Reflections on Mom and the Right to Dry

My sister and I often comment about our mother's lessons she taught 6 children. One I thought of today, while the sky was sunny and the wind light but constant, was how to hang clothes on the line. While growing up, we had an aluminum 4-sided one, maybe collapsible contraption. I don't remember for sure because it was always up.  For awhile, we attended Catholic school - wearing white shirts before permanent press, handkerchiefs, navy blue pants or jumpers. I think I remember one of the winter chores was to shovel a path clear of snow to the line, the resulting stiff boards of hung clothing is another story... I digress.
Starting on the inside, one hung the more intimate garments - underwear and socks. I think the idea was to not offend your neighbors with those intimate items flapping in their faces. Moving outwards from the center, you hung groups of clothing - all the shirts, upside down, all the jeans and pants. It would look better if the display went from the smallest sizes to the larger. Then came the facecloths, hand towels and bath towels. Another method was to differentiate between the colors and the whites. I remember my mother, clothes pulled out of the washer and organized on her arm, with a handful of clothespins, tacking up load after load onto the clothesline. The result was an organized, ordered, and appealing reflection of domestic work. Household folk art.
So today, I think of Mom as I hang clothes - the smaller short-sleeved shirts, then the long sleeved ones, the towel, and the sheets. The lingerie is hung on an old rack in the laundry room though, out of site of the neighborhood.
So I walked around the neighborhood today seeing what was drying.

A woman I chatted with said she remembers her mother re-doing her clothespins because she hadn't quite gotten it right. (I've done that with John!)












The Right to Dry is a grassroots movement advocating for people in communities to be able to dry their clothes outside to save energy and money. Some communities and home owner associations prohibit outside drying.

Legislation in Vermont allows Line drying.

Wild Leeks

Foraging during springtime is a time to observe the changing landscape and feast on what is offered.
As I travel through the Kingdom, my eyes are caught by bright limey green patches- sometimes the false hellebore, sometimes emerging daylilies, or trout lilies, all have look from a distance, that  might be the wild leek.

False Hellebore

I parked my car in a pulloff alongside the road and climbed an old logging road, stepping through soggy soils and jumping over a widened brook full of melted snow and last night's rain. As I walked, the highway noise disappeared, the peepers in the marsh yelled out their delight, leaves crunched underfoot, a woodpecker tapped, a blue jay screeched, a couple of geese honked. I was looking for some wild leeks - a spring delight -   Allium tricoccum,  the featured topic of a  NY Times article, grows throughout the eastern U.S. and pops up this time of year, showy and inviting, and then, disappears within a few weeks. In the south, they're known as ramps.

Daylilies

And where the road bends, were patches of the long leafed allium, the red stalk and white bulb.


When foraging I feel a thrill that I've discovered something that others have not. That smugness is tempered with the idea of stewardship and moderation, for if I were to harvest all, there'd be none left for me or others and we end up over-harvesting and destroying a valued resource. Using a trowel I dig some, trying to not disturb plants nearby.  Back in the car, the fragrance of garlicky-onion prompts dinner ideas. 
The first is an egg dish - chopping and sauteing in a bit of butter or oil then adding the leeks to a couple of beaten eggs, adding some grated Gruyere or Parmesan cheese. Pour the mixture into a small buttered
earthenware dishes and bake in a moderate oven for a few minutes until set. Another way is to add the eggs and finally the cheese to the sauteed mixture for scrambled eggs.


In a slow oven 275 degrees, I baked the leaves separated from the stalks for about 15 minutes, turning once until things dried out. Cooled and then crumbled. I figure them to be a good addition to soups, pasta, sauces.

Walk in the woods

As the river rose, Walker and I walked up the old road to check on the town water well located along the oxbow between the upper and lower falls. Still some snow and ice on the north side of the roadbed and water thundering over the falls. Buds on the beech and apple have swollen, almost bursting.


I love this old pine with the barbed wire coming through the wood, the crevices filled with dried needles.

Along the stone wall were numerous common mullein, a plant that reminds me of donkey ears, soft and fuzzy that later in the summer sport tall shafts of yellow flower. 

Out of this stump grow lichen, a hemlock, and a new bright green pine.

Little Trillium, ready to bud into its dark crimson flower, scatter the hillside.

Dandelion poke up through the leaves - an old spring tonic when boiled, tender greens when blanched.

As eager as the plants are to spring upwards out of the woods' duff, I'm more eager to see them.

Spring Haircuts

On my walk this morning, mixed in with the sound of the waterfalls, I heard a buzzer coming from the alpaca barns and climbed the hill to see what was going on. The alpaca are sheared in the spring and their fiber sent off to be made into yarns. This week a crew, experienced in the process, gives everyone haircuts. One by one, haltered from the large pen, the alpaca is gently maneuvered between a cushioned machine that looks like 2 slices of bread. The workers cinch the gentle creature into place, flip her on her side and begin the job of removing the soft fiber from belly, neck, back, legs and head. When completed, she's turned onto her hooves and off she goes to join the others. I'm sure the sensation is odd, to have that warm blanket removed on a brisk morning but the sun streams into the barn and they're back eating their hay. 

Whew!

Alpaca are inquisitive, social, gentle. So soft.

Am I next?

Mothers give birth soon. Plan to visit and see the little ones.

How Do I Look?

Fresh from the garden

At winter's end, there are the fits and starts toward spring - an unexpected snowfall,  rain on top of a heavy snow pack, the river overflowing its banks, muddy dirt roads. Fishing season has started, though the high, turbid water has discouraged many from dropping their lines.
The best thing about this week is the parsnips. Planted last June, they've remained in the ground all winter. Freezing temperatures transforms parsnips' starch to sugar and the results are mouth-watering and renewing to my spirit.

When the ground thaws, they can easily be dug and rinsed off. The green tops stand out in the garden, as nothing else jumps out of the soil there these days.

Parsnips are easily brushed or peeled, and sliced - boil in a little water, puree with carrots or potatoes. My favorite is to roast them in a little oil, spread on a baking sheet in a 375' oven for 20-30 minutes and turning once or twice.



Creamy Root Vegetable Soup

onion/shallots
olive oil
4 carrots
4 parsnips
4 small potatoes
4 cups water or chicken broth
Bay leaf
Salt and pepper, cayenne pepper to taste
1/2 cup cream or 1/2 and 1/2 - optional
cilantro, chives, or parsley as garnish

Saute onions or shallots in oil in a soup pot till transparent. Peel and chop vegetables and then saute for a few minutes. Add water or broth and bring to a gentle boil. When vegetables are soft, remove bay leaf and add mixture, in small batches, carefully and slowly to a blender. Return to soup pot and add cream if you wish, garnish with something green, and serve.

Eager for spring

Yesterday, though the wind was brisk, the temperature warmed.  John thought it time to help the snow disappear and uncovered most of the raised beds in the upper garden. He shoveled for a few hours. Exciting to see green sprigs of parsley, sage leaves, chives and garlic. You'd think we had discovered gold.

I wondered around the yard where snow had retreated, discovering some primrose and daffodils eager to get on with it. I'm amazed with the persistence of life - tender shoots piercing dead dried leaves, letting nothing get in their way.

Lentil Soup

Soups are nutritious, easy, and a great way to utilize local, seasonal foods. Exact  measurements are unessential. Thinking about colors and textures is a path to creativity and introducing spices can take you to other parts of the world without leaving your kitchen.

Ingredients:
1-2 tablespoons olive oil
1 cup lentils, rinsed and drained
1 medium onion, chopped
1-2 garlic cloves, minced
1 stalk celery, chopped
2 cups water or chicken stock

3-4 carrots, peeled and chopped
1-28 oz can diced tomatoes
open handful of potatoes - fingerlings or whatever, chopped into 1/2 inch cubes
1/2# of chard/kale/spinach, washed and cut into ribbons

salt ( I love Real Salt) http://www.realsalt.com
pepper
juice of 1/2 lemon, or a couple tablespoons of red wine vinegar
1-2 tablespoons cumin seed, dry-roasted in a frying pan until fragrant (stir/shake while roasting)
1 teaspoon cumin

Heat the oil in a soup/large pot. Add onions, celery, cooking till onions are soft. Add garlic and cook a couple more minutes. Add lentils and water or stock and boil gently until lentils are soft, 45 minutes or so, stirring every now and then.

Add the vegetables and cook until just before tender, about 20 minutes. Then add seasonings to taste. Serve plain, or add a sprinkling of grated Parmesan cheese or a dab of sour cream or kefir.