Picture of the Day

The barn, as snow and night falls.

On Bread And Flowers

The first crocus of the season.

 Just a few minutes ago, while walking the dogs in the sunny yet cold yard, I was thinking about what I was going to write about today. There is bread rising, so I knew I wanted to talk about that. And winter has finally really arrived. So I wanted to talk about that. How over the past week, we've had several inches of snow and nearly half an inch of sleet on Friday. How the wind has been taking our breath away as we walked around the front of the house and got hit by the west wind, full-force. How it's been snot-freezing cold at night, under the clearest starry sky imaginable. Stars stretched crisply from horizon to horizon, the cold immensity of space at our fingertips. House-shaking winds the past few days and sitting in cozy rooms under blankets, with dogs, reading and drinking coffee. The deep quiet of a snowy evening. Really, all the beauty of winter. 

But then, as I was trying to figure out what Kerouac was so interested in near the barn door, I noticed something surprising: the first crocus flowers blooming in front of the barn. Three of them, actually. Tiny, precious, yellow flowers. Growing right there, among leaves and the debris of the sunflowers. Their little yellow faces poking up into the sunshine, huddled against their sharp, green leaves. I knew I'd seen crocus leaves poking up in front of the house, but they all seemed a little paused by the sudden arrival of winter's winds. Hopefully they'll resume their growth when warmth returns. But here near the barn it must be a little warmer, at least underneath the leaves, etc. Despite the cold and the snow lying nearby, these flowers are steadfastly growing, whispering "spring..."

Stepping inside, excited to show the pictures to Rich, I was hit by one of the best scents I know: bread rising. Our bread supply is getting low, and every time I've purchased bread at the grocery store I've felt a like a failure. I just think I should be making bread rather than buying it. I know that Rich does enjoy a soft white loaf, made without high fructose corn syrup. And I admit I enjoy it as well. But really, homemade bread can't be beat. The crispness of the crust. The variety of flavors achieved by changing up the few ingredients that go into bread. The simple pleasure of making something so nutritious, so delicious, so wholesome out of nearly nothing. This morning I was excited to try a new bread recipe. It called for whey, which is something one doesn't normally have around. But I made homemade ricotta (again, something I'll never buy again having made it once) on Friday, and saved the whey, which is the by-product of bringing milk and buttermilk nearly to a boil, letting it curdle, and draining it through cheesecloth. The solids get caught by the cheesecloth, allowed to drain for twenty minutes, salted and voila! ricotta. They liquid that passed through the cheesecloth is whey, and contains much of the lactose, minerals and vitamins, as well as much of the calcium. This sweet watery liquid can be used in baking as a fuller substitute for water. The recipe I used this morning called for 3 1/2 cups of whey, mixed with yeast, whole wheat and unbleached flour, and salt. Simply stirred together and scooped into greased bread pans to rise for a few hours underneath damp towels, then baked. Right now the breads are rising on the kitchen table. The book calls for two hours of rising, but I may give it bit longer as our kitchen is rather cool, at 55 degrees. Both of these recipes are from "Make the Bread, Buy The Butter", a book that has quickly become indispensable in my kitchen. The premise of Jennifer Reese's book is that she wanted to determine whether it is better to buy or make certain things around the kitchen. Her comparisons are based on quality, ease, and price. Definitely check out this book.

Bread Loaves & the book from which their recipes came.

Five years ago, when I first started to make bread regularly, I was terrified of messing up bread. I thought it magical how four basic ingredients could turn into such delicious bread. When I lived in Europe, bakeries were wonderful places that I visited nearly every day. In Greece, it wasn't nearly impossible to buy what most Americans think of as bread: pre-packaged, enriched, and long-lasting. In fact, bread, by law, had to be sold the day it was baked, or the day after (at half price), and not after that. So most Greeks, as most humans do throughout the world, eat only fresh bread. And it's so delicious. Returning to the United States, I returned to a land without real bread. It was possible to buy it, and I did, on occasion. Baguettes or a French loaf, spending $1.50 for a baguette, or up to six bucks for a fancier loaf. Making bread is not only cheaper, it's so much more satisfying. I find it relaxing. Stirring the yeast into the warm water, watching it come alive, as it starts to foam. Stirring flour into the yeast mixture, adding salt, then kneading until smooth. I'm always surprised by the warmth of bread as I knead it. It's transformation from separate ingredients into a smooth, warm whole. Watching it rise, as its aroma begins to fill the room. And then the incomparable scent of baking bread. And the taste, oh the taste! I am already thinking about cutting off a heal of this warm bread this afternoon and tasting its warm & nutty goodness. 

Dark now, and nearly time for a cocktail to welcome the end of another great day in the country. Rich & I did some work around the house. I did so laundry, spent time outside with the dogs, enjoying the silence of the afternoon. And every time we stepped back into the house, we were awash in the scent of that baking bread. And it is delicious. The larger loaf had to go back into the oven for a few more minutes, because the center of the loaf was a little too doughy. But the bread is delicious, with a crisp but not-too-firm crust, and a soft and perfectly-dense interior. This was a bread that required no kneading, so it was really simple to make. I knew I'd have trouble with the rise because the house is so cool, but I let the loaves rise in the oven. I would turn it up to 200 degrees for about ten minutes, and then turn the oven off and put the loaves inside to rise. It took two extra hours, and still the one loaf could have used more... but they'll be equally delicious. I like the look of these loaves, with their little mountainous peaks. I'm looking forward to eating them this week. I imagine a spicy tuna salad or chicken salad... 

Alright, good night. Thank you for reading! 

Picture of the Day

The sun has come out just in time for sunset!

Briefly, on fog and potatoes.

The house, from the road to the west.

Our road.

Yesterday we woke to very dense fog. I have never tired of fog. As I write, many of my friends and family in Denver are getting a nice, big snowstorm. I must say I'm a little jealous. It took many hours for the fog to burn off yesterday, and it hit 60 later in the afternoon. Like it did today. It's clouding up, and we're due for rain, they say. But I'd really like some snow. A good break between growing seasons. With bees, flies and moths buzzing around, and plants coming out of the ground, it's got me worried...

Today I did place my first order for the 2012 garden... yellow potatoes. Had a special deal, so I'll be getting them free, so it was a hard price to beat. In the coming weeks, I'll be placing more orders, with the hope of getting seeds started by the start of March. Today, while buying vodka at the drug store, I talked to a woman who's daughter (or daughter-in-law) runs one of the CSA's here in town. She was saying they've been harvesting spinach and lettuce from the hoop houses... and it made me think that next year I'd really like to be telling ya'll about the fresh spinach and lettuce this time of year... I know that every season I'm going to learn more, and every season there will be more challenges. How exciting is that?

Picture of the Day

Our road, 8:30 a.m.

It rained overnight. Not too much, just enough to make the morning fresh & clear. Hopeful and quiet. And today was quiet... At one point this morning, outside with the dogs I thought I heard nothing. Absolutely nothing. No wind. No birds. But there were bees. (Bees! This early!) And there were flies. And even some moths flying around. And flocks of geese flying high up and flying low too. I even saw a flock of swans, flying very low over the field to the west of our house, in a perfect V... Their long, white necks stretched out, squawking in unison. And just now, 9:30 p.m., outside with the dogs before bed, as we stepped outside to hear a nearby owl hooting in our foggy yard. And more geese. And the traffic on Westfield Road. But all-in-all, it was a quiet, peaceful and once again, unseasonably warm day here in Illinois. I keep thinking winter's just around the corner, but with the bugs waking up and the plants crawling out of the ground, either we're all in for a surprise, or spring's just about here...

It's all about Kerouac today.

Kerouac, taken a few years ago when we lived on Inca Street, in Denver.

Really, it's almost as if Kerouac read Friday's blog entry, and though, "He thinks I'm a good boy. So I can push the limits. He trusts me, right?" So this morning starts out like many mornings: the dogs are eager to go outside, so they can come back inside so they can eat so they can go back to sleep. And I'm a little excited because it's already 47 degrees at 8:30 and despite the wind I'm certain it's going to feel warm. Out the three dogs and I go, and I walk over to drop a movie into the mailbox and fetch the newspaper, and expect to see Happy at my feet, which he is. And I see Chiquita, wandering over near the barn, and I expect to see Kerouac lingering at the edge of the woods, which I don't. I call for him, and nothing. I'm in pajama bottoms and slippers, so decide to take the other two dogs inside and get dressed properly for a dog search.

Minutes later, I am outside in the woods, where it is much warmer because the wind can't penetrate the thick bramble of branches. I am still amazed at these woods, coming from Colorado where a forest means trees spaced at a healthy distance apart. Once you step beyond the part of the yard that is mown, you walk into a wild world of native (and probably non-native) plants, most of which I still don't know the names of. I pass under the osage orange tree, ringed as it is by its rotting fruit: hedge apples. I go down a slight slope past the huge oak tree with the forlorn deer stand. I pass the empty dog house. Below me, I see the creek, reflecting the still-blue sky, its water barely moving. Periodically, I call for Kerouac. But the woods are silent this morning, save the noise I make walking: breaking branches, the soft crunch of the leaves on the floor, the slurp of my boots in the mud underneath those leaves. I emerge from the woods, amazed at how thick the undergrowth is, how the blackberry brambles seem to penetrate surprisingly deep into the woods, and how far away I feel. As I emerge from the woods, I see my neighbor's son, Alvin, walking down our driveway, away from our house, and I just know that Kerouac is home, safe and sound.

As it turns out, while I was initially looking for Kerouac in the woods with the other two dogs, he was walking the perimeter of the garden. This is a walk I took him & Happy on a lot over the spring and summer, in an effort to let them let their presence be known to any wildlife thinking about free food. Alvin saw Kerouac stop and watch him drive down the road, and once Alvin got out of his truck and get his mom's newspaper, Kerouac ran down the road to say "hi." I did raise Kerouac to be a sociable dog. So Alvin said good morning to the dog, and picked him up and walked him back to our house, depositing him inside. A few minutes earlier, I had been thinking, hoping that Kerouac must have picked up the scent of something, and hopefully had the good sense not to jump into the creek, and not to get swept into the culvert that goes underneath the road, and didn't wander into a pack of sleeping coyotes, or met one of the elusive bobcats the paper said are more numerous than folks think. I was prepared to have to drive him to the emergency vet. But no, he tried to stay within the confines of his yard, until the urge to see a friend overpowered all... I thanked Alvin, and got a chance to chat with him a while. So that was good. I told Alvin I was going to plant some tulip bulbs I'd forgotten about, and since the ground still hasn't frozen, figured it couldn't hurt. He agreed, and later this morning, I planted about 50 tulip bulbs in a few places in the yard, surprised by how thick and moist the ground is, and how unfrozen for it being the last day of January.

As the day went on, it seemed something did happen to Kerouac in the woods. His right eye was swollen. My guess is he walked into a stick while looking at something else. I couldn't find any puncture wounds, so figured he hadn't woken a barely-hibernating snake. He got a little allergy medicine, and that seems to have helped him. The swelling went down, and he got a little groggy for a Jack Russell Terrier... Until he saw another neighbor pushing her granddaughter in a stroller. Now Kerouac loves children, but he goes into ecstasies around babies. He was thrilled to visit with a toddler in a stroller, unable to get away from his kisses. She didn't mind, luckily, and after a short visit, I stupidly put him down. And he was off like a shot. Happy kept up with him, and first they ran down the road west a bit to their favorite pee spot. There's always coyote scat right there, and they like to mark it. Then Kerouac took off at an even faster pace east, toward my neighbor's house. Was he going to see if Alvin was still there? I don't know. But I hate running. Especially in slippers. I eventually caught him and carried him back home. So he's on the leash again. At least until he gets over this crazy spell he seems to be under...

The first shoots of the year!

It's January, right?

 In further proof that we're having a very odd winter, I noticed plants coming up in the front yard... I'm gonna let them do their thing, especially since I'm planting some more bulbs this week (I'm hoping the phrase "better late than never" works in this case!)  and at least I'll be able to see where things have already been planted! If we ever get a real cold snap, I'll cover them up with mulch, and hope for the best. Looking at the weather forecast, we've got warm weather and rain predicted until the weekend, when they are calling for snow. But that's a long way out, and much could change... As I type this, the thermometer says 55, but with the very strong southerly wind blowing, it feels much colder, which was actually rather disappointing. I'm thinking that if we're not going to have a real winter, it may as get warm so I can get back into the garden, right?

Even more shoots...