Luckybeans

We have been eating. In the beginning of the week, things like roast chicken with asparagus and root vegetables. In the middle of the week, salads using greens from the garden (Asher hums while he eats his). Towards the end of the week, we end up with what I call "Mother Hubbard" dinners. I scour the pnatry and garden and back of the fridge, and then make something of it. Yesterday yielded half a row of beet greens, an onion, a small bunch of mint, two shrivelled mangoes, and half a jar of yogurt. So we had beet green and onion pakoras with mango/mint lassis and Asher told me I should open a restaurant when I finish school. 

Aside from eating, we have experimented with steam and microwaved a bar of ivory soap in the microwave so that it expanded into a cloud of soap flakes which were good for another hour's worth of entertainment. Especially when accompanied by comprehensively dreadful "blues" singing.

Some have been to children's classes.

Read lots of Harry Potter. And had a hair cut. 

And of course, played guitar (she, for the record, has forgiven a lifetime of having a camera in her face for this photo).

And done laundry.

But mostly, every free minute has found us outside in the garden. We wonder at how every colombine is so different, at the delicate saxifrage and the first roses and the promise of blueberries and lupines. The vast majority of time and energy is focused on the vegetables, though. We got almost all of our summer seeds and starts in this week: tomatoes, peppers, squashes, beans, cucumbers, melons, carrots, potatoes, onions... It is extensive and exhausting, and enormously satisfying. I am keeping track of the vegetable garden on this Pinterest board, if you are truly interested.

 

The Transformative Power of Eggs

It has been a long break between Hidden Words here, and I can only say that this was due to that equally long stream of Ayyam'i'Ha-Fast-Naw Ruz-Spring Break that seems to have diverted our focus in other directions.

I have also been thinking a lot about why we do this, and why discussing the Hidden Words is so important to me as a mother. First and foremost, I want to point out that for the purpose of this (albeit one-sided) conversation, the fact that we use the Hidden Words specifically is not of paramount importance. What matters to me is that there is a dedicated time and space in which we mindfully address the spiritual nature of ourselves at an individual level, the world around us, and how we should interact with it. The Hidden Words are beautifully created to facilitate precisely this, and that is why I continually fall back on them. But what I absolutely cannot do without is the integration of spiritual reality into our daily lives. These writings provide a window through which to view ourselves, those around us, and how the world works. We end up exploring everything from art to science to nature to history to gardening all in one smooth stream of inquiry, and this is how it should be. This life on this earth is all about exploring and learning and discovering, on mulitple levels and in multiple ways, and they are all aspects of a single reality. It is with this sense of purpose that I approach these little exercises and activities, but in doing so, I also try to address my greatest fear. If I fail to teach my children this fundamental unity of life, and its importance to their own spiritual reality, I will truly feel as if I have failed as a mother. So I may fall off for a while, but I hope I always manage to climb back on. It is not enough for me to tell them that they should be good or kind or brave or truthful in an abstract or idealised sense-- I need to know that they understand why, in the deepest aspect of themselves, they need to be true to their own beautiful, noble, spiritual selves.

In any case, without further ado:

Hidden Word Number Eighteen

O SON OF SPIRIT!

Ask not of Me that which We desire not for thee, then be content with what We have ordained for thy sake, for this is that which profiteth thee, if therewith thou dost content thyself.

~Baha'u'llah

Discussion:

First of all, I just love this one. It is such a source of comfort to me. So I asked myself why, and that lead to this week's questions and discussions. First and foremost, this Hidden Word focuses on humility, contentment, gratitude and understanding the Will of God. From previous weeks, we recalled just how much God loves us, and that He obviously wouldn't want to make us suffer for no good reason. So why do we get so sad and angry? Why is life so hard sometimes? We further discussed that there are two types of tests and difficulties in this life: the ones God gives us so that we can grow and change, and the ones we make for ourselves out of our own vanity/greed/short-sightedness, etc. It is our responsibility (and ability) to minimise the tests of our own making (ahem) and begin to understand the purpose of the tests God gives us as a chance for us to change and grow spiritually. These are enormous, difficult themes, and I obviously cannot do them justice here, and we continue to discuss them on an ongoing basis. 

Activity:

Alright, this might seem a bit of a leap, but bear with me. One of the transformations that is easy and fun to witness can be found in eggs. Not fertilised eggs (although that could work, too), but the ones we use in cooking. I had the children think of all the different ways we use eggs: they provide the puff in a puff pancake, they can be fried, boiled, merengued, thickened into custard, scrambled...In other words, they are incredibly diverse in how they behave and what they are used for in cooking and baking. Now, how does this all work? We looked specifically at the process that an egg white goes through when it is beaten (a detailed explanation can be found here), and I was terribly impressed by my girls when they informed me that egg whites were protein molecules with a coiled structure. Little smarty-pants-nerds. Anyway, in the prolonged beating, the structure uncoils and incorporates air and transforms into something else entirely. Which can easily be applied to the effect tests can have on us. I don't imagine it would be a pleasant or easy process to have one's proteins uncoiled, but look at the resuilts!

Of course, we had to make a pavlova for this week. Partly becuase it illustrated the point so well, partly because it is so yummy, and partly because Bella desperately needed to use her new mixer. We also made a lemon curd using the egg yolks, which showed a completely different sort of transformation as the curd thickened (and yes, there is a layer of lemon curd underneath the strawberries and cream).

Both processes were longer than the children anticipated, but they were also exceptionally delicious and well worth the time and effort. So yes, baking can be a spiritual metaphor. And I think this is what I want them to see-- that everything, but everything, is beautiful and applicable in so very many ways.

 

Hoo boy!

First of all, thank you so much you sweet, kind people of the internets. My shoulder is slowly (but steadily) improving thanks to a barrage of ibuprofen, massage, heat packs, hot showers and deep heat. I wake up feeling pretty good most mornings, but sitting in the hard classroom chairs usually does me in. It's getting there, though.

So. Berries. Have I mentioned how glad I am that we froze something like eighty pounds of berries last summer? I know spring is supposed to arrive soon, but those berries sure do keep us happy. We eat them on cereal or in smoothies, in crumbles and porridge and pies and applesauce. And we eat them with great abandon and a sense of generosity. The applesauce and tomoatoes are about halfway finished now, but I think the berries are still going strong!

 Also? Flowers. Primroses out and a bouquet from my dear Simon in. I have been thinking about how truly grateful I am to have him around. I honestly could not imagine doing this whole "getting through life" business without him.

Not much to add here. Just wanted to record these passing things. Hidden Word later...

 

Endings and Beginnings

This past week, we ate our way through the last of the vegetables still in the garden. All that remains now is a row of kale, and a few carrots and things waiting for the spring to take off again. Really, it has been remarkable how well things held up and how long they lasted. Next year I hope to remember to plant lots more bok choy! And maybe some favas if I find the seeds.

All of this means a gathering and sorting of what seeds we have and what to look for and replenish. You can see where we are on this pinterest board (I also hope to keep notes on when things are planted and how they do). I am still looking for some yellow patty pans and a few more varieties of asian veg. It may be a dim and rainy morning, but we are looking forward...

Snowing and Melting

And melting and snowing, and then doing it all again. That seems to be the pattern right now. The grass will all be clear and green, and then another dark cloud will swoop in and start it all over again.

Ana caught this moment of melting

and Bella this one of snowing:

I think the robins, all puffed out and huddled into flocks, have had quite enough of it all. 

The children have not! They went sledding and built more snowmen and tromped around town, revelling in it and pleading with the sky for more.

Bella has been filling little cups with snow and raspberry jam or maple syrup. Mmmm. 

I am tasked with keeping the hot chocolate and tea going. Simon sees to the fire.

I would not mind another snow day tomorrow...

Fog, Frost and Clafoutis

There is a hush in fog that will not lift, an unspoken suppression of movement by nature herself, a stillness in what cannot be seen, a muffling of senses in soft billows of white and vapor. I have not seen the sun in three days, but I do not mind. These are long moments of pause, when time itself seems a frivolity. If ever magic occurred, it must have been on days like these, when the brightness of sun never quite pierced the veil of cloud, when the frost still clung to each blade of grass and leaf and pine needle and strand of web in a fierce chill of tenacity.

And what do we mere mortals do with ourselves? We bundle into coats and woollens, cradle hot mugs so the warmth can seep through to our marrow, burrow deep into the snug cosiness of home. And we keep the ovens on.

There is a special place in my heart (and stomach) for the eggy baked good. I do not like eggs in their savory aspects. Not scrambled, fried, poached, coddled, omeletted, souffled, boiled...no. Not even with toast soldiers for dipping, and that is terribly difficult to resist. The only way I find their countenance remotely approachable is beneath a heavy cloak of HP sauce. Even the smell of them cooking has led to a fleeing of the premises.

But bake them in a batter, and, well-- that is another sort of magic that only fog can rival. Their congealed wetness and rubbery edges give way to silken smooth custards and glorious puffs of golden puddings. Here is the realm of the custard, the flan, the creme caramel, the puff pancake, the Dutch baby, the popover, the humble Yorkshire pudding. Forgiving by nature, almost laughable in their simplicity and ease of preparation. They only ask that you not open the oven door on them, and eat them up without too much delay. Not so very much to ask, really. And recently, a new member was added to the ranks of eggy glory-- the clafoutis. I came across this lovely recipe on Lecia's blog a few weeks ago. Cranberries thrown into what is apparently the glorified French version of a thick and sweet Yorkshire pudding? Oh yes, please. Let's try that.

Today, while the fog wended its solemn way among the forsted strands of spiderwebs draped like tinsel on the fir trees, I turned that oven on, reached for some egg and cream, sugar and cranberries, and set to. Never one to follow directions or recipes with great amounts of precision, I fiddled and tweaked a bit. The biggest change was the addition of the pomegranate, because if it is sitting there in all of its jewel-chest plumpness, I certainly can not turn it away. So here it is: Cranberry and Pomegrante Clafoutis, with a nod to Lecia, who respectively nods to Martha Stewart.

Cranberry and Pomegranate Clafoutis

1 knob of butter, for the dish
½ cup plus 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
¼ cup plus 2 tablespoons all purpose flour
pinch of salt
2 large eggs
1 cup chilled heavy cream
¾ cup whole milk
fine zest of two mandarin oranges
1 1/2  cups fresh cranberries, coarsely chopped, and the seeds of 1 pomegranate

Preheat oven to 400F. Butter a 9 inch dish (I used a tart dish), then sprinkle the 2 tablespoons granulated sugar onto the dish. Sift the remaining ½ cup granulated sugar, the flour, and salt into a large bowl. Gradually whisk in the eggs, ¾ cup cream, the milk, and zest.

Scatter the cranberries into the dish, with half of the pomegranate seeds, then pour the batter over the top. Bake until puffed, slightly set, and brown around the edges, 30-35 minutes. Cool on a rack for 15 minutes (it will sink). Before serving, sprinkle with the remaining half of the pomegranate seeds. 

Enjoy!

Perhaps It Is the Old Lady in Me

I find myself reminding myself most strongly of my grandmother these days. Avidly watching the weather, waiting for the post to be delivered, baking pies to ward off the chill. Still, there is something to be said for such things. I am inclined to believe that these behaviours are due, at least in part, to this time of year lending itself to such sudden swings, dips and other acts of an intemperate sort, that comfort must be taken where it may. The same few days on the camera document the burnished days of autumn and the iced breath of winter in a span that fits within the parameter of uploading in a digital age. The trees, in a fit of pique, shed leaves to stand naked in a sun that is so weak, the children wondered aloud if the moon had not risen early. I, on the other hand, am shedding nothing, but clambering into layers of silk and wool undergarments at an alarming rate. 

Do you know what one of my secret desires is? A pen pal with elegant writing, so that I can recieve letters in real ink on thick paper.  I would even reply. Imagine such a luxury. This morning, I thought of it again when I saw the box had put on its winter finery. I did so wish I could describe this moment in the context of collecting a letter.

But who, indeed, has time. Here it becomes apparant that I am not, despite weather and pies and long underwear, my grandmother after all. I have spent my spare moments writing a blog post, not penning a letter.

 

Now I must dash to a Final Exam in Applied Math. I have been told that coffee and chocolate make for an indisputable edge when sitting exams. I am not one to argue, so off I go to don my layers, fed on lady fingers, hazelnut spread, and a mug of coffee.

 

8 am

I put pies in the oven. Simon built a table out of sawhorses and planks. We mopped and ironed and tied napkins with tags and twine. People began arriving at twelve, and put the turkey in the oven. We scattered leaves and conkers, candles and pears and pomegranates. 

We chatted and read (seed catalogues and the funny papers were the favourites), and worked on Asher's school project. We ate Matt's awesome salsa and April mulled cider. More people came in as the afternoon progressed.

By early evening we were eating Leah's spectacular cheeses (heaven in a slice of petit basque), and the kitchen was in full swing. We steamed up the windows, laughed, tasted, built train tracks and played Settlers of Catan. 

At six o'clock we sat down to eat, together.

Our little family did not celebrate Thanksgiving for the eight years we lived in Africa. But last night, looking down this table, I understood: this is not about pilgrims or the fate of Native Peoples; this is not about ceremony and tradition; this is about gathering together with those we love, celebrating with food and showing our gratitude that we get to be together.

I can do food. I can do family. Everyone was happy, helpful, pitching in. Auntie Lynne made exquisite breads, Amy delicious gravy, Philippe a turkey extraordinaire (they both made the stuffing with wild chanterelles, and the brought potatoes from their garden). It was good. It was more than good. And today I am feeling oddly humbled that we got to have all of these people, every single one of whom I dearly love, in our home, together, for just one perfect evening.

Thank you. 

(And Bella keeps saying how glad she was she even scrubbed the bathtub, since baby Jacob got to use it!)

Priorities and Avoidance

Oh! But it is rainy and windy this morning. The children are home from school all week, but sadly I do not get this luxury. It is very hard to head out to class in that dark and cold, knowing that they are busy and cosy at home.

Yesterday we went out and collected leaves and conkers to decorate the Thanksgiving tables with. I am glad we got out before the weather descended. It was brisk, and we came in with nipped fingers, toes and noses. But better than soggy leaves!

I also managed to get eighteen individual apple crisps all nestled into mason jars and shuttled into the freezer. Getting the kitchen in some semblance of order in preparation for the many cooks soon descending is next on the agenda (not, as would undoubtedly be more appropriate, writing my Spanish essay). Not knowing quite where anything is, or where it goes, is one of the hazards of having the children put away the dishes in a kitchen with bountiful cupboard space.

Ah. The end of the post. I suppose I really must go out and brave the bluster now...

 

Edited to add:

To make mason jar crisps, you need small wide-mouthed jars and your usual crisp recipe. I used a standard apple filling recipe, then put it into the jars. I let it sit for a while and then pushed it down until the (unbaked) filling lined up with the bottom of the rings around the jar. I then added crisp topping to just below the lid and screwed the lids on tightly before putting them in the freezer. To bake them, I put them straight from the freezer into the cold oven after removing the lids, then turn it on to 375. It takes about 45 minutes to bake. If you don't freeze them, it only takes about 30 minutes.

I've also done this with peaches and a biscuit topping, and you can even do full crusted mini pies. I like the fruit better than the crust though, so I only put a top crust/biscuit/crisp layer on. 

Easy!

 

Nature Table Updated

November has been bustling around us with fog and mist every morning, sharp frosts and gray skies and chill. Asher is always quick to note the turning of the calendar, so I was not entirely surprised to find that he rearranged the nature table and updated the picture and books when he was home sick last week.

You can tell is was Asher, by the peeking foxes, hedgehog under toadstool, squirrel in a home and the tomtens with a chicken (that must be a very safe chicken). 

We have moved from outside to in, a transition that we have not yet mastered, having lived in places where one is always out. I try to ease things with tea and applesauce and roasted chestnuts. It helps.