BUSHWHACKING

We are so grateful for the snow!!  We are also supremely grateful that our land is located adjacent to 8500 acres of Reserve land.  This makes access so convenient for hiking, biking and skiing!  We love to cross country ski, and for me anyway, it is absolutely my favorite out door activity.  

Both Freddie and I prefer bushwhacking to trail skiing.  For several years we broke a trail down a ravine, across a large frozen backwater and then for a few miles along the Kickapoo River.  This is simply a stunning venture.  This has always been the preferred ski 'trail' for us.  Unfortunately last year and the year before, winter snow never really came to our area.  (Global warming is my guess.)  We had not broken this trail for three years.

With much excitement we went out last Sunday to break this trial, and then have it available for real skiing for the rest of the winter.  Well it wasn't much of a surprise to see that the entire way to the frozen backwater had so overgrown, at places it was nearly impossible to traverse, but we did not expect the tangle that we found.  It had not only overgrown, mostly with honeysuckle but also briers, but the small waterway that snaked through this valley had crisscrossed every which way and back again, that we were unable to ski along either side for very long. 

We did much weaving between trees, up slight and not so slight hills, crossing this small stream countless times,

infrequently moving along as though we were really skiing.  (The snow was perfect for skiing.)

And on one or two occasions

succumbing to gravity..

and trying to regain not only our dignity, but our position as well.

Despite this, at least I quite honestly found this a great adventure!!  Towards the end,we found ourselves skiing along a trail provided by the Reserve, but I must say this was not my cup of tea.  For me cross country skiing is bushwhacking, forging trails where others have not gone, breaking pristine ground, and viewing these hills, trees and the river as at no other time of year. 

A CHRISTMAS TREAT

Many years ago, while living in South Dakota, I began making and giving this Swedish Tea Ring to friends  for Christmas.  Decorated as such, it looks to me much like a Christmas Wreath.

Our family tradition is to have this sweet treat on Christmas morning along with fruit and yogurt.  

Among the old cookbooks that I collect is one called The United States Regional COOKBOOK edited by Ruth Berolzheimer, first published in 1939.  It is from this cookbook the recipe for Swedish Tea rings comes.  (I have modified it some, as we no longer really need to scald milk, etc.)

Swedish Tea Ring (Saffebrod)

1 c. milk                    1/4 c. butter                 1/2 c. sugar           1 tsp. salt         2 tsp. instant yeast

2 eggs                       4 1/2 c. sifted flour        melted butter         brown sugar     cinnamon      chopped nuts

Heat milk until warm and pour over butter, sugar and salt.  Sprinkle yeast into liquid when cool.  Add well beaten eggs, mixing well.  Beat in flour to make a soft dough, with a wooden spoon.  Turn out onto a floured board and knead until smooth.  Put into a bowl, cover and let rise until doubled in bulk.

When light, shape into two rectangular sheets about 1/4" (or so) thick. 

Brush with milted butter, sprinkle with brown sugar and cinnamon (to taste).  Add chopped nuts (walnuts or pecans.)  .

Roll in a jelly roll fashion and shape into rings.  Place on a baking sheet covered with parchment paper, and with scissors cut at one inch intervals, almost but not quite through the ring.  Turn the slices slightly.

Cover with a damp cloth and let rise until double in bulk.

Bake in a moderately hot oven (375 degrees) for 25-30 minutes.  Watch carefully, as they could brown fast.  Should this happen cover loosely with tin foil.

Frost with a confectioners frosting, and decorate with Christmas colored sprinkles.

I am hoping that all of you who read this post have a blessed and happy Christmas.  May peace come with the new year to all.

THE DARK TIME

My whole life I have been an advocate against child abuse.  I have shouted, written, marched, posted, cried and worked with both children and adults.  Several years ago I felt overwhelmed by the sheer number of children I would about read in the papers who had died at the 'hand' of abuse.  I recall feeling compelled to keep a small notebook of their names, ages, and their hometowns.  I would open this notebook and read their names each night before I went to bed.  I wanted so desperately to keep them alive, to keep them in my heart, to give them love.  

After a few years, this notebook became too full, my heart too heavy, and I could not open it anymore. Today, a list of the names of the children killed in Newtown, Connecticut rests here by my side.  I read their names, I tuck them into my heart. The thought passed through my mind to enter their names here, but I won't.  In some ways I feel how unfortunate that the media, I think without true intention, seems to be exploiting this incident.  I fear it will become a political issue and our politicians will use it to be heard, to seem better, to stand out.  I fear that the kind of media attention this is receiving, (milking blood from this tragedy to have 'air time') will surely push someone over the edge to 'top' this count, this event.

I feel small and powerless.  I feel not unlike this dark, dreary day.  The Winter Solstice is upon us, the darkest night of the year.  It is a dark time, a very dark time.  Yet it is a time that the coming light can open us up to our better selves.  We are in a time of great need, both here and abroad.  We are in a time that needs us more than ever before...and we must stand and be counted.  

We must not only lament, and pray, and talk in serious, grave tones with one another.  We must change.

FORLORNE 'SOLDIERS' NO MORE

Up until just two days ago, I feared that the following poem I wrote last January would be true of this year as well.

 

Absorbed

The ground is bare

and brown.

Dried and broken,

nearly beyond recognition,

leaves scatter themselves

in the breeze,

and as I walk back to my cabin,

my feet cannot avoid the plethora

of pinecones

littered in my path.

I do not mind,

rather enjoy 

the music of the

crunch, crunch, crunch.

Still, I ache for snow

on this January day,

when at 44 degrees

it seems more like spring.

My skis,

forlorn upright soldiers

lean against the too

warm bricks

of the basement wall

dejectedly,

longing as I do

for the shush, shush, shush

of winters past...

longing for the woods,

for the densely white silence

that opens up

and takes us deeply in

until we disperse

our cellular structure

and are no more.

January 2012

Now it might happen that this is the only snowfall we will get, or one of only a few, however

as I am just back from my first ski of the season...

still feeling the thrill of the magic and beauty that surrounded me

I am nothing but grateful...

grateful for the silence, the solitude, the majesty of winter.  And however foolish it might sound, I do think of my skis propped against the basement bricks....waiting...waiting...waiting...and I think now that they are grateful, too.

'TIS THE SEASON OF GIVING

The season of creating, the season of giving.

I attended a Holiday Fair last weekend.  The plethora of colors, textures, smells, and gaily dressed shoppers was heady.  I love attending such events, mostly to see and touch the creativity of others.  I must say there were many booths that boasted the same kind of item, especially bags.  There were bags of every shape, color, size and function.

I was drawn to some tiny bags time and again.  I kept fingering them, and trying to decide how many to purchase.  The last time I approached this booth, with the intention to buy something, the light lit inside...."I can make these!"  And of course it was precisely the kind of thing I could make.

I call these Bead Bags

and I will fill them with various sizes, shapes and colors of beads, along with leather thongs, and silken ribbons.  They shall become Christmas gifts.  

Somehow it is the making and the giving that is the most joyful part of this holiday season for me.  There is something in the giving that far exceeds the getting, filling me with tingling anticipation and excitement.

May everyone have a season of giving.

MEDITATIONS

Once the season changes and the darkness sets in around 5:00 I notice that my inner feelings turn to warmer, quieter things.  It seems like one wants to hole up a bit now, cozy in the warmth of the house, dinner far earlier than in the days of long light, and then curl up in the corner of the sofa with my knitting.

I only knit in the late fall and winter, despite loving to knit.  It was with great eagerness I took out the needles and the yarn, and decided to knit some fingerless gloves, or as I prefer to call them hand-warmers.  I knit myself two pair last year, and wore them only occasionally.  For some reason this year, I took them out, and they became a real boon to me and my hands.  I have had Raynard's Disease since I was in my 20's, and for those of you who might not know what that is, it is a circulation problem in the fingers and toes, brought on by a (at least for me) change of temperature.  Honestly, sometimes my hands are dead white, just like those of a corpse.  (It also happens in the summer if I abruptly go into an air conditioned building.)  I have learned to live with this, and learned to compensate with lots of tricks, and winter still remains my favorite season of the year.  However, I took the wool hand warmers out and began wearing them around the house and find that they certainly help keep my Raynard's at bay.  I also started wearing them to Zumba and most everyone who saw them not only loved them, but wanted a pair....and so my compulsive knitting of woolen hand warmers began...

 ...pale green and gray hand warmers...

...the turquoise, my favorite color...

...for my friend Lori...

...still to be given...

...clockwise from 1:00...Carolyn's, Karen's, Lori's, Heather's, Janet's, mine, and Joan's...

...these include a pair for my daughter and my friends Laurel and Geri...

This pattern is quite simple, worked primarily in rows of three, yet despite that, and quietly chanting to myself, one, one, one, two, two, two..etc., I am often at a lose as to which row I am really on and have to do some counting of rows. 

 Knitting is truly a meditative activity, and not long after the first few rhythmic stitches, a kind of deep quiet descends over me, and I wander into the solitude.  It really is quite Zen-like and is in part the reason that I made pair after pair of these hand warmers. 

Still, I find that I often create in multiples.  While working on one, somewhere in my mind another one, with different colors, and a different arrangement is being born, and I am eager to bring that one forth as well.  The well of 'creation' seems rich and deep and it not only brings things forth, but it fills me up as well.

In My Little Corner of the World

I know most of us, if not all of us, rally round and think about all that we are thankful for as Thanksgiving approaches.  Somehow this year, considering all that I am blessed with has left a kind of darkness in me, knowing much of the world has not a tiny, tiny fraction of my blessings...blessings that are so easy to take for granted in a life overflowing with blessings.

I hope that I can keep in the forefront of my mind, on all the days to come, those for whom a blessing might be something as small as a crust of bread.  I know keeping all those destitute people, people living in war zones, people who must watch their children starve, in my mind and in my heart is so little in the scope of the world, but I do think it matters.  It matters for us to keep those who are less fortunate, deep within ourselves...in our hearts, our minds and in our prayers.  It matters.

My little corner

of the world

has no rubble,

no debris strewn streets,

no women buried to the neck

and stoned.

My corner of the world

has no daily strife,

no search for morsels

among the refuse,

no stench of stray bodily fluids

lingering in the air.

My small corner 

of the world

has no machete wielding

rebels,

no stray bullets piercing 

random bodies,

no children falling

senseless victims.

In my corner of the world

there is an enormous

absence

of the dark,

the dirty,

the broken,

an enormous absence

of bitter violence

of discord

of struggle

and I ask

why me?

I am thankful...

thankful my life is 

so blessed

yet, it seems I am not thankful enough,

not in quantity

nor in frequency,

not enough anyway

to balance

a world,

away from my sacred corner,

that is consumed by hatred,

war,

hunger,

homelessness,

grief,

abuse,

violence...

I wish my thankfulness

had power...

I wish it made me huge...

I wish

I could heal the world

with my gratitude.

Joanne Adragna Shird

November 19,2012

May everyone find the blessings in their life!

I am thankful!

MY BIRTHDAY CAKE

I am a food fanatic, and love cookbooks and cooking magazines.  I subscribe to several cooking magazines (however as this isn't especially eco-friendly, I am a bit ashamed).  One of my favorites being Cooks Illustrated.  I do not subscribe to Cooks Country, however I do get that from the library at each new issue.

As I was reading the latest issue of that magazine, I saw a recipe for a cake that not only looked good, but seemed magical as well. (Now I do believe that there is something essentially magical in all phases of food...but magical in the sense of holy.  This was magical in the sense mystery and abracadabra.)  After reading that recipe, (Magic Chocolate Flan Cake) I decided I'd like to make my own birthday cake this year (that was yesterday) and that this was the cake I'd like to make.

Read on and you will see what I mean.

Start with a bundt pan that you are sure holds 12 cups.  Warm up some caramel sauce, preferably homemade, and place 1/2 cup in the well greased pan.

In a small bowl put 1/2 c. plus 2 tbs. flour, 1/3 c. cocoa, 1/2 tsp. baking soda and a pinch of salt.  Whisk until mixed and set aside.

In another bowl whisk 1/2 c. buttermilk, 1/2 c. sugar, 2 large eggs, and 1 tsp. vanilla, and set aside.

Place 6 tbs. of unsalted butter in a medium pan, add 4 oz. of bittersweet chocolate, and gently heat until melted, let cool slightly then whisk the buttermilk mixture into this melted chocolate mixture.

Stir in the flour mixture, and pour this batter over the caramel in the bundt pan.

And now for the Flan part of this recipe....

Place 2 (14 oz.) cans sweetened condensed milk, 2 1/2 c. whole milk, 6 oz. cream cheese, 6 large eggs, and 4 large yolks and 1 tsp. vanilla in a blender and process until smooth.

Gently pour this over the cake batter in the bundt pan and cover the pan tightly with tin foil.  

Place the pan in a large roaster, fill it with water to about half way, and bake in a preheated 350 degree oven for 1 1/2-2 hours.  Check by inserting a tooth pick, which should come out with a few crumbs sticking to it.

Remove from oven and let cool 15 minutes.  Remove the tin foil and let cool for one hour.  Invert on a plate....

and here is this lovely cake.....and for the magic, well, mysteriously, though I am sure it is scientifically explainable, during the baking, the chocolate cake and the flan magically trade places.  Remember, caramel sauce, chocolate cake, and then flan went into the pan, so when inverted it should be caramel, chocolate cake and flan, but as you can see, the flan is now directly beneath the caramel sauce... intriguing isn't it?

Refrigerate for at least 4 hours before cutting.

(This cake weighed in at 7 #s.)

This definitely is a rich cake, but we managed to each have two pieces. 

It is kind of simple looking, but it is surely one of the most delicious cakes I have ever eaten!!!  The chocolate is dense and moist, the flan is quite heavenly, and the caramel sauce a great topping.  

This isn't an everyday cake, and it is expensive to make, but it is well worth the work...as we all can attest to directly after the first aromatic mouthful.  

A NEW BIRTH

I have had, for many years, a very large collection of old 100% wool blankets. I buy them up where ever I see them, thrift stores, rummage sales and Goodwill.  They used to be quite inexpensive, however, they are quite costly now.  Still, when I see one I like, especially if it is in a color I do not have, I scoop it up.   

Generally I cut them into one inch strips and use them to weave sturdy wool rugs.  However, a couple of years ago, this huge collection of blankets piled  in  my workshop kept calling to me, sometimes in strange ways.  Quite honestly, it seemed like something was trapped in there.  It was from this feeling that the Woolies were born.

I have made around 30 of these 'creatures',

 

including this one, named Jackie, because through no effort of mine, she just ended up looking like my sister (and the one peeking beside her named Rufus).

At the present I have a friend who is not feeling particularly well, and I decided to liberate a Woolie in her name.  She is fun-filled woman, who loves life and color...lots of color.  She is about as unselfconscious a person as I have ever known.  She can always be counted on to adorn herself in the funkiest of outfits, and she wears them so very well.  She is a strong, warrior of a woman, who while not feeling her best, I thought could use a little boost.

....and Patti was born....

Now this is the back of the Woolie named Patti, embellished with recycled silk ties,  felted wool, and an odd button or two.

...and this, ladies and gentlemen, is Patti!! 

Oh, she made me smile while creating her, and she is filled with lots and lots of love, as well as lavender flowers and wool from my daughter's sheep.

I hope she brings my friend warmth, love and some laughter during this trying time.

MY MOTHER

Were my mother still alive, today would be her birthday. 

This is a photo taken the last time my mother was able to visit me.  It was a precious time as after that, she became ill, and never recovered.

Several years ago, I wrote a small book of poems entitled, WOMAN KIN TO WOMAN KIN: A Story of Generations

In that booklet I wrote a poem for each of the woman on my mother's side of the family that have/had meant so much to me in both my growing up years, and today as well.  Here is the poem from that booklet, to my mother:

My Mother

Everyday just as we passed Gugino's driveway

I'd look back.

Standing at the window

curtains parted

she stood sentry over us.

We'd walk two houses farther before I'd glance again

and still she hadn't moved.

I'd  walk and look

walk and look

and she never went away,

even when I turned the corner

and could no longer see our house

I could sense her watching over us.

All the years we walked the mile to school

I never got so far

that I didn't feel her loving

and protecting me.

Even to this day

across this stretch of nation

across this stretch of years

she is just around the corner

and I can feel her mother-eyes

upon me.

She is the vessel

that funneled me full,

pushed me beyond all boundaries,

bringing me into being...

bringing me all creation.

Mother, I am moved by the sacred sound

resounding in our blood.

What I am fits

glove-like over you.

Just beneath my skin

you lie

always nestled in me

my protector and my strength.

Inwardly and onion-like

all the women of our past

layer far into the core.

Infinitely deep

we sing our godsong,

our womansong,

eternity rings forth 

upon our breath

and we endure

we endure. 

I am glad I was moved to write this 'family song' before she became ill.  I am glad that I was able to tell my mother of  my deep love and how much I cherished her.  To this day, across this stretch of time and death, she is just around the corner, and I can feel her mother-eyes upon me...my protector and my strength.

 

 

SUNDAY RESPITE

I have been spending much time in the kitchen preparing for the Lawton Memorial Library fundraiser dinner, which was last Saturday evening, and a resounding success despite misgivings about getting it all done, and preparing for the Friends of the Kickapoo Reserve Appreciation Dinner this coming Saturday evening.  When I say spending much time in the kitchen, if you multiplied that by several, it might come close.  Now, don't get me wrong, there is hardly a place I'd rather be, except perhaps outdoors.  

But still, it felt wonderful to take Sunday off, or at least the afternoon, and go for a hike with friends on the reserve.  We hiked below the Billings Creek trail on the way in, stopped after an hour or so, had a picnic with terrific food and wine, and resumed the hike.  We returned on the Billings Creek Trail.

As usual, Freddie led the hike, and his skill at this is unsurpassed!!  

We had a wonderful time, the weather was superb, sunny and warm, and the rock outcroppings, as usual, stunning.  I never seem to tire of hiking on the Reserve, everywhere you look, is a scene that tops the last.  We are so lucky to live in this area, to be healthy enough to hike these hills, and to have good friends with which to do these things.

Hopefully I will soon post about these dinners that have consumed my days.

Autumn Odds and Ends

The lovely part of Autumn is slowly slipping away.  Yesterday Freddie and I took a hike on our (207 acre) property.  It is beautiful, located here along Jug Creek amid the tree-covered hills.  Still, most of the trees have lost their leaves, except for the oaks, that is.

 

This mighty oak, said to be over 200 years old, is at the top of a steep incline, stretching its limbs far out into a canopy.  It is a powerful sight to come upon, and never ceases to startle me with its majesty.

Autumn is also bringing an end to the garden.  My sweet red peppers have been prolific, and I still have some sitting indoors in the sun, reddening.  

Roasted red peppers/onions.

Heavily oil (olive oil) a baking dish, cut up peppers, onions, garlic and in this case an eggplant as well...(lots of onion and garlic), and salt/pepper to taste.  Roast in 375 degree oven for a couple of hours.  This is great as a side dish, served over toasted crusty bread, or mixed with Italian sausage.

 

 My kale is heartily growing along, and it, too, is prolific.  I picked nearly 6 pounds of it this morning.  De-stemmed it, cut it up...

and it filled to overflowing, this large stainless steel bowl.

I then brought a kettle of water to a boil, blanched the kale for 2 minutes, cooled it, and was able to freeze 6 bags.  

Come the cold of winter, this kale sauteed with onion, garlic, and Italian sausage, with the last 15 minute addition of cut up potatoes, is probably my second favorite meal (homemade pizza being my first.)

Brussels sprouts are still doing well, and I also picked plenty of them today.  We will have maple-glazed Brussels sprouts later this week.

As much as I love fall, it also presents an overwhelming clean-up time.  The garden clean up seems far more intensive and demanding than planting time.  Perhaps it is just because by this time, it is all old news????

AUTUMN 2012

I think that this autumn is by far the most beautiful in my memory.  I know there are others who feel the same, and everyone is trying to articulate what feelings are being evoked by such magnificence.

The colors are so intense that I feel a bit exhausted, at times, contemplating them. 

The expression 'exquisite pain' comes to mind, as this beauty slams into one with great force.

It burns itself into you...

and even though it is almost too much to take, we keep on looking and loving and entering it.

Many, many years ago I found a poem by Bliss Carmen (1861-1929) that came pretty close to capturing the beauty of autumn...he could have written this in regards to fall this year.  There are lines in this poem that I covet, and wish I had penned.

A Vagabond Song

There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood-

Touch of manner, hint of mood; 

And my heart is like a rhyme,

With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry

Of bugles going by.

And my lonely spirit thrills

To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;

We must rise and follow her,

When from every hill of flame

She calls and calls each vagabond by name. 

Bliss Carmen

Autumn has been calling me especially hard this year, and I have wanted to articulate my feelings in words...darn that such lines like 'there is something in the autumn that is native to my blood' are already taken.  Even knowing that Bliss Carmen has told the story so well, I have attempted myself....a work in progress. 

AUTUMN 2012

Color pushes the limits

this year

almost, though not quite

violently.

The hills, a riot of flame,

push me, too,

singeing my cheeks...

and for a moment

I am aflame...

I am but a leaf

dazzling myself

and the world...

while the blood

roils and tumbles

snapping and sparking me

to the edge of attention

where, on this brink,

I burst into the

magnificence.

Joanne Adragna Shird

A BIRTHDAY CHALLENGE

Iris turned six on the 22nd of September, yesterday.  As much as I regret  the rapidity of the passing of these precious years, I look forward to her (and Elsa's) birthday for many reasons...*the celebration; *the look on the faces; * the joy of the little one who doesn't sense how quickly time passes and is so happy to be a year older: *and the request for a specific cake.  In years past I have been asked to make a dog, a monkey, a kitty, a chick, etc.  This year, Iris, who is totally captivated with the Laura Ingalls Wilder series asked if I would make a 'covered wagon' cake...with the added request that Laura and Mary be 'peeking out'.

This was, by far, the biggest challenge she has given me regarding cakes.  I spent countless hours with this brewing in the back of my mind, and the cake took many transformations during that time.  At first I thought perhaps a flat cake in the shape of a covered wagon, but I really wanted to make a 3-D kind of cake, so then I thought about setting the 'wagon' directly on a piece of cardboard and attaching wheels, but really thought it should be up in the air, like a real wagon.  However was I going to do that?  I did not rush this thinking process, and took the challenge with me to the Black Hills where I sketched, and plotted and planned.  Finally, I thought I had the solution.

I found a small box that I thought could form the base on which to set the cake...

...and set about cutting out portions of it...

Now that I had that done, I needed to make the cake.  I baked an old fashioned 1,2,3,4 Cake (really a pound cake-1 c. butter, 2 c. sugar, 3 c. flour and 4 eggs).  I baked part of it in a small cake pan, and part of it in a 2 # coffee can, which would be the 'covered' part.

Beginning the assembly with much trepidations, was it going to work and was it going to look like a covered wagon?  I thought it just might work.

While in SD, I bought a Laura Ingalls Wilder paper doll book, and copied the figures on heavy paper, covered them with clear contact paper, and had not only Mary and Laura peeking out, but Ma, Pa, baby Carrie, and the dog, Jack alongside.

Transporting the finished cake to the party was a significant challenge of its own, but I finally found a crate in which I could put it, securing it with tape.  Carefully I drove the gravel roads to her house.  

The party was fun, lots of outdoor games, and then into the house for gift opening...

...opening the first of the gifts surrounded with friends...

...everyone was in on this part...

And finally on to the cake and the blowing out of the candles

Yes, it worked, and I do believe that she really loved it!

(Mmm, what will next year bring, I wonder?)