Amidst those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer, Knit Campers add yarn[y] to the list of rhyming words as 100s plunge into a four-day sweater knitting adventure. While I did not follow the crowd’s choice of patterns, I did create a sweater for an expected great-great niece or nephew. (We must wait until October to know which.)
Green is the new momma’s favorite color, thus the choice of this gender-neutral forestry colorway. The blend of cotton, bamboo, and silk always knits up nicely with the advantage of being machine washable. Marie Greene’s Babbling Brook pattern offers assorted sizes from newborn (0-6 months) to seven years; and includes my favorite design element – cables. Knowing little ones grow quickly, I hope this size 2-4 might keep our new great-great warm through one or two Oregon rainy seasons.
It is an exciting day for Minnesota as Vice President Kamala Harris just announced that my Governor, Tim Walz, will be her running mate!
The first picture, while not the clearest, (I had handed my pocket-sized Samsung camera to the Congressman’s aide) provides proof of heartfelt conversations. That photo was snapped just before he departed a Rochester hotel banquet room as we walked-and-talked while I advocated for increased Federal support of libraries. The second was a sun-filled, fun day in Winona when Walz was home during the summer congressional break. He and his entourage joined young readers for a brown bag lunch provided by the Lunch Bus on the steps of the Winona Public Library.
I first met Tim Walz in 2006 at a candidates’ debate hosted by the Rochester Chamber of Commerce. After just the first two questions, it was clear the incumbent, Republican Gil Gutknecht, had thought he could return to his hometown and coast by, after all, he was the one coming from the hallowed halls of government. Instead, it was his challenger, Tim Walz, who responded competently to each question. He shared details as if just briefed and with a clarity that demonstrated how he made high school geography interesting. By the end of the debate, my luncheon tablemates were worried by their candidate’s mediocre performance and were busy conferring how best to get (then) Congressman Gutknecht the necessary coaching in hopes of a better showing in future debates around Minnesota’s 1st district. The November 2006 election proved the best man won.
A quick review of his Wikipedia page reminded me of just how hard this moderate has worked for the residents of Minnesota and our country:
"In his first week as a legislator, Walz cosponsored a bill to raise the minimum wage, voted for stem cell research, voted to allow Medicare to negotiate pharmaceutical prices, and voiced support for pay-as-you-go budget rules, requiring that new spending or tax changes not add to the federal deficit."
Even as Harris campaign signs are being swastika-ed in Rochester, I am supporting this exciting duo; my first campaign contribution already paid. The Harris-Walz presidential ticket will rejuvenate this campaign, introduce civility and even some humor into the discussion of complicated issues and provide a talented team that will work with compassion as:
Today, we face a choice between two very different visions for our nation: one focused on the future and the other focused on the past. And we are fighting for the future. —Kamala Harris (July 2024)
I finally added that quintessential summer dessert, the peach pie, to my baking repertoire. Other than disliking the tactile feeling of peach fuzz when eating this fruit whole, I am not sure why I avoided making this delicious blend of fruit, sugar, and cinnamon. An omission now rectified using Momma’s recipe via Betty Crocker.
I have fond memories of Momma buying fresh Colorado peaches by the crate; each precious, ripe orb wrapped in soft pale-yellow tissue paper. Those delicate papers (in my doll playing days) were transformed from protective practicality to fairy fluttering doll dresses.
Each crate provided a sufficient quantity of ripe fruit that a portion could simply be eaten. Tasting as if fresh from the tree and bitten into like an apple, we leaned forward slightly to allow plump juices to inevitably dribble down our chins and drip on the concrete. But a large portion filled double crusted pies. Some of the pies were baked in the cool morning hours and then enjoyed in the early evening with vanilla ice cream and others, oven-ready, were frozen. These Momma retrieved on harsh winter days, and they served as memories of summer warmth. She always saved one for Dad’s February 16 birthday when it became a birthday pie complete with candles.
I was the luckiest of grandchildren. I lived across the street from my maternal grandparents and moved between these two homes with an easy flow. As a free ranging child of the 50s, my neighborhood friends and I were just as likely to be found resting in the cool shade of the pines on the west side of their lot, as playing kickball in the cinder alley on my side of the street or roller skating the concrete sidewalk ringing our block. If Grandma was in the kitchen – baking oatmeal cookies, cooking supper, making Ribbli (a uniquely Swiss breakfast dish) – she always wore an apron.
Over the years, I have collected a half-dozen bib aprons but I tend to grab one only when I start a multiple recipe day of cooking and baking; an act that signifies, this is serious work. Among my friends, even those who declare themselves to be “foodistas”, I rarely, if ever, see any of them wearing an apron. This may be due to the sheer abundance of stain resistant clothing in our closets or that we came of age in the 70s when we were eager to cast off any connection to the apron clad images that were broadcast to our black-and-white 15-inch TVs. I am remembering comedic scenes with Ethel and Lucy in “I Love Lucy” or Aunt Bea on “The Andy Griffith Show” when an apron was a standard costume accessory.
For over 50 years, Grandma’s well used half aprons were kept neatly washed, pressed and protected in tissue paper. Each sewn with fabric remnants and embellished with a bit of lace or a row of rickrack. As Momma continues her shelf-by-shelf, drawer-by-drawer review of her household items, she felt it was time to share these vintage treasures. Granddaughters Barb, Rita, Sarah, Gina, Mary Pat, Rebecca, and I are now the keepers of these wonderful heirlooms.
The May mystery knit-along (MKAL) with Solène Le Roux evolved from an acknowledgment of Beltane, the Gaelic May Day, into my very own midsummer celebration sans the numerous murders of the British TV drama. I cast-on with the other knitters as the MKAL began May 1 but changed plans not once but twice. I switched from a tweedy, deep forest yarn which proved too dark to reveal the delicate cables and then changed needles for a different gauge. (Note to self – The time “ saved” by not swatching is definitely not saved!)
Kala Mae MKAL ShawlCable and lace details
The crescent shawl showcases a soft single ply Merino in Stockholm blue, hand-dyed in Hastings at Muse2320. The cables along the top edge mimic two embedded I-cords and the central design reveals left and right leaning 2-over-2 twists that frame the braided central cable. I discovered too late that 40 grams of yarn remaining from the starting weight of 200g (approximately 874 yards) was insufficient for bottom border as designed, so I modified the pattern (something I rarely do) and exchanged the ribbed border for a lacy edge.
Just as the poet reminisces about an evening’s stroll along Elm Creek, I recall our Summer Camp days spent on the shores of Lac Courte Oreilles. Where, in July 2006, Auntie Ann (that’s me) lost the frog but John Lac captured the snake.
An Evening's Stroll by Ed Blair
When July's sun has spent her fierceness on
The sweltering earth; I love to ramble then
Along the narrow banks of dear Elm Creek
And be for one short hour a boy again.
To make the rocks skip o'er the waters smooth
And see the frogs plunge from the water's edge,
And hear the gentle cooing of the dove
Among the elms and from the distant hedge.
Oh, boyhood days ne'er come so near to me
As in these strolls in Summer eve's twilight;
I view again the scenes I love so well
And watch the gentle coming of the night.
With a shout out to Bonny and Kat as we celebrate together a gathering of poetry every third Thursday.
When we brought our home in 1985, several feet of late winter, gray tinged snow hid garden treasures: chives and clematis by the back door, vibrant orange Oriental poppies along the (now gone) fence, and peonies lining the south side of the old garage. While a portion of the peonies were transplanted to Eau Claire, others remain anchoring various gardens on our small Kutzky Park lot. These delicate blossoms were battered in the late May storm that severely damaged the last remaining large elm tree so Jane Kenyon’s poem, Peonies at Dusk, put into words what is missing from my spring flower collection. Perfect for this month’s third Thursday’s Gathering of Poetry.
Peonies at Dusk
White peonies blooming along the porch
send out light
while the rest of the yard grows dim.
Outrageous flowers as big as human
heads! They’re staggered
by their own luxuriance: I had
to prop them up with stakes and twine.
The moist air intensifies their scent,
and the moon moves around the barn
to find out what it’s coming from.
In the darkening June evening
I draw a blossom near, and bending close
search it as a woman searches
a loved one’s face.
Close your eyes and think of your favorite Italian eatery. That aroma fills our kitchen.
Minnesota’s miraculous seasonal changes are a blessing that brings long days of sunshine (sometimes rain) and green – green everywhere you look. Green plants in the garden, variations of green in herb pots by the back door, and even green in the kitchen where my first batch of early summer pesto is resting on the counter.
While the fixings are simple and I can make this delicious condiment from memory: basil, garlic (both from our garden), nuts, Palestinian olive oil, with dashes of fresh ground pepper and sea salt taste (note – the Parmigiano Reggiano will be added when served), I check Beth Dooley’s recipe in The Northern Heartland Kitchen cookbook as a touchstone for perfection.
This summer’s crop of rhubarb is full to nearly overwhelming. Which is why, having already baked my forever favorite – rhubarb pecan scones, as well as two loaves of bread, three crisps, a dozen muffins, and two batches of sauce for the freezer, I recently spent a rainy afternoon checking cookbook indexes for variations on the rhubarb theme.
New to my repertoire is rhubarb lemonade although, for truth in advertising, this lemonade uses no lemons. “Rhubarb-ade” is easy to prepare with the added benefit of being high in vitamin C.
Directions: Chop three cups of rhubarb, place in a glass bowl, cover with water and let this rest on the kitchen counter overnight; strain and sweeten to taste. The sweet-tart, pink concoction is a refreshing summer beverage (even if the rhubarb sauce ice cubes proved less than successful as they rested on the bottom of the glass.)
At our house, the placement of the solar-powered bubbling fountain is a summer milestone. So, while sipping a refreshing G&T, I can toast that task done.
My potted herbs frame the backdoor and the large Italian terracotta pot is filled with geraniums – my annual homage to Grandma Kuster. The surplus of these vibrant red Swiss-window box flowers now greets front door visitors; a very useful placement of a “more than needed” purchase.
The summer veggies are off to a good start. They already offer easily recognizable healthy leaves, albeit in a slightly revised selection of garden goodness: 1 grape tomato, 2 green peppers, 3 nasturtiums, 4 cucumbers, and 21 hills of four varieties of potatoes.
Despite things looking good, I was feeling like whoa-is-me Eeyore; guilty for not having accomplished more especially as I watched our next-door neighbors convert their front yard from lawn to micro-prairie restoration in yesterday’s drizzly Saturday weather.
Then this morning, with a standing room only crowd for the annual flower communion, there was the slightest slip-up in the service. (Really, it was smaller than tiny, negligible, infinitesimal – are there other synonyms?) We all laughed, especially when Rev. Ruth declared the sanctuary to be a Perfection Free Zone. Inspiring advice to take from church into the garden and unto the screened porch (which still needs cleaning).
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