but otherwise we don't have a centralized time to celebrate and reflect on the people who have passed on.

A staple to any Day of the Dead celebration is the Pan de Muerto, or Dead Bread. It is a yeasted egg bread that is usually round, with crosses on it represent bones, and a tear drop in the middle for sorrow. This is the recipe I used, which seems pretty authentic and turned out well.
At my mom's house we set up an altar with the bread, plus fruit, and pictures of our loved ones. I also showed my 10 year-old niece how to make paper flowers with tissue paper. She made some, and along with real flowers, we added those to the altar.

As much as I love dressing up on Halloween, I often have a hard time coming up with a costume idea until right before the day. This year, since I was already so excited about Day of the Dead, I figured I stay with that theme and be a Mexican skeleton, also called La Catrina. I got a straw hat, sewed on some lace to the brim, and added flowers, and other tidbits, including a craft box lid straight from Oaxaca.
With a little face paint and skeleton body suit, the outfit was complete. I realized it was the first time I've ever really been something 'dead'. As kids in my family, we were never allowed to dress as anything dark, deadly, magical, evil, etc. My mom did not approve of that aspect of Halloween for kids. Which was fine, because I basically wanted to be a princess from age 5-11. But somehow the Skeleton didn't feel dark and evil- it felt totally appropriate to the season, and just the right mix of spirit and life.

Operation "Make Fall Fun"

I love the fall, but it's always hard to make the transition from the warm vibrance of summer. I mentioned the end of summer to a friend the other day, and he groaned and asked me not to talk about it. It's especially tough here in the PNW where our summers are so short and haphazard. Luckily, we had an amazing, mostly sunny month of September, but now October has hit with shorter darker days and a deep chill to the night air. Of course, there's nothing we can do about it, so I think it best to embrace this fall. Heck, even make it fun! That's what I told my reluctant friend- time to get excited and proactive about this beautiful, darkening time of year.

Here are some ideas that help me...

* Cultivate forgotten indoor activities: Cook! Renew your netflix subscription! Play board games! Sew! Knit hats! Write an artful letter to your aunt! Read those books that have been on your list. I've started reading more again, most recently Bird By Bird (Anne Lamott), Rabbit, Run (John Updike), and The One-Straw Revolution (Masanobu Fukuoka).

*Eat 'harvest' foods: There is so much amazing food this time of year! It's the best of end of summer with (finally!) ripe tomatoes, beans, greens, cucumber, corn, and zucchini, but the winter squashes are in too. I love seeing pumpkins at the stores, and I got inspired by this month's Sunset magazine to try some new pumpkin recipes. I made the Cashew, Coconut, and Pumpkin Curry which was great, and I still have my eye on the pumpkin gingersnap ice cream and caramelized orange pumpkin flan. With all this food in season, it's also a great time to start canning if you haven't already. Last week I was in Bellingham and stopped by Joe's Garden and couldn't pass up the 25 pound box of beets. Twenty-five pounds! I did a big round of pickling of beets, green beans, and carrots, and something about all those different colors in glass mason jars makes my heart warm and grateful.

*Keep playing outside: Just because it's a bit cooler and wetter, doesn't mean you should stay indoors! Seattle rarely gets that cold; in fact, it always looks worse out than it really is. Once you are outside and moving, you're fine. Fall hikes are awesome with the changing colors, and on the Washington Trails Association website, you can even search for hikes by where there are the best colors! I find I also really enjoy working in the garden, and there is plenty to do this time of year- harvest what's ready, pull out what's done, leave root crops to overwinter, save seeds, transplant brassicas, sow cover crop, build cloches, etc. If you need inspiration or new garden skills, consider taking an adult garden education class at Seattle Tilth.

*Rediscover your cute, functional fall clothes: Scarves! Hats! That really cozy down jacket! That awesome sweater! Fashion rain boots! Boots with skirts and leggings!

*Drink fall cocktails: Just as food changes by season, so should drinks. This summer I was mostly enjoying summer beers, Pimm's #1 Cups, gin and tonics, and mojitos with basil. But now I'm thinking of pumpkin ales, apple cider, bourbon, and warm drinks. There are lots of recipes online for general autumn mixed drinks here and here. Another idea- bloody mary's with my home-pickled carrots sticks and green beans, instead of a celery stick.

"October 10"

by Wendell Berry

Now constantly there is the sound,

quieter than rain,

of the leaves falling.

Under their loosening bright

gold, the sycamore limbs

bleach whiter.

Now the only flowers

are beeweed and aster, spray

of their white and lavender

over the brown leaves.

The calling of a crow sounds

loud-a landmark- now

that the life of summer falls

silent, and the nights grow.

Cleo

Today did not go at all how I planned.

My good friend T is in Seattle, visiting "home" for a few days before making the move from Atlanta to DC. She and I were going to go hiking near Granite Falls, and we stopped at my mom's house on the way.

We walked inside, and T asked, "Uh, is your dog okay?" I hadn't gotten a good look at Cleo, our family dog, and replied, "Yeah, she's just gotten sick recently." And she has. She's been in good health her whole 12 years of life, then suddenly about 3 weeks ago, she started coughing and getting droopy eyes, and went into a rapid decline with bronchial infections, ear problems, went blind, had a stroke, stopped walking, and got diagnosed with a thyroid condition.

"But... the blood?" T asked. I walked farther into the kitchen to see Cleo laying on her doggie bed, breathing heavily and foaming blood at the mouth. There was diarrhea and bloody saliva and vomit smeared all over the kitchen floor and cabinets. She was panting so I held up her water bowl which she drank ravenously, then promptly puked back up. It was so hard to see her like that, clearly suffering, disoriented, and having some kind of major organ failure.

We decided to put her down, with the vet's agreeing and saying it was likely that she had some kind of cancer. I hope she is in a better, pain-free place, and she will be so sorely missed in our family. We drove back to the house in the rain, bleary-eyed and empty. T was so sweet and supportive though it all, and helped clean when we got home. As she finished mopping the floor and getting the last of the blood spots, she got a phone call that one of her coworkers back east had died unexpectedly. It felt like a dark day. I couldn't help but listen to some Ani Difranco: "Sky is grey, sand is grey, the ocean is grey/And I feel right at home, in this stunning monochrome/Alone in my way."

We didn't have time for the hike, but walked around drizzly Discovery Park as a back-up plan. Conversation invariable centered on life, love, and loss... and how all those things don't always go how we plan. What would our 19 year-old selves think of our 29 year-old selves? Would we be disappointed? Inspired? Disillusioned? Feel like we were on-track?

My answer? It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what we always thought we would do, where we would live, who we would marry. Dreams change and morph and disintegrate and are reborn all the time, and that's okay. You could say it's the decreased idealism that comes with age, but I think it's more like a wisdom that comes with understanding the unpredictable nature of life. And with the perspective that living with honesty, intention, love, and joy is how I measure greatness... not the same sense of epic grandeur that cradled my younger visions. There is a sense of loss of letting go of those dreams, but I have to remember that mostly I am losing an idea that existed in my mind, and not losing a physical thing. And now, more than ever, I want to interact with what is here and real, and not the idea of something off in the future. I want to get my hands dirty. I want to love earnestly. I want to regret something I did, not something I didn't do.

We kept talking through the glowy green forest and sitting on the grey sand grey sky beach. We made new dreams. We talked about bikes and her love of climbing and my love of gardens. We decided that a romantic relationship changing form 6 and 8 years later, respectively, is not the worst thing in the world. That maybe things started to end before the end, and there is new honesty that happens in breakups. That you can't fear doing something just because one day you might be disappointed or hurt. That that is a normal, healthy part of the The Way Things Work.

We loved Cleo dearly for the decade she was with our family. My heart still felt raw and my eyes stingy in the evening when I headed to an Organic Gardening class at Seattle Tilth. Tonight was the last class in a 4-week series, and we were talking about seed-saving. Students and instructors were sharing seeds, and took what seeds we wanted from brown paper bags- coarse, huge nasturtiums, tiny red broccali raab in their fingery pods, uniform smooth favas, black nigella coming out of spiny pods, dense round brown cilantro. Somehow it was the perfect end to this dark day, the reminder of our ability to save seeds, to cultivate abundance, to trust in the tiniest of things, to look forward to spring, to accept life's cycles, and to know that new growth is inevitable.

Bike Polo

Have you ever even heard of "bike polo", dear reader? I had not until my Australian friend started playing in Melbourne, and informed me that the game had started in Seattle. Officially Hardcourt Bike Polo, the game is just as it sounds- teams of 3 atop bicycles use mallets to hit a ball into end goals.

The main rules are that you can't touch your foot to the ground- if you do you have to "tap out" on the side of the court as a brief penalty- and you have to score a goal with the end of the mallet (not the side). You can't "chicken wing", putting your arm underneath another player's arms. Otherwise you just play! There are no assigned positions, though one player on the team is usually guarding their goal while "tripodding" on the mallet, though if they want to break away and go forward, another team member can drop back to defend the goal, or leave it unattended.
It's a fairly new game, and only the third year there have been World Championships. This year, the Worlds were hosted in Seattle! It was a 4-day event at Magnuson Park, and my friend from Australia was here competing. There were 64 teams, mostly from North America and Europe, plus a few from Australia and Asia. In a round-robin double elimination system, they started ranking the teams over a few days. It was a blazingly hot, sunny weekend for Seattle, and those player played a lot of games. I got sweaty just standing and watching.
Luckily the courts were by Lake Washington, so we could swim when we got overheated. Games are only 15 minutes, a perfect amount of time for me to get into it but not have to be too committed to watch the whole thing. Some family and friends came to watch, and it made for a great mix of spectating, swimming, and picnics.
The final game was an intense match between a Swiss team and a Vancouver team. They were both fast and amazing ball-handlers. The game was neck and neck, and even tied at the end. Then in overtime, a Canadian sped forward and made a perfect shot, ending the game and leaving their team undefeated. I had pride for a Cascadia team winning, but really it was just awesome to watch so many talented, dedicated players.

Summer Rumpot

It's a little late to be telling you about this, but while it's still barely summer I must mention it. From Germany (where it's called Rumtopf), this drink is made to capture the essence of summer fruit in liquor and be enjoyed at Christmas. Here's how it works: Get an earthenware or glass jar with a lid. Starting at the beginning of summer, put ripe, clean fruit (chopped) into the pot with half the fruit's weight in sugar. So if you have a pound of strawberries, put a half pound of sugar. Cover the fruit with an inch or two of dark rum and makes sure all the pieces are submerged. Store the jar in a dark place. As other fruit comes into season, add more fruit and sugar. I started mine in late July and so far have put blueberries, raspberries, peaches, and blackberries. Plums are next, then I will call it good. Then forget about it until December. Strain the fruit out and drink the fruity rum, savoring the dark of winter while remembering the abundance of summer.