Kale and Chocolate

We have kale the size of elephant ears, of a hundred elephants! The more kale we pick, the more grows back in its place. We have kale growing out of our ears now.


A friend recently gave me a wonderful recipe book titled The Book of Kale by Sharon Hanna and it has eighty recipes using kale.  Before the book, I was excited about the Massage Kale Salad with Mango and Avocado recipe I found online...but after making it every other day in the summer, it was losing its appeal, even if we did jazz it up with pineapples and strawberries too. Before that recipe, we were only eating it sauteed in a little olive oil and salt. Now, at last, we have some more variety and yeah...still more kale!


Kale is a superfood.  It scores 1,000 out of 1,000 in the Aggregate Nutrient Density Index scoring system..  It is rich in Vitamins A, C, and K. It is also a source of calcium, iron, and potassium, and provides significant amounts of phytonutrients as well. It is a nutritional powerhouse. There are several varieties of kale to grow. We like the Red Russian and the Red Winter kale best. Its broad, thin leaf is milder in taste than the Dwarf Blue Curled that's readily found in the supermarket.

 It has been great fun to learn various ways to enjoy this superfood. Meg and I had a weekend of cooking with kale last week. We started off with the Simple Kale Frittata for breakfast, and had Savory Kale Scones with Pumpkin and Cheese with our Winter Squash Soup for lunch, and then we tried the Kale and Cranberry Crisps with a delicious Ginger and Curry Chutney from the Concord Wine and Cheese Shop for a late afternoon snack the next day, and a Kale and White Bean Salad with dinner. Everybody has enjoyed all of these kale delights, except for Owen who liked the Massaged Kale Salad until I overdid it, and then he grew tired of it and anything else heralding kale. Who can blame a thirteen year old for that?


Tonight, we had Kale and Chourico Soup, but a craving for chocolate prompted a rummage through the cupboards. Hershey's Special Dark Cocoa was the most chocolatey thing I could find and luckily we had the ingredients to make its signature chocolate cake with chocolate frosting recipe. It reminded me of something my mother would have made growing up because I can still see the cocoa powder tin in her cupboard. It's exactly in the same place I have mine. Its one of those items I think I have permanently embedded there, along with molasses, baking powder, and cinnamon. Its not something I ever think of buying, but always think will be there when I need it...kind of like the kale:)

As Michael and I indulge in our old-fashioned chocolate cake and a glass of milk, we know we will wake up to a super healthy Kale and Avocado smoothie. Try it, you'll like it!

Plant some kale seeds....its not too late!

xo Bess

Amateurs Have Way More Fun!

I feel like a forever amateur in many areas: blogging, gardening, surfing, writing...however I kinda like it that way. There is something about the excitement of always having something to learn, and the anticipation of the unexpected. When one is a novice, there are fewer expectations, and so more often than not, I am thoroughly pleased and excited about the outcomes.

Lets take surfing for example. Michael signed me up for a surfing competition/fundraiser a few weeks ago. My initial reaction was panic, followed by a reluctant smile and brave face. I couldn't wear the cool t-shirt if I didn't participate. He assured me it was casual and fun.  I wasn't convinced. I have never surfed with many people at once, competing for a wave. I could only imagine the surfing videos I've seen and I couldn't imagine myself in it. The day came, and the forecast was in my favor...no waves! Instead we would paddle out to a buoy and back...that I could do confidently. Many heats were before mine, and as the winds picked up, so did my chances of having to catch a wave..uugghh, except that I was starting to get into the enthusiasm of the event. I also had to be a positive role model for Meg...she was watching and envisioning herself on that board next year. I would have gladly given her my spot, but she wasn't ready yet. The atmosphere was casual and fun as Michael promised. The vintage boards were cool to see, we were sitting amongst the awesome dunes of Cahoon Hollow, and the water was warm.

It was time for my heat, and it was certain that I would now have a chance to catch a wave alongside fifteen other women. My nerves now calmed by the sea and man I love, I ran into the water carrying the twelve foot vintage board, and paddled...this was fun. Around the buoy, and ahead of the others, I was feeling confident...now I just had to catch a wave...and catch one I did...yay! Then I landed on my rump of which the Cape Cod Times caught a perfect picture of and put it on the front page of the next day's paper. I wish I was the cool girl with the panoramic picture heading the paper, but, well, that's for the experts.

The garden is another area which gives me great amateur pleasure. My Carrot Friends poem says "A carrot is hard to grow/" All summer we have been watching and waiting for ours to grow. Last summer we grew them with minimal success...most of them looked like full-figured minature doll legs. This year we had higher hopes. We had pulled a few finger-width and length-sized ones, but they weren't quite ready. Today, we dug with our fingers around the circumference of our largest carrot to date...it .was a real-sized carrot, almost two inches in diameter. We were ecstatic.  "Should we? Pull it?" Yes, it couldn't possibly get much bigger. We gathered all its ferny stems for a firm hold, gave it a little apprehensive yank to loosen the soil, and pulled. Out it came, with a swift release, because it only had one inch to reveal. It was actually shorter in height than it was in diameter. It was a stubby stump of a carrot with two straggly roots. We had been duped..The wider a carrot yields no greater a carrot. Our theory to wait until a carrot grows round to an impressive size before picking it fell literally, and figuratively short.

 Our grape arbor last year provided me material for another poem, told in prose form, about our encounter with Black Rot. This year, we have been watching dutifully, hoping not to make the same mistakes. Two of the four vines have grown to reach the two Owen-lengths height with healthy leaves stretching across the driftwood ,but no jade marbles or any sign of grapes appeared. However, on the two lesser-achieved vines, merely a foot and a half tall with dry, curled leaves, we found the smallest cluster of purple shaded berries, one on each vine.  There was barely enough fruit to feed a babe, less than twenty itty-bitty purple pearls perched on stems, but still fruit, and oh, how sweet on the tongue they were. One was Pinot Noir, and the other Merlot.  What a delight to have no expectations, and to be seduced by a mere sip.

Have no expectations, and you shall find treasure. Have a great day! Bess

Clamming at Nauset Inlet

A knick of a rubbery tip,

the stretched neck six inches deep,

the burrowed body praying for rain.

I carve at the grain, careful

not to crack my existence. Must keep

the shell safe in my grip...

I have loved clamming since my first introduction. There is something about the vista of sand, water and grass, the scraping sound in quest of the gritty sea, and the stillness, particularly the stillness that mesmerizes me. It is a meditation. I find infinite holes. When we had several high school students stay with us as part of an educational experience, one remarked, upon seeing all the holes, that "there should be no such thing as world hunger." As I focus on the careful excavation, crouched aside the grasses, and find the burrowed treasure, my heart expands. I am one with the sea. My hands are tattooed with the brindled grain. I cradle the shell, careful not to crack it.  Cracking it means it would not make it home with us, and could lessen its chance of survival remaining in the sand. That would be a waste. I have some mixed feelings with regard to the humanity of digging for clams;are they any less than us, and why do we have a right to eat them? I'm sure the fishermen and hunters have asked themselves the same question. It is the vegetarian spirit of my college days speaking. Yet, I have come to believe we feed from each other in the cycle of life and if we eat thoughtfully, respectfully, and mindfully. it is a healthy and balanced way. I always say a prayer of thanks.

We call the inlet our garden of the sea. We harvest from the inlet as we do our vegetables and flowers from our gardens around the house.. We discovered sea beans this year during one of our walks back from clamming. We had just recently heard of sea beans visiting our French chef friend Phillipe. He was chopping them up in his restaurant PB Boulangerie's kitchen. Shortly after, we spotted them along the edges of the inlet. They are an excellent source of minerals and a nice garnish to any meal. In the late summer, the sea lavender shows its blooms amongst the beans.We add them to our half-bucket haul of clams, just enough.

We dine only with what we have gathered with our hands on these evenings: clams, kale, tomatoes ,summer squash, and sea beans. Sea lavender and zinnias color the table. We are perfectly full.

Little Ducks

Michael and I have just survived ten days straight of teenagers, lots of them! First we had our niece Hannah from Houston, TX with two of her friends, all graduating high school seniors, spend five days with us as their graduation present.  We had fun taking them to our favorite Boston spots, the MFA, The Union Oyster House, and Mike's Pastry.  Of course, we took them to our training ground Walden Pond, where they chose to shop in the gift shop rather than join us for a swim...our New England waters are a bit too cold for them, They went strawberry picking, ate ice cream  which apparently is more of a New England thing than a Texas thing...its more about frozen yogurt there, and the remaining three days we spent on the Cape Cod seashore, from Orleans to Provincetown, touring lighthouses, and beaches, teaching them to surf, and of course, more shopping...it was a treat for them to buy t-shirts from all the different areas, especially the Cape Cod black bear shirt ( highlighting the first ever known black bear to be seen on the Cape).

We dropped them off at the airport on Sunday, and on Monday we were carting ten students back to our home in Orleans, to host Art of the Sea Endersession educational/recreational/cultural week for Megan's high school.  We taught ten more eager teenagers to follow Emerson: "Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, and drink the wild air". We surfed, we ran, we clammed, we swam, we biked, we saw a fantastic play called The Hound of the Baskervilles complete with backstage tour and meeting of the performers, we talked of art and poetry by local Cape Cod artists and poets such as Charles Hawthorne, Hans Hoffman, Mary Oliver, and Stanley Kunitz, and did sun salutations at sunrise.

In these ten days, we listened and observed this upcoming generation, and were impressed at the intelligence and grace in which they are handling the growing pains and decisions facing teenagers. In light of the uncertain economy, social stressors, and shaping identities, all of the teens we "hung out" with demonstrated thoughtful and optimistic plans for their future. It is refreshing to see the hope and dreams in their eyes.

At one of our sunset reflections with the ten students we observed them from a distance.  Michael sketched them and I wrote.  Some of my thoughts for a poem:

Ten in a row, like ducks
without their mother, wondering about the world,
sitting, feathers tucked, quiet.
Three waddle to the water, stray
from the row beyond wonder and warmth
to feel the cold spray.
Four find the rocky edge hard
against their soft, white feathers.
Two more lost in the grasses
try to find their way.
And one remains, still
sitting, feathers tucked,
content with the setting sun.


They will find their way, their center, their carrot friends.

xo Bess

2012 Phlebotomy Schools

Thin Places

I'm writing from the 15th floor of a chic boutique hotel in the fabulous city of Chicago. Michael and I have been traveling a bit these past two weeks, three states in ten days. Much more than we usually travel, but what a wonderful way to explore and experience life. It does take some mental strength for me to see beyond the hectic schedule- rearranging and allow myself to transition quicker than I like to.  As with running or swimming, I do best when I have a chance to warm up before finding my pace.  I also face a twinge of mother-guilt when we're not home to share dinner and stories.  Fortunately, Meg and Owen have learned how to transition well, between activities, between two homes, and texting has come in handy for staying in  touch with their generation.  They were able to join us on our trip to San Diego which made all this traveling easier and added a level of value to it because it allowed them to see how and what we do when we travel.  Basically, we find a body of water to swim in, we run to become familiar with our surroundings, we eat foods specially known to the region ( fish tacos in San Diego, grits in North Carolina, deep-dish pizza in Chicago), we visit the art museums, look for retro/vintage shops, and whatever else comes our way. Tonight, we have tickets to the Second City Comedy Club which is where many of the Saturday Night Live and other famous comedians have made their debut, John Belushi, Tina Fey, Steve Carrell to name a few.

With all the traveling we do, and we have been to some remarkable and memorable places like Paris, London, Barcelona, and Beijing, but none have given me the sense of a "thin place" quite like the places closest to me. What is a thin place?  I only recently heard of it, in an article I read from the travel section in The New York Times. A thin place is described as a place where “we become our more essential selves.”  It is often sacred, but need not be.  Its location, population, or its cultural reverence, does not matter.  What matters is that it both invigorates and calms the senses, a place you feel alive and safe.  You cannot plan a trip to a thin place.  There can be no expectations.  I suspect, only a veil separates you between heaven and earth, where I imagine, the veil feels like skin.

For me, the garden is a thin place.  So is Nauset beach and Skaket beach, and Herridge’s Bookstore, and Michael’s skin.  These are places where I can breathe, feel air.  I can let thoughts in my head get wet, rinse, spin out. The colors, the smells, the textures burst.

The garden is earth and heaven.  Dirt under the fingernails makes it real.  Sprinkled seeds in a quarter-inch row open to sky. Thick, dark soil, full of possibility, smudges my jeans. The smell of roots, rock, and left-over kale mixes with sun and rain. Always a weed to pull.

To swim at Skaket beach is to ride across land and sea where the pink vista hypnotizes, waves sing me a lullaby, and sand flats cast a spell. It teeters two visions: the verduous depths of the sea and blue with a sun.

Nauset beach has its own magical way of carrying my bare feet along the firm sand. I love how it exposes itself like a Polaroid picture when the tide ebbs. I connect the rocks, casted like stars, with my sandy toes.  Michael runs zig-zag in softer sand beside me and we stride to the furthest point, free of beachgoers, and free for a quick skinny-dip.  The head of a seal, like a periscope, is our only witness.

Drive towards Wellfleet Harbor at dusk and you will see the light on in a little house, piled with books.  Herridge’s Bookstore smells of dust and cedar. I never make it past the first few feet on my left.  Here,the poetry books sit on disheveled shelves.  Michael finds his place a few feet to the right in the art corner.  Two feet behind me are the young adult books, a genre I’ve never outgrown.  The owner, with his easy smile, chats on the telephone to his neighbor.  In this space, nine feet by twelve, I have all the time in the world. 

 

Under well-worn cotton sheets, where my form traces his, I find the space I long for most.  Smells of linseed oil, chlorine( in the winter when we cannot swim open water) and sweat intertwine, and the hum of night seeps in from the window above our heads, a Christmas candle light still taped to the sill.  My essential self sleeps.

I loved the description of a "thin place." It made me think of mine, and realize you don't have to go far to find it.

"It’s a helluva start, being able to recognize what makes you happy.” – Lucille Ball

Thank you carrot friends for allowing the space to speak of  matters important to me, and for sharing what I find beauty and truth in, and hopefully inspire you to do too. What are your thin places?

xo bess

Patience of a Raisin

It takes one month and twenty-three days for a cluster of grapes to become raisins.  That is how long it took us to make our own raisins.  We were staying at a chic boutique hotel in NYC last month and ordered oatmeal for breakfast, our favorite. Atop the milky oats, were the plumpest raisins we've ever seen, and we were surprised when we had trouble getting them on our spoon.  That is because they were still attached to a stem. Homemade raisins...what a great idea!

We like to take something of our travels back home with us, and not always something material, but a creative idea or an inspiration sparked by our experiences. Our stay at this boutique hotel gave us the idea to keep a large bowl of walnuts to crack on our counter.  The bowl says come in, crack a walnut, let's have conversation. We were also inspired to make our own raisins.  So our next bunch of grapes stayed on the counter for fifty-three days.  We never imagined it would take so long, but how interesting it was to watch the gradual process of grapes shriveling to become a gourmet oatmeal-topper.

The drying stems turned to gnarled talons clinging to the ceramic fruit carton on the counter. The green fruit tinged brown and turned browner by the day, the week. Dehydration and depletion isn't pretty. A small reminder to drink plenty of water and also a thoughtful pause on the aging process.

 A youthful grape takes on the renewed life of a ripened raisin. It is sweet!


And in honor of National Poetry Month here is a poem for you...happy poetry reading and sweet patience!

Patience by Kay Ryan

Patience is
wider than one
once envisioned,
with ribbons
of rivers
and distant
ranges and
tasks undertaken
and finished
with modest
relish by
natives in their
native dress.
Who would
have guessed
it possible
that waiting
is sustainable—
a place with
its own harvests.
Or that in
time's fullness
the diamonds
of patience
couldn't be
distinguished
from the genuine
in brilliance
or hardness.

Reserves for a Lifetime

"Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts" -Rachel Carson

  

Rachel Carson, scientist and author of several books, her most influential being Silent Spring,  wished for all to sense the wonder of nature.  She wrote of our basic need to notice, appreciate, and respect our natural world.  There is no easier time to do this than Spring. And we are lucky here in New England to be getting an early taste.

With an unusually mild winter, followed by record-setting high temperatures one fabulous week in March, many of us chose to start an early crop.  The soil was warm, and buds were opening, it only seemed right. As my sister pointed out, for the cost of a packet of seeds, there is nothing to lose, but everything to gain. The joy in watching sprouts appear is perpetual. 

We got one of our gardens going. So far, we have pea sprouts, lettuce, and kale that have appeared. Also,the rhubarb has returned on its own merit.  With the turn to colder weather, we followed a tip that our friends in Florida have done, and that is to pour warm water over them.  I'll let you know how we make out.

We saw that our friend Farmer Frank had his blue Ford tractor parked in front of the barn, the sure sign he is getting ready for the season. Check out my poem Rotondo Farm on Rt. 62. Before we got to know Frank, his farm stand inspired this poem.

Other wonders that have us skipping are, what I call, the purple stars of Spring.  They are the Glory of the Snow, the Wood Hyacinths, the Grape Hyacinths, the Crocuses, and the blue-bell shaped blooms of the Siberian Squill.  They, along with the Jonquils, are all playing Ring-a-Round the Rosie with the poised-to-open Magnolia tree.

The Daffodils and fountains of Forsythias are gushing Spring....

and one other sure sign...the Herring are running!

For those that are unfamiliar with a Herring Run, check out the Stony Brook Herring Run in Brewster, MA.

Carrot Friends

A carrot is hard to grow

my mom used to say,

but never said why.

Feathery greens first, it finds

courage deep in the earth,

pushes upwards, unveiling,

inch-by-inch, dirt-creased, orange flesh.

I have a few, of what I call, carrot friends.

Deep-rooted, wise, they add raw color.

Not like ground-cover,

that crowds, overrides, hides.

Hold a carrot.

Feel its earth, its air.

A carrot is hard to grow,

but I’m figuring it out,

in my garden,

all grown-up.

~from Garden Series I  

Life abounds with joy to sustain us.  We need to notice.  It’s in the moon that cuts a hole-punch in a black paper-sky.  It’s in the sea with its calling tide, and sand flats that cast a spell. It’s in the sky, blue with a sun, and in the sip of air-just-right. “Joy is not meant to be a crumb,” Mary Oliver writes, and Ralph Waldo Emerson says, “Scatter joy.”  It is with this spirit and it is my hope that this blog, Carrot Friends, will sow seeds of joy, like dandelion snow, land on shoulders, and tickle ears.  I wish for joy to echo within nature’s infinite nautilus. The world is filled with many sorrows and disappointments, but in keeping with life’s balance, there is an equal joy to be found.  Look and see, hear, smell, taste, and feel.

My husband Michael is a Renaissance man; a professor of law, retired judge, an elite athlete, father, son, brother, and a fine arts painter.  I am a therapist, mother, daughter, sister, a woman in love, and a poet, an emerging poet.  We found each other in this second half of our lives and now embrace Keats’s kin of truth, beauty, and love.  We collaborate and are thrilled when we can exhibit at local museums and galleries. It’s satisfying and fulfills our desire to spread joy.  Where there is art, there is hope.

Our most recent exhibit is titled Sustenance and is an expression of how we choose to live our lives finding joy in the everyday. A day well spent is one when we have been creative, active, and sensitive to the simple lines and forces of nature that surround us. We are grateful to have two places we call home.  One is near the sea where we run along its shores, swim its waters, taste its salt.  The other is in proximity to one of our most literary inspirations, Thoreau’s Walden Pond. We smell simplicity when we run and swim there. We pride ourselves as amateur gardeners and excite in the unexpected trials and tribulations that occur with New England’s unpredictable seasons. Today, a day in mid-March, we hoped to turn the soil, only to wake to a pink sky turned gray turned white with a snow squall.  We love art museums, used bookstores, thrift shops, narrow side-streets, farms, oatmeal, fresh bread, and cappuccino.  We collect old records, art, and mid-century furniture.  We have a beautiful family and dear carrot friends.  

I will blog about simple, but extraordinary, things as the moon, the clouds, baking bread, Mom’s soup, the kids, or a sprout. It is easy to take such things for granted, but I try not to, because they sustain me. One of my favorite childhood books is Frederick, by Leo Lionni, about a field mouse who gathers words and colors while the others gather nuts and berries. They think he is foolish, but when all the berries and nuts are gone, Frederick recites the colors of the sky, sun, and grass to get them through the remaining cold days of winter.  It’s an endearing story.  I will share my poetry and Michael’s art and other inspirations such as a new recipe, books, a creative product, or genuinely good news. Do you ever wonder why we don’t have a channel broadcasting life’s good news? 

If you choose to follow this blog, please pardon the simple site.  I am not only an amateur gardener, and poet, but blogger as well.  I have few skills in the ways of a computer but I know that technology can be a useful tool for connecting like-minds. Feel free to share your inspirations and insight.

Welcome to Carrot Friends!  Rich in Vitamin A and beta carotene, carrots heal and help us grow. The world is a better place with lots of carrots.