Baking

Peach Pie: Summer in every bite

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peach pie with decorative sugar and chicken cookie cutter outline on top crust

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.

Bon Appétit!

Other items of interest

Apron Memories

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8 aprons laid out on a green background

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.

Knitting

Midsomer Mystery

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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!)

blue handknit shawl draped on a wooden hanger
Kala Mae MKAL Shawl
close up of knit stitches on a handknit blue shawl showing lace and cables
Cable 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. 

Happy knitting!

Reading

A Gathering of Poetry | July 2024

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close up of a little boy's hands holding a garter snake

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.

Reading

A Gathering of Poetry | June 2024

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a single white peony

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.

Bibliographic credit:  Kenyon, Jane.  Peonies at Dusk, from Constance: Poems. © Graywolf Press, 1993.

Photo credit:  Maryam from Prexels

Gardening

Presto-chango Pesto!

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straw basket with many sprigs of fresh basil
blue glass plate with three slices of french bread and a sprig of basil and a small blue and white bowl with pesto and a sprig of basil

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.

Happy Gardening and Bon Appétit!

Baking · Gardening

Lemonless Lemonade

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muffins on a blue plate and a glass of pink lemonade
Sour cream rhubarb muffins & rhubarb-ade

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.)

Cheers! Prosit! Sláinte!

Gardening

Perfection Free Zone

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small gray, three tiered fountain in foreground with blue flower pots in the background

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).

Writing

A Writing Journey

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painting of bright yellow chalice with red flame on dark blue background

I created this blog because I needed a creative outlet during the long days of pandemic quarantine.  It was my hesitant exploration into journaling while hoping to capture brief glimpses into our daily life in words and photos.  I never imagined that four years later I would be concluding my first year, in my first ever writers’ group. 

When I attended an organizational meeting last spring, I went armed with intent and not the intent to write but, rather, the intent to walk if there was any mention of constructive criticism.  While my rational mind knew such advice could improve my craft, my heart was too tender.  Luckily, our group is nothing like English Composition 101.  Our time together is never punctuated with critiques or grades and, depending on the writer’s whim, the rules of grammar may not pertain. 

Our writers’ group is part of a diverse adult curriculum focused on spiritual growth.  I appreciate our small nod to “churchiness” as we consider each month’s Soul Matters theme as a possible prompt.  But, I also relish knowing our compositions may flow in different directions since the theme is a suggestion, only a starting point without strict requirements.  

Every month as I ponder what I will write, I see the faces and hear the voices of my fellow writers in my mind.  Their talent and creativity serve as benchmarks, spurring me on to work harder, pay closer attention to word selection and phrasing, editing and then re-editing before our third Saturday gathering.  I am often humbled by the words they choose to share and, if sometimes there are tears, they are tears of heartfelt support.  They may also be tears sprung from such deep laughter as I wonder how I am sitting with someone who should be writing for late night TV.

In a recent sermon, Rev. Victoria Safford shared the phrase, “we are young on our journey.”  My foray into writing still feels very new and sometimes scary.  I am definitely young on this writing journey, but during this past year I have enjoyed traveling hand-in-hand or better described as keystroke-for-keystroke with my fellow writers on this literary path.