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!

mon potager

This is a good time of year for changes, with spring on its way and all. There have been many changes in process since last fall, though, so change is nothing new in my household. Six months ago I got hitched to this wonderful man, and we celebrated by hiking and sailing in Maine.

That was six months ago, and we have been very busy. We've settled into "the homestead," a lovely colonial house a short crow-flight west of Boston, and are deep into the nesting process. I am itching to sink my fingers into our 1.3 acres, and you better believe I've been planning. This year I plan to concentrate mostly on the front dooryard and the vegetable garden. I have grown vegetables (zucchini, peppers, lettuce, herbs) in containers, but never from seed (except a few radishes and parsley), so this is exciting... so much space! Lots of sun! This is our backyard:

The back of the house faces south. There is a small weeping cherry that keeps calling to me to prune him, and a massive stone wall that is crying out to be decorated with sedums, ferns, and alpines. 

I planted a few things last fall: a discounted thrift (Armeria), a sad-looking delphinium that probably won't survive, and a few large handfuls of bulbs, but aside from the two-day Leaf-Raking Extravaganza, that was really it as far as garden maintenance. Now that the amaryllis has died down, and snow drops are poking up round about, my green thumb is tingling to get active. My plan, at least near the house, is to go big: drifts of grasses and perennials, à la Oehme Van Sweden. Septic hill, too could use a big swath of heather to mask its artificiality. We'll see how it goes, what we can afford and what I have time to do. For now, what I have time for is this:  

That is Chizwick, my sister's cat, on the sill. It's a good bird-watching spot. He's hanging out with us for the moment, until he can catch a flight out to CA, where they've moved. Anyway, see my lovely little plants! Wait, I'll give you a better look: 

You want to see even closer? Here: 

That's my little radicchio in the foreground, blushing with the attention. Behind it is basil. These photos are now a week old. Now the lettuce (above, right) is huge and needs to be transplanted. I've also planted a startlingly purple basil, just now showing its teensy ultra-violet leaves. Alpine strawberry and garlic chives have yet to show a hint of green above the soil, though I just read that chives want to be germinated in the dark. Whoops, I'd better remove them from the window sill. Waiting in the wings are tomatoes, eggplant, arugula, cilantro, charentais melon, squash seeds that I saved from I think a kabocha squash that was especially tasty, zucchini, mint, haricot verts... a few other things, and some flower seeds... I've probably gone overboard. But! Not everything will be planted at the same time. The black kale seeds probably won't be planted, for example, until August. And some things (the flower seeds) will be planted directly into the soil. Maybe I'm not crazy. Maybe I am. Time will tell. 

I thought I'd try to post the vegetable garden's progress here for a while, so you all can be entertained at the mistakes I make, or as the bunnies all eat the feast I prepared for them, or whatever other disaster befalls. I've cared for vegetables before, I know how to weed, I'm stubborn and willing to get up early to water my plants at the crack of dawn. So... how bad can it be? 

I am most afraid of all the other things, besides me, that will want to eat my plants. 

delicious melon smoothie

Whenever I have melons, even though M. and I love them, there always seems to be quite a bit left over. So, I've gotten into the habit, whenever I cut into a melon, of placing a generous third of the melon (of whatever kind) into a ziplock bag in the freezer. Because melon is a soft fruit, I've never found it a problem to break the frozen melon apart, so it's easy. Chuck some in the freezer, some into a covered bowl in the fridge for breakfasts and snacking, and voila, no waste.

Then I discovered that nice ripe melon that is frozen makes a great element in smoothies. This is not revolutionary in any sense, but it's been a tasty, practical habit. I've been making peach-melon, strawberry-melon, avocado-melon smoothies all summer. Herewith, I share my secret. This recipe is not hard-and-fast at all. I often add yoghurt. Coconut milk yoghurt is especially nice. There is a passionfruit-mango flavor that, mixed with the ubiquitous banana and melon, makes for a nice "tropical" flavor.

Melon Smoothie (basic)


1 cup milk/unsweetened soymilk
1 ripe banana
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
large handful frozen melon (I used a mixture of Cantalope and Catawba, what I happened to have on hand)
1 tablespoon agave nectar


Blend thoroughly in blender. If you add another fruit, adjust liquid.

M. and I are in the middle of packing for our move October 1st. Stay tuned for posts about our recent wedding and other much-belated news.
 

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.

eminent domain : evil or benign?

I had a good conversational debate with a neighbor this morning on the issue of eminent domain. As I left the house and crossed the street, I noticed a new sign our neighbors across the street had posted. Tacked to a tree in their front yard, the sign read "We want a sidewalk and bike lanes. Place sidewalk here" with an arrow pointed down to the base of the tree (about 7 feet into their current property). The issue was therefore on my mind when I arrived at the bus stop at about the same time as the other neighbor.

A bit of context before I go into our debate: Hanshaw Road has an active sign culture. A fellow on the corner of Hanshaw and Warren changes his handpainted signs, which present political viewpoints and quotations, on a regular basis. He's fought for the right to post these signs on his property, when challenged by neighbors. Two houses down from me, the woman on the corner of Hanshaw and Blackstone frequently posts political signs and anti-fracking posters. Over the past few weeks, new, professionally produced signs have cropped up all along Hanshaw. Some read "We Want the Walk!" and others "Say No to Eminent Domain on Hanshaw." The residents along Hanshaw Road generally do not shy away from public discourse. The city's plan--to put in a sidewalk on the northern side of Hanshaw Road, and widen and pave the shoulders to make them negotiable for bicyclists--has created a rift between neighbors.

Doors of Rome