Category Archives: memories

Tomato Time

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The 100+ heat index last week was good for at least one thing: hastening the ripening of the tomatoes in our “suburban vegetable farm.” The moment the backyard gardener waits all year for, that first juicy flavorful bite that banishes all memory of the sad waxy things passing for tomatoes the rest of the year.

Unfortunately, that first bite is sometimes taken by some other creature than yourself. Grab onto a big delicious looking specimen, and you may encounter a messy, gooey, open wound. Chipmunk, squirrel, bird, or something else that comes by night and chews…no matter, damage done and hopefully something left to salvage.

Most of our tomatoes were grown from seed. This year, I got several varieties from the Gurney seed company because they had a sweet introductory discount. I was intrigued by a variety called Mortgage Lifter, explained (at a farm museum I toured last spring) as being so prolific that it raised Depression era farmers out of debt. Makes a good story, and, if I have figured correctly, a good tomato too.

“Figuring correctly” is what one must do in our garden, since the varieties of tomatoes somehow always get mixed up between the seedlings and the planting, no matter how I try to keep them labeled. So you just have to wait for them to mature to find out what sort of tomato they will produce. Even then, I am not sure sometimes, especially since I purchased a “rainbow” package of heirloom seeds with a number of varieties mixed in. Is it a Cherokee Purple or a Black Krim? Is this one going to stay yellow or has it just not started turning red yet?

  • I call this “BT toast.”

Who cares, really. They are all yummy. If you don’t have your own, go find a farm stand or a farmer’s market and pay whatever it cost for a few pounds. It’s the essence of summer, and it’s gone all too soon.

Ramping it Up in West Virginia

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When we told the uninitiated that we were going to attend a “ramp dinner” in West Virginia a few weeks ago, they looked at us funny. “How can you make a dinner out of a ramp?” my husband asked, thinking of those slanty metal things that you use as an alternative to stairs.

Ramps, for those of you who also don’t know, are a type of wild leek found in the hills of Appalachia, in some of the same places you find ginseng. They are not worth as much money, but they are tasty and becoming a delicacy that fetch fancy prices in gourmet circles. But for most West Virginia’s, they are just an edible sign of spring and a way for some local organizations to stage a fundraiser.

My intrepid fellow traveler, Arlene, and I set off on a rainy Sunday morning from my house in Arlington, VA, speeding toward Bomont, West Virginia to make it to the ramp dinner at the H.E. White Elementary School before all the food ran out. When we pulled up in our rented VW bug convertible (it was the only compact car the rental agency had left), there were hardly any parking spaces left in and around the school. We knew we were in the right place, because: 1. Bomont is a very small, 2. There was a very large “Ramp Dinner” sign attached to the chain link fence of the school’s playground.

We payed our $10 and got in line for our ramp feast: ramps sauteed in bacon fat, ramps in fried potatoes, and a host of accompaniments, washed down with sweet or unsweet sassafras tea. We chatted up some locals, and soon our friend and colleague, Emily, who lives and works in Charleston, joined us. (Read more about her in my entry on Helvetia.)

We were in ramp heaven! Since we were going to be traveling around WV for the next few days, we were not tempted to bid on the leftover raw ramps which got auctioned off toward the end of the dinner. But, later in the trip, near Elkins, we did come across a large sign along the highway, outside an outdoor store: “Ramps Now Available.” Arlene doubted that they meant the edible kind, but we turned around to investigate anyhow. There, in the glass-fronted refrigerator in the corner, were plastic garbage bags full of the kind of ramps we still craved and wanted to try cooking ourselves.

In downtown Elkins, we noticed more ramp evidence on several t-shirts on display or offered for sale at some of the shops, one stating that “ramps don’t smell, people do.” As we had found out from eating big helpings in Bomont, ramps do cause you to – how do I say this delicately? – emit smelly fumes after their consumption.

Regardless, we highly recommend them. I sauteed mine in butter, not being a really big bacon fat fan, and scrambled some of them with eggs. Yum. Also, thanks to Marion Harless the “herbarist” we visited and interviewed before returning home, I learned the rudiments of planting the bulbs, which are now safely nestled under shrubs in my backyard. Tune in a couple of years from now to see if the ramp saga continues on home turf.

Property Management: Bibles, Banana Pudding and a Bottle of Scotch

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My small but devoted blog followers may wonder where I’ve been lately? Well, one place has been at thrift stores, discount stores and a couple of highly specialized shops, all in the name of rounding up props for the upcoming production of The Savannah Disputation at Alexandria’s Little Theater. My dear friend Susan got me into this, describing it as if it would be a giant, fun scavenger hunt.

Little did we know that we would be spending hours hunting down rosaries and grotesquely carved tourist candles, as well as devising relatively unmessy but convincingly food-like “remains of Sunday dinner.” We did some of this together, but we also forayed out on our own, consulting one another as necessary via text and shared photos.

Here is a typical text exchange, which seems to be in some sort of weird code, or perhaps the dialogue from a very obscure play:

Me: (at the Botanica Boracua on Columbia Pike) [photo of row of colorful religious candles] How many and what colors?

Susan: I like the gold Mary in 2nd row, 1st picture, how much?

Me: It’s actually St. Anthony.

Susan: That’s fine. $6.99?

Me: There’s also the holy trinity [another photo, close up showing candle with Holy Trinity]

Susan: I think I like the other one more gold on the label, although. blue would contrast and we do have a pale blue Mary. So whichever you like better!

I left with a rosary and two candles that we finally mutually agreed to after an additional phone call. And so it has gone, through photos and text of pudding cups, crosses, and candles.

Our next job (which we were sort of unclear that we had signed on for) is to organize all the props, scene by scene, and to write a detailed list of when they are used and where to find them when needed. In short, a lot more work than anticipated all around. But, it has been a fun learning experience, and I know sympathize even more with the Supply Staff of our annual Smithsonian Folklife Festival.

Here is a gallery of some of our texted photos. If you go see the play, keep an eye out for the ways they are used!

Florida, Part I: Pie Tales

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I was introduced to the concept of winter vacation in kindergarten. Not first hand, but by a classmate who was mysteriously absent for a week and returned with salt water taffy to share, from a place called Florida. I imagine my young self biting into that sweet and salty treat and thinking it must be the essence of that mythical land.

Florida captured my imagination then, and trips there since then have done nothing to dampen its mystique. My husband and I recently spent a week escaping winter with a trip that zig-zagged us across the state several times, emphasizing its length and causing us to believe that you can’t get through the mid to lower portion of the state without going through – and getting stuck in traffic in – Orlando.

Despite that, we did enjoy the warm breezes, the blue skies and turquoise waters, the historic sites and the culinary delights. I will report on other Florida adventures in future blogs as the spirit moves. First, a tale of two pies.

I had the great idea of taking the Key West Express boat from Fort Myers to Key West. A sampling of the Keys without the drive, how brilliant! One is almost obligated to eat Key Lime Pie while in the Keys, but we didn’t. Instead, we finally had some at an iconic Indian Rocks Beach establishment called Keegan’s (“as seen on the Food Network”), a very fit accompaniment to their excellent octopus appetizer and grouper sandwiches. This is over 400 miles from Key West but the pie is just as good. Maybe better I dare say. Instead of being bright green and sporting a gooey cloud of egg white meringue, this was a dull khaki green creamy confection with a modest lashing of whipped cream. Tangy and with a sinfully buttery crust.

Pie two was enjoyed with my friend and folklore colleague Eleanor who settled several years back in Sarasota. When I arrived at her house, she asked if I wanted to go to an Amish restaurant for lunch. What?! Yes. There is an Amish community in Sarasota. And they have a couple of dueling restaurants. We went to Eleanor’s favorite, Der Dutchman.

Late February is strawberry season in Florida, so despite the fact that we were already filled to the gills with salads, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and etc. we had saved just enough room to share a piece of strawberry pie. This arrived festooned with a vast snowdrift of whipped cream, unnaturally bright red binding, and big juicy fresh strawberries. Needless to say it was delicious.

Forget the salt water taffy. After this trip, Florida has revealed its mysteries in the form of pies.

Fathoming the Deep

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I’m not sure I believe in astrology, but I do love being near, on or in water, and I am an Aquarius (Aquarian?). So maybe there is something to it after all. In any case, I also like to photograph water, at sunrise, at sunset… and now thanks to a nifty feature on my Google Pixel phone camera called Night Sight, even at night.

Which brings me, in a roundabout sort of way, to the word of the day: “fathom.” This is a very useful word. As a measurement of water, the definition extends to a measure of understanding. (As in, “I can’t fathom how long this government furlough has gone on already.” Or, “I’m beginning to fathom just how expendable my job seems to be.”)

It is also a good word for literature. Shakespeare comes to mind. Another example is perhaps not exactly up to The Bard’s level but still interesting: when I did a search for “fathom poem” I came up with this poem on the Hello Poetry site by someone (?) called Third Legacy of Oliver, which I feel addresses the current state of negotiations in Congress, and also contains the word “fathom.” Give it a read and see what you think.

Circling back to the water, I offer my attempts at poetic photography, which hopefully describes in pictures the unfathomable deeps of our understanding – about life, about government, about anything you are currently trying to fathom. Enjoy.

Missing Some Holiday Pieces

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Do the winter holidays ever leave you feeling as though you’re missing a few key pieces? Maybe you didn’t have as much fun as you thought you’d have, didn’t get the gift you asked for, or missed spending time with a good friend or family member. Or, like us this year, you sent out many more cards than you received and wondered if holiday cards are “out” now and you just didn’t pick up on that trend?

Our family metaphor for “the missing pieces of the holidays” is the annual tradition of doing an elderly jigsaw puzzle that has, to date, seventeen missing pieces. This puzzle depicts The Twelve Days of Christmas, with the added twist of gaping holes. We have other holiday themed puzzles (somewhere) but somehow this is the only one that we can find when there is some quiet time in front of the fire and nothing else to do.

Daughter M.E. and visiting friend Dan work on the less than perfect puzzle.

Why don’t we just get rid of this defective time waster? Well, for one thing, the zen activity of jigsaw puzzling is made even more mysterious and wondrous by never remembering which pieces are missing. For another, it is symbolic of the way that, even if the holidays do not live up to the hype (when have they ever?), the best part of the season can be taking time away from hustle and bustle even if the end result is not one hundred per cent rewarding. Third, the hardest part (the numbers) is still enough of a challenge to keep us interested and add that sense of achievement even in the midst of regret over the fate of those seventeen missing pieces.

Like the smile of a child with missing teeth (albeit without the promise of growing new ones), the puzzle is endearing. And, even with some pieces missing, the puzzle and the holidays can be enjoyable and relaxing if we realize limitations. No one, and no holiday, is perfect. Make the most of what you have.

Honoring Holiday Heroes

Round Barn Press blog

A lot of people put an effort into making the winter holidays merry and bright. Those folks who put up all the lights; practice the songs; construct the toy train displays; bake the cookies; plan the parties. So, it is our duty to go out and enjoy the fruits of their labor.

Here are some of the ways we did our part this year, in the lead up to Christmas. See ya next year!

  • The U.S. Botanical Garden’s train display
  • Zoolights at the National Zoo has become a tradition with friends.
  • The pink flamingos of Zoolights were very jaunty.
  • Husband Steve created a light show on our front porch
  • My friend Debi and I did a Nutracker themed tea in Winminster, MD.
  • My karaoke debut at our office holiday party was a rendition of “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.”
  • Friend/colleague Khamo hamming it up at the office holiday party. Our parties are always elaborately decorated thanks to the creative genius of our colleague Claudia, and often our designer Josue.

Encountering the Ghosts of the Past

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Last week, my sister and I embarked on the task of cleaning out my mom’s condo.  Mom is now in assisted living, and has everything she needs in her one large room.  (“Needs” and “wants” might be different things… let’s say, she has everything that could possible fit there and then some.)  So, the accumulated remaining possessions that were left in the closets, under the beds, in the cabinets, on the shelves, in the drawers, on the walls, were left to be dealt with.

This is not our childhood home, but the retirement home of my mom.  Still, some of the items dating back to our childhoods made it to this location, in a couple of enormous boxes in the corners of the spare bedroom closets.  These brought back memories, mostly fond and but some not-so-fond.   From my old report cards (which recorded your height and weight back then along with your academic achievements) I was reminded what a fat little kid I was.  Our old slightly beat up Madame Alexander dolls reminded me how I once shamelessly abused my sister’s doll by cramming corn flakes into its eyes.  A tiny set of metal pots and pans reminded me that, as children, we had a functional small electric stovetop – how many times did we come close to burning down the house with that beast?

We kept a few of the items that we just couldn’t part with – my sister took, among other things, the pancake pitcher and griddle, and we vowed to make pancakes served with sausages, maple syrup and applesauce at Christmastime like our Dad used to for dinner sometimes.  I took the family photos in various media – slides, loose snapshots, arranged in albums, framed.  We brought more small knick-knacks and mementos to my mom. But many of the items will find new homes via the many boxes we donated to a charity shop, or, if they were too far gone, have been deep-sixed in the dump.  It’s just the way of things.

It was sad, and exhausting, and frustrating, but we got through it, with the help of some friends and our husbands.  Ghosts have been encountered, dispatched, and banished along with about a ton of stuff.  The memories remain.

The Eyes Have It at the Wilmer Institute

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We’ve been spending a lot of time in Baltimore at the Wilmer Eye Institute of Johns Hopkins in the past few weeks.  My hubby has a hereditary thing called “Marfan Syndrome” which among other things can affect your eyes.  (Though, as this link explains, “Marfan syndrome does not affect intelligence.”  This is good to know.)  The Institute is one of the best places in the country, maybe the world, for eye treatment.  So, although the hour-long drive is annoying, we are lucky it isn’t even further away.

The Institute HQ is located in one wing of the imposing, and impressive, historic brick Johns Hopkins Hospital building at 601 North Broadway.  One of the many waiting rooms is located at the base of an octagonal dome, the walls and alcoves of which form a small museum.  This is where I found myself earlier this week, with time on my hands as my husband was poked and prodded in a pre-op exam, so I tried to make the most of it.

A not particularly well lit bronze bust of Dr. Wilmer himself glowered down from high above in one alcove, flanked by some antiquated piece of eye exam equipment.  In the opposite alcove was the President’s Chair, which was used by a number of POTUSes for their eye exams in the past.  Historic photos of the Institute, its staff, and their scientific achievements lined the walls.  A multi-shelved display case took up part of one corner, with various items of historic eye care equipment.  (My favorite was the artificial leech, which was not explained there, but is here.)

 

Not a particularly well-curated mini-museum, with not much interpretation except for some fading, mostly handwritten labels.  But, still, good for whiling away a few minutes of the tedious waiting and worrying.  If you don’t mind Dr. Wilmer watching you.

 

 

Summing up Summer

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Wow, here it is the end of summer already.  How did that happen?  After our Bengali visitors left, it seems the rest of the season just flew by.  And now its a soggy and humid Labor Day weekend.

So, that’s my excuse for not blogging more the end of the summer.  That, and the fact that my phone was in the shop for a week.  It is my primary camera now, for better or worse.  (And the dog ate my homework.)

There were some highlights – a bit of time on the Hilton Head beach despite most of the time helping my sister work out plans to transition our mom into assisted living.  A trip to California for Museum Camp at the Santa Cruz Museum of Art and History, and visit to the daughter in San Francisco.  A couple weekends at the cabin.  The lovely wedding of a good friend.  A bounty of green beans and tomatoes from the garden.  Some time around outdoor pools.

Here’s a few highly random photos highlighting those activities.

And so, fall looms on the horizon bringing (eventually) crisp weather and that “new school year” new beginnings vibe.  A sort of reset button for “normal life” after the time out of time of summer schedules and activities.

So, as summer 2018 fades into the sunset, no more excuses.