transplanting

I am not the first person, in any way, shape, or form, to write about her kitchen garden. There are an infinity of garden-related blogs out there. What's so special about my garden experience that is worth sharing? Many gardeners grow vegetables from seed year in and out without any fanfare. People all over the world grow vegetables and fruits to feed their families, and some truly suffer if the squash crop fails or there is a drought/tornado/wet spring/insect infestation that year. I can go to the fancy family-run grocery in an affluent suburb 10 minutes away and get beautiful produce if my garden doesn't turn out okay. Then why do it? Why grow things and why write about it?

Well, for one thing, this blog is a selfish endeavor. I am recording my experiences for myself. Because this is something I love to do, and is occupying a good deal of my free time, I am sharing it with friends and family who might like to know what I am up to (and perhaps if they see that I am *fingers crossed* going to get some tasty edibles out of the endeavor, they might lend a hand and thus harvest and enjoy some of the fruits of labor as well). I also find this exercise worthwhile because... well, simply, plants are amazing. Every new leaf, every root hair that emerges from a lifeless looking tiny wisp of seed, fills me with wonder. It's almost spiritual, and it is certainly intensely geeky. Things like the genes responsible for certain characteristics of individual plants, the hormones that enable a plant to bend toward light, or the fact that different seeds require special conditions for germination, these are awesome facts and they are all part of the reason why I grow plants: to witness these small miracles.

Transplanting my small but rapidly growing plants to larger containers is one of those times when I can't help but feel admiration. It's a time for checking out their progress. All those lovely translucent white roots that emerge as I gently extract the plug recall the few weeks ago when that plant was a seed not much bigger than this letter a.

Now my lovely little lettuce and radicchio have more than two leaves, and have graduated to separate pots. I didn't have enough one-size-up peat pots, but fortunately I like yogurt and had not taken out last week's recycling. Next, they will go into still larger containers and move onto the sun porch, which will be an experiment: I'll have to monitor the temps out there so as not to lose plants. There is a lot of light from the two skylights and three walls of sliding doors, and it gets into the 70s in there on a sunny day, but then drops dramatically at night (I will have to take a photo of this room, but first need to make it ready for its closeup. Right now it still has debris from Christmas wrapping and craft projects lying around. Do not judge me). My "canary" is a little plastic pot of catnip, bought at the grocery store for Chizwick, which has been on the sun porch for the past, what, three weeks I think? It is doing quite well, even though we've had some nights in the 15-20 degree range (it was brought inside one time, when temps dipped into the low teens), so I think lettuce will like it too.

newly transplanted lettuces

Regina di Maggio

Passion Brune

parsley sprouts its first true leaves

basil 'Classico' cotyledons (seed leaves or embryo leaves)
beginning to wilt as their true leaves come on 

purple basil infant acrospire (a word I just learned which means "the first sprout")

temptation

 We had a wet week in Maine last September, though we didn't let that stop us from hiking. We enjoyed the sunny breaks and cloudy views. Sometimes I think Maine is best viewed cloudy. All that rain brought out a slew of fungi. All the following photos are from one hike, and there were more fungi not fotografed. I was VERY TEMPTED to forage, but seeing as it was a national park and they would probably not have survived the car trip, I resisted. It was DIFFICULT. I mean, look at that FIELD of Black Trumpets. ARGH.

Note: I only *really* know chanterelles and black trumpets and hesitate to forage for anything else, even if I am relatively sure of an identification. If anyone knows the identities of the other fungi pictured above, let me know!

fiddlehead foraging frolic!

Early May is the time when I always think of the luxuriant fiddlehead patch behind my dear grandmother's last home in Center Sandwich. It was on Mother's Day weekend when I first came upon this patch while walking in the woods with my sister: a low, damp area a bit too dry to be called swampy, but decidedly squishy and messy on the shoes. Intrigued by the funny-looking curls popping up seemingly straight out of the ground, we brought my parents out to see. Little did I know these curlicues were edible, but I knew after my parents became excited about them, and harvested a bowl for dinner.
Fiddleheads, as the edible parts are known, are the infant fronds of the majestic Ostrich Fern (Matteuccia struthiopteris), a large fern which grows from erect crowns in damp places and spreads by rhizomes to eventually form large stands, if conditions are right. The Ostrich Fern prefers dappled shade but because of its stature needs an area free from underbrush where its 3-4 ft fronds can grow unimpeded. It is a native of northern North America, and it is also grown in gardens as an ornamental, forming a beautiful backdrop for shade perennials. Ostrich Fern prefers acidic soil, a consideration if you want to plant it in your garden because you will likely need a soil amendment to help alter the soil pH.

Cindy's ferns: for looking only, not for picking!

Here in Ithaca, my aunt Cindy has a beautiful patch of Ostrich Ferns in the back of the backyard. It is shady, it is acidic, it is open, and the fiddleheads are popping up like a whole orchestra right now. Later, she and I will rip up the garlic mustard that always threatens to shade the fronds before they are big enough to fend for themselves (I've always thought it unfair that such an annoying weed has the names of two of my favorite food items). I think we both feel protective of that patch. She feels especially protective, of course, and so I am not allowed to harvest any of them. I have solemnly promised that I will not. However, they serve as a useful barometer. When I saw how fast those fiddleheads, which come up all crowded together at the head of the crown, were unfurling, I ran off to a few likely locations and made a small harvest. I'm not sure I can reveal where I found them, because the location might not be entirely legal, but I promise it was nobody's private garden. In any case, a traditional Yankee sense of secrecy seals my lips where forage locations are concerned.

unfurling frond sheds its brown coat

If you would like to search for fiddleheads yourself, keep in mind the growing conditions they prefer, as I describe above. You should also be careful to choose the right species of fern, as there are many other fern fronds unfurling at this time of year. They can look similar, but there are a few details that help the edible fiddleheads stand apart. Ostrich Fern fiddleheads are bright, clear green, and smooth. When they first emerge they are covered with a translucent chestnut-brown coat that easily flakes off. The fiddleheads of other fern species might have a brown coat, but the coat will be lighter in color and more closely clinging. A note: you should pick only as much as you will eat that day, as fiddleheads become bitter if frozen and are tastiest eaten on the day of picking.

While I was looking for fiddleheads, I also came across a small but healthy stand of ramps. My landscape colleague Jenna, of The Mushroom Forager, had generously given me a bunch of ramps earlier that day. Once I had smelled their sweet perfume and had seen their vividly green leaves, I had caught the bug. I wanted to search some out for myself. I can tell you, Ithacans, that if you take a walk along upper Fall Creek, you will almost certainly see some ramps. Please, please harvest them responsibly (a mantra repeated and practiced by Jenna and Ari). I have also since learned that ramps may be available to plant in your garden, though I do not know the success rate. Cindy found some for sale today and planted them near the Ostrich Ferns. Part of me is a little nervous that they may have been dug up from the wild for nursery sale.
With my ramp haul doubled, I had enough to use in making dinner that night (and of course, I was in the mood to cook with my goodies!). Here is a recipe for one of my favorite meals at this time of year (I know! I haven't posted a recipe in ages). This recipe takes a short amount of prep in terms of chopping and mixing, and once you start cooking it takes only half an hour to put it on the table.

Ramps, rinsed and ready

Pasta Primavera with Ramps, Asparagus, & Bacon
To feed four generously.

2 big handfuls ramps (approx. 2.5 packed cups very roughly chopped ramps, or double the amount in the photo above)
1 bunch asparagus, tough ends snapped off, cut into bite size pieces
8 strips thick-cut bacon (or desired amount, I include a little extra for noshing while cooking)
1 box mezzi rotini pasta (or other shape pasta of your choice)
2 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup bread crumbs
2 tablespoons grated Asiago or Parmigiano Reggiano cheese 
3 eggs, beaten
salt and pepper to taste
olive oil or vegetable oil

Other: large serving bowl

Put a large pot of water for pasta on to boil.
Ready a vegetable steamer insert in a medium saucepan with an inch of water, and put the asparagus in this pan on medium-high heat, covered, for 7 minutes.
Put a large pan (non-stick if possible) over medium-high heat, add 1 tablespoon olive oil, and sauté ramps until wilted and stems are tender, about 5 minutes. Add a small pinch of salt and stir frequently. Set ramps aside on a plate.
When asparagus is done, drain immediately and set aside on plate with ramps.
Preheat oven to 350.
Melt butter in microwave or on stovetop. Using a fork, mix butter with breadcrumbs and add cheese. Spread on a cookie sheet and hold in readiness.
Cook bacon (can use same pan as for ramps) until crispy.
At this point, put buttered cheesy breadcrumbs into oven for 3 minutes (careful, they burn quickly!)
When pasta is cooked al dente (I like it a hair beyond al dente, really), quickly and thoroughly drain, then invert pasta into large serving bowl. Immediately add eggs and stir well, so eggs cook on the hot pasta. Add vegetables and crumble bacon into pasta. Stir well. Take breadcrumbs out of oven, and distribute over top of the pasta. Enjoy!

I recommend a cold Pinot grigio or light beer with this dish. I myself had Sam Adams Noble Pils, which is lemony and refreshing.

 Now I want to try Jenna's recipe for ramp pesto! It sounds delicious!

spring in Italy

It has been a busy past few weeks. Between going to Italy, perpetual wedding planning (when will it eeeennnnddd? Oh yeah... that's right...), and a studio project which has as its theme saving the world*, it has been hard to find the time to post a few words. I am only "finding time" right now because I am procrastinating, or in denial parlance, "taking a leisurely hour for lunch."
*only partly joking

So, in the midst of all this chicken-running-sans-head stress, a quiet moment of contemplation:

  These anemones were blooming in and around the ruins of the Villa of Pollio Felix, in Sorrento. One of the most beautiful spots on earth. It also includes this lagoon of sapphire-blue water.

There is another way in, aside from the wooden staircase seen above.

 I was in Italy with my professor from last semester Kathryn Gleason, and classmate Bryan Harrison, to present work from last semester's studio class to community leaders and other participants of the conference last fall who had returned for this mini-conference. It went pretty well, though some things didn't go exactly as planned. This studio project is going to have a longer life than I anticipated, as the professors involved see a publication in the future, for which I have been asked to do some writing. It's good to stay in touch with this project, not only because I want some of the improvements we designed to be built in Castellammare di Stabia, but also because I intend to go back to the place pictured above, someday. If anyone is going to the Sorrento area anytime soon, ask me for directions. It's hidden off the usual tourist path, but totally worth the trek.

spring tease

It really is terribly ironic:  I drove south to Philadelphia hoping to find more springlike weather, and I found that in spades. What happens in Ithaca while I am gone? It snows, also in spades (shovel-fulls, to be precise). A foot and a half of heavy snow. Ugh. I should post a snow photo, to contrast with the spring-flower-filled photos below, but I don't want to give the snow any more publicity. Snow now completely covers the windows of my basement room, blocking out all but a thin, blue light. I want to flee again.

I am way too tired this evening to post anything more exciting, but I'll give you some eye candy.

They just look like they're singing, don't they? Since I recently posted some (comparatively thin and sad-looking) crocus photos, here is something different (not yet blooming in Ithaca, not for another month).

Winter aconite. I always forget the name of this flower, for some reason. Very sweet, with its little ruff of leaves.

photo credit: Kelly Shipman

Kelly snapped a photo of me taking a photo of the winter aconite. A characteristic pose, for me.

Souvenirs from the flower show, now decorating the bulletin board above my desk. I do not yet have a garden of my own (tragedy), so the seeds are for my parents. Other bulletin board accessories include a photo with friends from Senior Ball circa 2004, and the label of a mineral water from the town in Italy where I am returning at the beginning of April.
It was a wonderful weekend, all in all, and despite the snowy welcoming, I do feel invigorated, or I will right after I... zzzzz... snor... zzzz... wha... oh yes, hi. On Saturday, Kelly, Alice, and I roamed around Mt. Airy (me in cotton blouse and light jacket!), making highly satisfactory visits to the Trolley Car Diner (most impressive beer selection of any diner I've ever seen, wow), a yarn store, and a used-book shop, chronologically. I picked up some spicy red sock yarn and a lovely hardcover edition of The Annotated Alice in Wonderland, to replace my battered and coverless paperback version.
Last night in Philly it rained, hard, and the sound of the rain on the windows of Kelly's apartment made me feel cozy as we talked late into the night over mugs of tea. I am lucky to have such beautiful, intelligent friends and relations!

blue memory

*Sigh*    No current flowers today, as it is much more wintry outside, with a stiff wind all day. Back to the memory files. This Campanula was growing wild along a rail-turned-trail in the 16th arrondissement of Paris, near the Bois de Boulogne, last summer. Mike and I had a wonderful picnic later that day, while watching a coot family build their nest.

here they come!

Finally, the moment you've been waiting for: photos of flowers that I actually photographed today, outdoors, in Ithaca, NY. Sure, those little crocuses look a bit anemic, but they're doing the best they can!

Okay, okay, a bit of a caveat: there is a little hill on Tower Road (near the landscape architecture studio), between Garden Ave and East Ave, adjacent to the Azalea Garden, which seems to be sheltered enough that the snowdrops and crocuses bloom there first. A microclimate, perhaps. I've been keeping an eye on this hillside, and on my way to the library today noticed snowdrops poking through the leaves in between clumps of snow. I love the French name for snowdrop: perce-neige, which literally means "pierce snow." It evokes for me the feeling that this tiny plant is dealing a blow to winter. En garde, hiver! Le printemps avance!

As I was kneeling in the mud and leaves with my camera, I heard a shout from across the street. "Liz!" I turned. "Ha! I knew it was you," said my classmate Matt. "Who else would it be?"

Ha, it's true.

a little spring in your step

Hello! I have been very lax in posting. Many apologies. I blame wedding planning and the hectic-but-so-far-so-good LAST SEMESTER of GRAD SCHOOL. Hurrah.

While the snow continues to fall, and spring seems very far away, I thought I'd bring back the flower-a-day posting. Forthwith, and until the end of April, I will bring you a flower each day, photographed by yours truly. Each flower shall be identified, along with its provenance. Use of flower images as screensavers and desktop backgrounds is encouraged (so long as you are honest and give me credit if anyone asks).

Today's flower is a (what else?) coquelicot, or field poppy. These iridescent red flowers grow wild throughout France. This one was blooming in a disused, weedy rail corridor (which, ridiculously charming, has a name:  La Petite Ceinture du 12e Arr. de la Friche Ferroviaire au Sentier Nature, in English "The Little Enclosure of the 12th Arrondissement [no trans.], of the Vacant Railway with a Nature Path," ye gods), which was being used variously as a sentier nature (nature path) and potager communal (community vegetable garden). Also as a place to spy on the gorgeous rooftop gardens of adjacent apartment buildings.

In the Square Charles Péguy, a park which adjoins La Petite Ceinture, several large placards explained to park visitors the importance of the city's tree maintenance workers, or Bûcherons-Élagueurs. Since I have a passion for the type of intensive tree pruning practiced in Europe, I couldn't resist reading them and taking a picture. Especially nice graphics, as well, which is typical of the Mairie (roughly, town administration) of Paris. Somehow that wood-grained tree-maintenance man, with his chainsaw and akimbo stance, manages to look chic and confident, for all he is a silhouette.

restoring

Looking East on the Kittatinny Ridge. To the left, Red Hill, to the right, the AT as it climbs the Eastern Kittatinny Ridge on the other side of the Lehigh River Gap

[Note: Yes, it's been forever since I've written anything here. I apologize for the hiatus. A big piece of news (if anyone out there who reads this doesn't know this already): I am engaged! Mike proposed on the Grand Canal at Versailles--trop romantique et tellement bon. This fall has been very busy and I've been focusing on work (my last year of grad school! youpie!) and wedding. Recently, I had an incredible weekend with Restoration Ecology class. We went to restoration sites in Maryland and Pennsylvania. We met sea turtles and a former coalminer and "Tea Party activist" who runs the largest compost business in PA. It was a whirlwind. Below is an excerpt--slightly edited for internet--from a report I wrote about one particular site that deeply impressed me. Everyone, look up the Lehigh Gap Nature Center and become a member. They are doing such impressive work there and need the support. Excuse the proselytizing.]
     
The Kittatinny Ridge was an impressive sight as we drove through Slatington towards the Lehigh Gap, and as we pulled into the parking lot at the Lehigh Gap Nature Center everyone’s eyes were fixed on that massive rise of rock laid bare. By the end of the visit, awestruck feeling inspired by the stark landscape shifted to awe at what a small number of determined people have been able to accomplish to restore a devastated environment. Dan Kunkle, Director of the Lehigh Gap Nature Center, narrated the story of zinc smelting in Palmerton. Zinc companies were drawn to the area because of the nearby coal mines—coal was more expensive to ship than zinc, so the zinc company shipped zinc from New Jersey to where the coal was coming right out of the ground. Between 1898 and 1980, two zinc smelting plants owned by the New Jersey Zinc Company poured zinc, cadmium, lead, and sulfur-containing smoke from their stacks, a deadly smog that eventually killed all the vegetation on the slopes of the surrounding hills. With the trees and other plants dead, topsoil washed off the slopes, leaving a rocky substrate contaminated to 8 inches with heavy metals. In 1983, the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) declared the area a Superfund site.

Ruin of the New Jersey Zinc Company West Plant

The Lehigh Gap Nature Center presides over a thriving and growing wildlife refuge right around the corner from a blasted heath. The Lehigh river, once owned by the Lehigh Coal and Navigation company, has recovered from its once foul condition and now is home to otters and wood ducks. The ridge has pitch pine and hairgrass savanna at its high elevations, which Indians and settlers once burned to encourage good low-pH soil and sun for blueberries. There are also two endangered species on the ridge: Fringed Bleeding-heart (Dicentra eximia) and Glade Sandwort (Minuartia patula). Dan is a TogetherGreen fellow and winner of a “Best Citizen” award from the county (he didn’t tell us this last part, I ran across an article online). He left his job teaching high school biology and environmental science to run the Lehigh Gap Nature Center, and credits his wife for allowing him to pursue this dream. He's also one of the most pleasantly modest people you could meet. He’s made restoring the Kittatinny Ridge his life’s work. Dan explained the EPA goals: revegetate with native species, stop the erosion problems, and fix metals in the substrate—using plants that do not bio-accumulate metals—so they are immobilized and unable to migrate into water sources. Included in the Superfund designation are Blue Mountain, a 2 ½ mile long mountain of zinc waste, the town of Palmerton, and the water of Palmerton. CBS Television is (through a long history of companies buying each other) the responsible party. The New Jersey Zinc Company started a restoration on the east side of Kittatinny that is now 20 years in progress, and still has not fulfilled the EPA’s goals. Dan attributes this failure to a lack of vegetation management and intrinsic problems with the restoration method—based on a soil/public waste compost mixture called "EcoLoam." The east side of Kittatinny restored by NJZC has vegetation, but it is chock full of invasive species and bio-accumulating tree species. 

Canada Wild Rye

Little Bluestem

In light of the failure of NJZC's restoration, Dan said, he posed the questions: How would nature repair the mountain, and how can we find out and jump start the process? To answer these questions, the restoration effort turned towards ecological models. Dan knew that sometime during the post-glacial period, grassland would have been part of the first succession of  plants. That grassland literally laid the foundations for soil which eventually supported forest on the Kittatinny Ridge. He also knew that there are areas where the soil is naturally high in heavy metals, such as serpentine barrens. Several different kinds of warm season grasses grow on serpentine barrens. Warm season grasses do not accumulate heavy metals. Would warm season grasses work on Kittatinny Ridge? Fifty-six one-acre test plots were planted in 2003, and the success of the test plots led to planting seeds with a crop duster in 2004. Along with the seed-planting program, compost was spread up to the highest slopes that could be reached with a tractor. Lime was added to bring the pH up from 4.5 to 6. The compost was essential for establishing decomposers on the barren contaminated substrate, on which all fungi had died. The crop duster worked, and the program was continued on higher slopes. Among the grasses planted were switchgrass (Panicum virgatum), little bluestem (Schizachyrium scoparium), Indian grass (Sorghastrum nutans), canada wild rye (Elymus canadensis), and lovegrass (Eragrostis). Along with the grasses, other plants started to grow, among them invasive species such as Buddleia and Ailanthus. Birch and poplar also started to grow, presenting a management challenge. The warm-season grasses do not bio-accumulate, but these trees and the invasive species do, and will end up mobilizing the heavy metals in the contaminated substrate when they shed leaves and eventually die. Dan has organized a monitoring and management program to remove the invasive species with herbicide. He explained that because the heavy metals will always be there in the sub-soil, adaptive management is crucial. There is a challenge not only with plants bringing heavy metals up into their tissues, but also the soil could shift around over time and re-expose the contaminated substrate, leaving it exposed and able to be washed away with rainwater. Over time, the metals may become less biologically available, but that will take a century or more. Some local people and organizations say they prefer to “let nature restore itself,” but the movement of heavy metals makes that approach foolhardy. Dan told us of hiking with a president of the Appalachian Trail Conservancy on Kittatinny Ridge, and indicating to her that with the contaminated substrate on ATC lands exposed to the elements, heavy metals were washing downstream with every rain storm. The warm-season grasses are working to gradually prevent the heavy metals from mobilizing, but it is a fragile balance.

yellow flag

Yellow is such a springtime color. I took this photo of yellow flag iris, Iris pseudacorus, somewhere in the vicinity of Hampstead Heath, London, in spring 2003. C'mon spring, you can do it! I am anticipating with great excitement a visit to the Philadelphia Flower Show this weekend. I have fond memories of the Boston Flower Show, which my family went to frequently when I was a little girl. The smells, the colors, the strange shapes, the tableaux, were all enchanting to wee Elizabeth. I think there's something wonderful about a collective swoon over these fragile growing beauties at a dark time of year. The fact that the flowers are blooming and the leaves are flourishing only through careful forcing and precise cultivation methods somehow does nothing to diminish the magic, at least for me.
I'm also excited to see my cousin perform in 'The Countess,' in the title role at Old Academy Players in Philadelphia. And my sister is coming down as well to join the flower and theater fun! Hooray! Expect more flower images soon...

cabin fever

Reading this article on foraging made me long to be able to wander in the woods, collecting various tasty wild edibles. Oh, how I miss being able to go outside without sinking ankle-to-knee deep in slush. Piles and piles of wet snow and mud outdoors, piles and piles of "to-do" lists piling up in my brain and on my desk... this is not a fun time of year.

I have a lot of photos in a rotating slideshow on my desktop, and the photos of flowers that I've been taking over the years have really been cheering me up. Since I have a whole lot to do and still haven't been able to get those paintings from my Key West vacation up on the blog, for now I will post a few flowers per week until spring comes (this may be a while, Ithaca being Ithaca).

Here is one of my favorites. This is Anemone occidentalis or Western Pasqueflower. It was growing in the Cascades, near Mt. Rainier. Click on the photo to enlarge it, and check out the beautiful downy hairs on its outer petals.

a dumpling day, and later, chestnuts

Saturday was the beginning of fall break, and it started out gray and chilly--a dumpling sort of day. Anyone who knows me pretty well knows that I love gyoza--Japanese potsticker dumplings. They are very easy to make, and great party food. Plus, they are not so bad for you, as you use only 2 tblsp oil and can use a lean cut of pork, or substitute ground turkey, chicken, or tofu (though the taste will not be the same). I thought the Bradburys (my family-away-from-family) would like dumplings, so I decided to make them for lunch. I went out and bought round dumpling wrappers from the local asian-food shop.

Pork Gyoza
Equipment: 1 large non-stick pan with lid
Ingredients:
-round rice-flour dumpling wrappers
-filling: 1 bunch scallions, 1 knob ginger root, 1 peeled carrot, ~2 lbs pork (I usually use ground pork, but that was not available so I used two packages of "stir fry pork" and cut it into 1/4" dice), and the leafy part of the Napa cabbage.
-sauce: 1/2 cup soy sauce, 1 tblsp hot sauce, 2 tblsp sweet/sour duck sauce.
Instructions: Finely chop the cabbage and scallion (white part and as most of the tender green part), grate the ginger (peel it first w/a vegetable peeler), shave the carrot into thin strips, dice the pork (or not if using ground pork), and mix it all well in a large bowl. Season with salt and pepper (not too much salt as there will be salt in your sauce).
Prepare your dumpling wrapping station: 1 small bowl of water. Dumpling wrappers. Plate. Get another person to help you. Put a dumpling wrapper on the plate. Dip your finger in the water. Run your wet finger around the inside edge of the dumpling wrapper to make a 1/2" wide damp area. Put a small amount (~tblsp) of filling in the center of the dumpling wrapper. Fold the wrapper in half and pick it up, holding and pressing the wet edges together. Crimp the edges of the wrapper together, pressing firming (to make a fan-like shape, see photo). Add a touch more water if the edges are not sticking. Don't worry if your first efforts are ugly. The important thing is that the filling be contained (no holes). Cover the wrappers if you take a break--they dry out quickly. There will be enough filling to use the whole package of wrappers, plus a little left over.
Mix sauce ingredients in a small bowl.
Cooking: This is easier with a non-stick pan, or better yet, a multi-tiered bamboo steamer. I will assume you do not have a steamer (since if you do you probably know how to make dumplings already). Heat 2 tblsp canola or peanut oil in a large non-stick pan. Adjust heat to medium-high. Add as many dumplings as will fit, leaving 1" of space between dumplings. Immediately jiggle pan and loosen dumplings with a spatula to prevent sticking. Continue jiggling pan frequently for 2 min. to heat dumplings through and coat with oil. Add 1 cup water and cover pan. Steam for 4 minutes, or until dumpling skin is translucent and dumplings have puffed slightly.
Transfer to plate/serve to hungry person(s) and make another batch.
These really are easiest to eat using chopsticks, as forks tear the dumpling skin and the filling spills out.
When I had finished making the dumplings, and had managed to snag a few for myself (they disappeared very quickly), the sun came out. Cindy and I went to the Cornell Orchards and bought apples, paw-paws, and cider (Cornell cider is THE BEST I have ever tasted). I bought some cider and apples for my parents, whose arrival was expected that afternoon. On the way back, we decided to stop at the Plantations Arboretum to see if the chestnuts had dropped. A few weeks ago we saw a woman poking in the leaf litter under these trees, and we asked her what she was doing. She seemed shy and a bit reluctant, but admitted that these were indeed the edible type of chestnuts. "Are they good?" we asked. She paused. "Yes. They are good to eat." She was looking for nuts very earnestly in the pouring rain. We resolved to come back when more nuts were ripe.
Many more nuts had fallen when we went back, but it looked as though a few other people had hunted for them. The husks are too spiny to handle (you'd need thick leather gloves), but the shiny brown nuts easily popped out when we prodded and squished the husks with our feet. Most of the husks on the ground had been similarly squished. The nuts were pretty small, but we gathered about 3 cups of them. Back at the house, I scored the shell of each nut at its pointy end and graded them into larger and smaller batches. Last night we roasted them on a cookie sheet, for 10 minutes in a 400 degree oven. They were delicious. Because they were small, the skin was thin and peeled off easily. They were sweet and had a flavor reminiscent of pistachio nut and winter squash. The flesh was somewhat mealy, but in my experience with chestnuts the flesh is always somewhat mealy.
Note: I should point out that these are chestnuts from the Chinese Chestnut tree (Castanea mollissima). Horse chestnuts (Aesculus hippocastanum) are not for human consumption. Always be SURE of the identity of the tree (if possible verify with an expert) before eating any of its fruit.
The rest of the weekend was really nice. Parents finally arrived after taking "the scenic route" (i.e. getting impressively lost) and we had a late dinner at Moosewood (mmmm dark chocolate ricotta mousse). Sunday I woke them up early, plied them with coffee, tea, and fresh pastries from Ithaca bakery, and whisked them off to Taughannock Falls for a morning hike on the gorge trail. We stopped at the farmers market for a good while, and then to the Bradburys for a luxurious brunch. Peter is the consumate brunch chef. We had pancakes, sausage, bacon, eggs, fruit, coffee, tea, cake, and leftover dumplings. Then everyone digested as I drove to Watkins Glen. My father and Becky took hundreds of photos. It was a brilliant day.

Summer wayfaring

This has not been the best summer.

But.

I am trying to extract from it the best that can be had.

Since mid-June I have been working two jobs, at an outdoor outfitters and a garden center. This is all well and good. I am employed, I have a small amount of money, and I've been able to support myself and help Mike with his grocery bill. The trade-off has been time. Time--I mean having it--is pretty much the essence of summer to me. Summer Time is the special time when one is able to work on random indulgent projects. Not this summer. I've had to scrim and save my time, hoard it and even then there is not enough of it, for my one day off a week is spent on business-type affairs.

BUT.

There have been some good outings.
Over the 4th of July weekend, Mike and I were very unpatriotic. We ran away to Quebec and had a fine time exploring in the botanic garden, attempting to photograph monkeys in the Biodome, and hiking on Mt. Tremblant (a mountain in the Laurentian range home to a swanky ski resort, the "Vail of the East"). Then the following Friday we went to a baseball game. Herewith, some highlights:



Chung, Ellen, & Mike reflected in the windows of the Biodome











A tiny stream with a minuature dock in the Japanese garden area of the Jardin Botanique
















Toadlily














On the main roadway within the Jardin Botanique






















Roseate spoonbill


















Les Ruisseaux/The Streams, Mont Tremblant






















July 10, Red Sox v. Kansas City Royals

















Dear old Fenway.










We got frozen custard and cotton candy. It was a swell time. And our team won!