I’m not really sure what prompted me to ride my bike into town at 9:30 on a Wednesday night to have a beer, but it’s what I did this evening. I’m also not sure what prompted me to sleep in until 2:00 pm this afternoon. But it’s also what I did. I do know, however, what prompted me to “plant” seed potatoes and collect eggs. Well, I guess it’s not as simple as one reason, but more like the fact that these are things that help me feel more alive and not so helpless as the rain continues to fall day after day. And actually, I think the trip into town may have been a desire not to feel quite so isolated and alone with my thoughts out here at Pikku (while also getting a little exercise since I haven’t been able to muster the energy for a jog in the last three days). I love it here, but sometimes the quiet (or noise) gets overwhelming and I find myself wanting to spend time elsewhere or just be around people, even if I don’t know them or end up interacting with them. In the past few months I’ve been able to spend a lot of time in various “elsewheres” and I’m finding that I need to have an elsewhere that’s my own instead of one that belongs to someone else. Truthfully, the rain is the likeliest reason for me sleeping in so late as well. Rain is the reason I’m home from work in the first place and rain is what kept me in my bed. Funny that last year at this time I was extremely thankful for the rain because it meant I could sleep in until 5:30 AM instead of waking up at 4:30 to water all of my own vegetables before heading off to work. Things have changed.

So many of the folks I know that live in Washington or the Portland area (and that’s most of the folks I know) have been distraught and in some cases downright pissed-off about all the rain we’ve been having this spring. Even the Auto Body shop next door that only ever has perfunctory and auto-related items on their scrolling sign has jumped on board lately – April Showers bring May Showers??? – it reads in bright, angry letters. But the funny thing is there really isn’t anyone or anything that we can all direct our anger or frustration at. Who knows if there’ll be a “regular” summer this year. Perhaps it will continue to be wet and we’ll have to adapt and look to a new way of living (and farming). Maybe we’ll all grow webbed feet and bulgy eyes. Or maybe the sun will come out and we’ll end up having an extra-long summer. It’s impossible to know. So we’ll just take it as it comes. I’m trying my damnedest to remain positive about all of this. And it’s really difficult. Wintertime is typically rough for me (and so many other people in the Pacific NW) because of the lack of sunshine and having the gray season extend right into spring is really killing me. But little things like putting seed potatoes into a makeshift raised bed or planting a bunch of seeds into the space where the chickens were all winter are the things that will help keep me going. But wandering out into the space where I worked so hard the last two years to build a vegetable and herb garden was a bit depressing this afternoon. I’ve not had the same kind of time (or energy) as I did last year to work on my own garden and there are weeds and grass growing up all over the place – so much so that my original plan to put seed potatoes somewhere in that area was completely thwarted – hence the use of the makeshift raised bed. But I’ll try to find a silver lining in that frustration and disappointment as well. Though that one may take me a while.

As for the pint of mediocre beer and half a basket of crinkle-cut French fries in my gut, maybe I’ll have to go a different route to meet more of my community or find myself an “elsewhere” next week.

In looking to remain positive, the poetry of Wendell Berry is helping so very much. A lovely friend of mine recently gifted me with a book called "The Mad Farmer Poems" for my 30th birthday and it is right alongside the most wonderful gifts I've ever received.

From page 8 of "The Mad Farmer Poems" by Wendell Berry:

   XII

   Let me wake in the night

   and hear it raining

   and go back to sleep

   XIII

Don't worry and fret about the crops. After you have done all you

can for them, let them stand in the weather on their own.

If the crop of any one  year was all, a man would have to cut his

throat every time it hailed.

But the real products of any year's work are the farmer's mind

and the cropland itself.

If he raises a good crop at the cost of belittling himself and dimin-

ishing the ground, he has gained nothing. He will have to begin

over again the next spring, worse off than before.

Let him receive the season's increment into his mind. Let him

work it into the soil.

The finest growth that farmland can produce is a careful farmer.

Make the human race a better head. Make the world a better piece

of ground.

I finally heard the words to a particular song I’ve listened to at least a thousand times in the last 5 months. It’s in the mix of songs I’ve taken to playing on the iPod when I go jogging. For some reason it resounded with me this afternoon while I was jogging in the rain and I smiled for a while after the mini-epiphany. I must have looked pretty hilarious in a blue rain coat that’s way too big for me and hangs almost to my knees, covering my running shorts, smiling like a dork in the pouring down rain as I jogged on the side of the road in town with sand and grit and dirt all over my legs. It makes me giggle a little bit thinking about it again. Thank you for the song, Ms. Spektor, you’re absolutely brilliant. I never really thought I'd be able to say I understood what it means to be willing to do it all again, even if it hurt like hell the last time. But, it's what we do. It's what we have to do. Because the alternative is just not an option.

This is how it works

You’re young until you’re not

You love until you don’t

You try until you can’t

You laugh until you cry

You cry until you laugh

And everyone must breathe

Until their dying breath

Oh this is how it works

You peer inside yourself

You take the things you like

And try to love the things you took

And then you take that love you made

And stick into some

Someone else’s heart

Pumping someone else’s blood

And walking arm in arm

You hope it don’t get harmed

But even if it does

You’ll just do it all again

Winter Immersion with Trackers is blowing my mind – the activities/projects/days are not only amazing but the people I get to work with are absolutely fantastic as well. So many unique and wonderful individuals with similar goals but lots of different ideas and paths.

I’m finally starting to figure out Portland a little bit. And really, it’s only a little bit, because there’s just SO MUCH of it to figure out. NE and SE are starting to make a little more sense to me. I still sometimes end up on the freeway a little sooner than I’d like to be, and other times I end up driving a lot further than I should just to get somewhere that was supposedly 5 minutes away. But I’m learning, and it feels really good.

Hi Portland, I’m glad we met. :-)

When I got home tonight, Grandma Lucy had left me a note saying there was Vegetarian Chili and Cornbread for me and that she’d get to the dishes in the morning. That is love. What a sweet gift.

I know so very many ridiculously incredible people. And I just keep meeting more of them. Which, to be honest can get a little overwhelming because I want to spend time with all of them. But I just don’t have that much of me to go around.

I have friends that let me crash on their couch or at their house at the drop of a hat; something that continues to surprise and delight me and I am so grateful for the gift and still coming up with ways to show my thankfulness.

I get so many little (and sometimes big) opportunities to laugh. And it just feels so damned good to do it. I think you might like it, too.

I can honestly say right now that my life is so very full of goodness that my heart sometimes feels like it’s going to burst right out of my chest – though in a very good and not-at-all-heart-attacky sort of way. I just don’t know what it is.

Even if there is pain and difficulty at times, I’m just so glad to be alive. And to live life. And when you realize this sort of thing, you want more than anything for everyone else to feel that same way about their own lives. Because it just feels so good! I don’t say this sort of thing to gloat or make it seem like I’m better than other people, I’m just in a really good place and I feel somehow like I owe it to everyone and everything to let it be known. I may not always smile or actually be elated and happy every moment of the day -- because it's not really about being HAPPY, it's more about just showing up and being present for whatever is going on. That something could be a very short conversation with someone you've just met, a walk, a game of cards with a friend, a phone call to someone you're not sure what to say to but know you ought to talk to them anyway, a few minutes outside in whatever the weather or a trip to the grocery store. Just BE there. And see what happens.

Something keeps bringing me back to this place. And when I’m not in this place, it’s getting a lot easier for me to remember that it’s close by and that I can choose it if I want to. And maybe that’s a big part of it. Maybe I’m just getting better at choosing it.

I love going for walks. Especially on sunny, crispy, slightly chilly new Fall days. Those walks are made even better when it just so happens I’m accompanying folks I adore. Yesterday I finally had some time to hang out with Em and Morgan and Turkey, their fabulous pooch (and Guido, their semi-new kitteh who I officially adore after meeting him for the first time yesterday) and on the schedule was a late afternoon foraging walk through their SE Portland neighborhood. I get pretty fired-up about going for walks with other folks – there’s just something exciting and wonderful and adventurous about traveling by foot. It’s slow enough that you can observe as much or as little as you like (though usually it’s the former) and you can go at whatever pace you wish. I love to observe the world around me and walking is a great way to do it. Walking in new and unfamiliar places is such an adventure! Not to mention that there was a foraging aspect to this particular Sunday walk and I am all about the free food. Especially when it’s food that might otherwise go to waste. Though, I suppose this food probably would not have gone to waste because there are innumerable squirrels and other creatures in Portland that surely dispatch with the fruit of any and every chestnut, walnut and filbert tree (and any other nut or fruit tree to be found) in the city.

I don’t go for walks as often as I ought to. I don’t mind walking around Woodland (and I haven’t actually done it all that much, probably because I don’t have anyone to join me and walking is something I enjoy more with a friend) but there’s a little something missing. Maybe it’s the smallness of Woodland. Perhaps that’s something to ponder.

I went on a walk earlier this summer and even though things turned out different than what I’d hoped for, that walk was still pretty amazing. (Ha! So cryptic!) I also remember a walk I went on in college. It was an evening walk around the upper Queen Anne neighborhood and there was something downright magical about that particular walk on that particular night and quite honestly with that particular person. Things also did not turn out the way I had hoped in that situation, but still, the memory remains in my head. And I’m happy with that. There was a walk with Kayti last summer when we picked blackberries in the wet morning grass and came back rather soggy from the dew. And last winter, walking through Bellevue with Kayti and her Mom and watching them catch giant snowflakes in their mouths. That memory makes me smile. Often when I go for a walk, it seems to inspire conversation that might not otherwise take place. I seem to think better when I'm walking. Though the same cannot necessarily be said for trying to think and do any number of other things at the same time.

I think this fall and winter shall be a time for more walking. Who wants to come with me?

Oh, the deliciousness will ensue again in just a few days. This ridiculously lucky/blessed/fortunate farmgirl gets to go to the second Harvest Dinner at Lapellah, too!!!!!! Life just gets better all the time. The April Jones crew will be representing, big-time.
Fifteen minutes of yesterday were kind of crummy. But I'm over it. It's hard not to laugh at someone that leans out of a car window and yells horrible things at a complete stranger standing half-a-football-field away. Really? Who does that?
How can I keep making the world a better place one jar of delicious canned goods at a time if I dwell on such things? I can't.
Enjoy the menu. Try not to salivate on your keyboard.

Amuse Bouche: Chilled Cucumber Shot

1^st Course: Tomato and Bread Soup with Basil and Extra Virgin Olive Oil
Wine: Argyros Estate Santorini 2004

2^nd Course: Frisee and Arugula Salad with Colorado Rose Potato and Beet Chips
Wine: Trinity Viognier 2007

Amuse Bouche: Water Melon Granita and Ice Plant

3^rd Course: Stuffed Green Chili with Fresh Mozzarella and Tomato Jam
Wine: Cermeno Tinta De Toro 2006

4^th Course: Whole Rotisserie Bone in Pork Loin with Indian Shell Beans and White Carrots
Wine: Beresan “Buzz” Cabernet Sauvignon/Syrah Blend 2006

5^th Course: Tapioca Pudding with Black Berries
Wine: Inama Veneto Bianco Vino Dolce 2006

I have a problem.

‘Tis the season for putting up lovely green, red, purple, magenta, orange, bright yellow (and any other variety of colors your mind can conceive of) vegetables and fruits. This is a happy thing. But it would seem that the canning closet in the basement is still somewhat full of the bounty I preserved from last season. That food was supposed to be all eaten up by now – delved into and enjoyed during the cold, long winter. But evidently I didn’t eat or share enough this winter. However, this is a problem that many of my friends and family will benefit from now. I’ve still got Spiced Crabapples, Pie Cherry Preserves with Almond and Honey, Hilly Dilly Beans, Spaghetti Sauce, Straight Tomato Sauce, Pickled Peppers (my personal favorite), Pickled Beets and Pickles (Cucumbers). Tthere are at least 50 pints and quarts (probably more, or maybe less – my estimating skills are complete crap). Obviously a person can’t subsist on pickled vegetables and tomatoes alone, but you can sure as heck give it a try. ;-)

So if anyone is interested in these canned goods of mine, let me know. I’d welcome a donation if you feel like doing so, but I would for sure like to have a $1 deposit for each jar you end up with. And each time you return one to me (in reusable condition, of course) I’ll give you $.50 of it back. How does that sound? I would much much rather have the jars back then to keep your extra $.50. Many of the jars have been in our family for a while and I would like to keep it that way. This may or may not work out, but let’s give it a shot. J Since the comments are disabled on my blog here (due to drug [Cialis] dealers) you ought to send me an email instead. If you are a friend or family of mine that lives anywhere other than the Vancouver and Portland area, you may be out of luck for the time being. Go ahead and email me anyway if you’re interested and I’ll try to remember to let you know the next time I head North.

littlebunnyhill at gmail dot com

Everything I’ve canned so far this year (which includes Raspberry Jostaberry Freezer Jam, Pickled Fridge Beets, Frozen Basil Pesto, Frozen Basil Parsley Pesto, Dill Pickles, Blackberry Jam, Lewis River Plum Jam, more Dill Pickles, Hilly Dilly Beans, Frozen Roasted Peppers, more Frozen Basil Parsley Pesto and Lewis River Plumberry Jam) has been grown in my own organic garden or in the orchard at Pikku or on the certified organic farm where I am totally blessed to be employed. Keep in mind that when I say “canned” I also mean pickled, jammed, frozen or somehow preserved. I find it pretty unbearable and unacceptable to allow most any food to go to waste. Especially fresh, beautiful produce. Though I am realizing (though it is probably quite obvious to most) that it is physically impossible to have the time and energy to manage every last bit of it. The fact that I can compost usually makes me feel better, though. It’s not going to waste, it’s actually going to end up feeding the soil and in turn feeding our bodies again next season. That helps me sleep better when I just can’t get to every single ripe plum from the tree or green bean off the vine. (Yes, these [and this and this] are the kinds of things that keep me up at night).

If you’re just getting started with food preservation I would highly recommend the book Stocking Up by Carol Hupping. It’s got great canning recipes but also a lot of information on proper harvesting and freezing or general preparation of fresh fruits and veg (and it’s a Rodale Institute book). The Ball Blue Book of Preserving is another faithful standby – and it’s actually where I got my Dilly Bean recipe. Another book I haven’t entirely had time to explore but when I checked it out from the library it definitely seemed to have some deliciousness between its pages was The Complete Book of Small-Batch Preserving. Whereas Stocking Up and Ball Blue Book of Preserving are old standbys with the tried-and-true recipes your Grandma probably used to make, The Complete Book of Small-Batch Preserving stands out as having some recipes with more interesting combinations and flavors – less tradition and more experimentation. I’ve still got a ton to learn about food preservation and I will – I WILL – overcome my fear of pressure canners sometime in the near future. Maybe that will even happen in the next few months. I am limiting my food preservation world by a lot with this shortcoming and it must be remedied.

If you’re into the fruitier side of things, have a look-see at Pomona’s Universal Pectin and get set to jamming. It’s good stuff. I feel better about the ingredients than I do when using other commercial pectin.

If you need some food preservation support, I’ll do my best to help you. But like I said, I’ve still got a lot to learn!

For both courses that included meat, Chef Dave was kind enough to substitute a vegetarian option -- one included quinoa and the other included arborio rice.

Amuse (passed): Fried Squash Blossom with Conway Family Farms Goat Cheese.                                               
       Wine: Malibran Prosecco

1^st Course: “Mystery” Tomato with grilled Ricotta Salata Cheese and Basil Oil.                       
      Wine: Apolloni Pinot Blanc 2007

2^nd Course: Crispy Little Finger Eggplant with Yukon Potato puree and semi-dried tomato.    
       Wine: Hirsch Gruner Veltliner #1 2007

3^rd Course: Roasted Local Albacore with Summer Squash and Green Cipollini onions.            
      Wine: Evesham Wood Rose of Tempramillo 2008

4^th Course: Grilled Wild Boar Chops with roasted Hungarian Wax Peppers and Lorz Garlic.                                                                                         
     Wine: Grochau Cellars Rogue Valley Syrah 2006

5^th Course: Mascarpone Mousse Triffle with local berries and lemon pound cake.                
      Wine: Inama Vino Dole 2006

I’m feeling very blessed and find it necessary to speak out about it. For as much complaining as I sometimes do (be it internally or externally) and as frustrated as I am by so many things in this world, I have a pretty charmed life. I can assure you that this is in no way a complete list of all the things that lead me to be qualified as blessed, but I’m trying.

I live in a beautiful house (with air conditioning), on the river, in the Pacific Northwest, free of rent, with my Grandmother. I – for the most part – have free reign over at least ¼ of an acre of the property to grow whatever vegetables, flowers and herbs I so desire (so long as they’re legal). I have fresh, running water to feed and wash my own body and the plants and animals that I take care of. I get to play in the dirt every day if I so choose, and most of the days I do so I even get paid for it. I am grateful to actually have a job. On top of that, I work for a “boss” that is one of the most phenomenal, kind, hilarious, centered, generous, caring, patient, brilliant, talented, creative, organized, fun and amazing women I’ve ever met and I also get to call her my friend. Almost every day I work for her I am treated to an incredibly fresh and delicious and beautiful lunch with entertaining and lovely (and almost always hilarious) conversation. I get to hang out with two dear boys named Gus and Tesla and scratch behind their ears and possibly get licked in return. I have so many incredible friends and family in my life and even though I am far away from many of them, I still get to talk with most of them on a regular basis. I have a beautiful and patient and caring and generous family, which includes more than just my fabulous Mamabear, Papabear and the Reverend Tel.

I am privileged and fortunate enough to have the means and the time to grow my own food and a place to prepare it. Even if the oven doesn’t always work or some of the burners are no longer functioning, I still have a place to cook!

This Wednesday I am blessed to be attending a special Harvest Dinner at Lapellah in Vancouver. I am being treated to a reservation at this special dinner by the fabulous Aunt Dusty and Uncle Larry – who I also get to see at work on a regular basis. They are part of the April Jones family and damnit if all of the Joneses aren’t just the cat’s meow.

I recently got to spend time with my best Lisa and her awesome boyfriend Greg – even if it was a short time it was a good time. We met in the middle (Centralia) and had a lovely morning at the Country Cousin and Fort Borst Park. Saturday night I got to spend the evening at a BBQ with some friends in Portland whom I’ve not seen for a while – dear Gretchen and Jerrod. And I got to meet some new friends, too. :-) Sunday I went to another BBQ of sorts and spent time with some other Portland friends that I’ve not seen in a while. Also a good thing.

How could I possibly be unhappy in the midst of so much goodness? Yes, there are often days when it’s hard to see the good things, even though there are quite obviously so many of them. But I will remind myself over and again and sometimes I’ll remember and sometimes I won’t. And hey, that’s ok.

The Sorrows
by Gary Fincke

Whatever the Sunday, the sorrows kept the women in the kitchen,
 My cousins and their mothers, my grandmother, her sister, all of them
 Foraging through the nerves for pain. They signed and rustled and one would
 Name her sorrows to cue sympathy's murmurs, the first offerings 
 Of possible cures: three eggs for chills and fever, the benefits
 Of mint and pepper, boneset, sage, and crocus tea. Nothing they
 Needed came over-the-counter through prescriptions not bearing
 A promise from God, who blessed the home remedies handed down
 From lost villages of Germany for the aunt with dizzy spells,
 For the uncle with the steady pain of private swelling; for passed blood,
 For discharge and the sweet streak from the shoulder. In the pantry,
 Among pickled beets and stewed tomatoes, were dark, honeyed liquids, 
 The vinegar and molasses sipped from tablespoons for sorrows
 So regular they spoke of them as laundry to be smoothed by the great iron
 Of faith which sets creases worthy of paradise. And there, when only 
 A hum came clear, they might have been speaking from clouds like the dead,
 But what mattered when the room went dark were the voices reaching into
 The lamp-lit living room of men who listened then, watching the doorway
 And nodding at the nostrums offered by the tongues of the unseen
 As if the sorrows were soothed by the lost dialect of the soul,
 Which whispered to the enormous ache of the imminent.

~ from The Fire Landscape: Poems
© University of Arkansas Press, 2008

I asked Mamabear last night what she wanted for Mother's Day. Mind you, it was already Mother's Day Eve at that point. I ended up working most of the day Sunday and she didn't get into town until 3 or 4...in years past, this certainly would not have stopped me from staying up late the night before to create something lovely (or at least something lovely in Mamabear's eyes) to gift her on Mother's Day. Maybe I've just gotten old and lazy. When asked the above question she first answered, "I can't really think of anything...just to spend some time with you." And then she thought for a few more seconds and said, "Would you help me plant some lavender up at our property?" I of course answered that I would, gladly. Or at least I hope that's what I answered...either way it was a "yes". :-)

So this morning Mamabear, Hank and I headed up river. At this point in time, Mamabear (and Papabear’s) property doesn’t have much on it – an old horse barn, a “tuff” shed that mainly functions as storage and a Clean Green Studio currently under construction. Mamabear and Papabear also have not yet moved onto their property. But Mamabear (and Papabear) have big plans for it (and the Rev and I have some plans for it next month). Many of Mamabear’s plans involve plants and trees.

The property is gated (not a fancy gate but a farm gate) and locked so when we arrived, I hopped out and removed the lock so we could head inside. We spent a good deal of time clearing away blackberries near the entrance to the property in order to plant a Star Magnolia in memory of our dear friend Brownie Criner who recently left us. In the process of clearing away these blackberries we “found” a nest of Bumblebees (and by “found” I mean that we must have stepped on it and woken them up – they didn’t seem angry, just a little confused and alarmed). I don’t believe I’ve ever actually seen “Baby” Bumblebees before so today was a first in that department – they are CUTE. Yes, a cute insect. I said it.

At some point during the process, though, I felt something a bit slimy and wet on my right leg and at first thought nothing of it. But when I reached into my pocket and felt part of an egg I immediately remembered breaking one of my rules – when collecting eggs from the chickens do NOT just stick them in your pants pockets or the front pocket of your sweatshirt but take them directly to a carton and the fridge. Needless to say, it was somewhat messy and as I had no way of cleaning it up at the time, I decided to simply remove my pants and wash them out a little and then let them dry. I admit, clearing blackberries in shorts and a tee shirt is not necessarily the best idea, but clearing blackberries in a tee shirt and underwear (and farm boots!) is even less so.

Because the property is not currently occupied, there are also no bathrooms, so I was availing myself of a nice spot beneath a large and lovely cedar tree (sheltered from both sides and behind) and joking with Mamabear about whether she was certain there wouldn’t be any visitors to the property today and suddenly a truck pulls up from within my parents’ gated property. I am literally caught with my pants down. Fortunately the cedar tree was sort of covering me and I was able to back up a bit as I realized that yes there was a stranger in a truck pulling up about 15 feet away from where I was peeing. Mamabear was making every attempt to draw attention away from the cedar tree while also wanting to hand me a beach towel she had in her truck. She kept talking to the man and finally just walked over and handed the towel to me. I emerged from behind the cedar tree with a somewhat sheepish grin and a green and white striped towel instead of pants.

I think that gentleman may have gotten a bit more than he bargained for by trespassing on the property this morning. I’m sure I’ll read about it in the local paper tomorrow. 

Happy Mother’s Day Mamabear. Thanks for always covering my ass.