Starting Over

Losing my mother two years ago inspired me to take the first steps necessary toward making monumental changes in my life...one of those being the creation of this blog. To be clear, this blog is in no way monumental, however unbeknownst to me in the early stages of my efforts, it served as a catalyst toward exposing me to others in a very vulnerable and honest way. Clover and Main became one of several avenues that resulted in me being noticed by someone...someone who is in himself monumental in every way imaginable. That exposure resulted in the creation of an emotional bond with my (at the time secret) admirer, therefore initiating the changing of my life in a way I never dreamed possible.
What triggered this whole chain of events was an urgency to write created by fleeting time which was made acutely apparent to me by the loss of my mother, and the need for fulfillment of an unrealized desire to express my thoughts on the printed page. I wanted to think of myself as the author of something that just might mean something to someone someday...something that I could pass on to my children and their children and maybe, just maybe, something that might hold the interest of someone other than the audience of a kind and patient relative. In a very real and unexpected way...that is exactly what happened. Only in this day and age can one sit down at one's very own dinning room table and on a laptop accomplish that desired expression within a matter of minutes...and with just a click of the enter key put it "out there" with the potential for all the world to see and judge. If they are blessed in the way I was fortunate enough to be, they may have their world take a whole new direction in the matter of a miraculous instant.
I took a long break from the judgement, be it miraculous or not so miraculous. I was not sure if or when I would be willing to give opportunity for others to once again form an opinion of my writing skills, but for some unknown reason I find myself ready for one more judgement day and I am therfore contemplating another addition to this blog in the very near future. If this tends to be of some interest to you come back for a visit soon. From now on each entry to this blog will not only continue to be dedicated to the memory of my mother, but will also be written in honor of, and with the deepest gratitude and respect for, the love of my life...a love I became reaquainted with somewhere near the corner of Clover and Main...

Me Oh My, Cherry Pie - A Tribute To My Mother

Sunday will be the first time in my life I will experience the emotions associated with not having my mother on Mother's Day. She is eternally in my heart, but I find that I work very hard at not allowing myself to fully feel the complete emptiness in my soul that has been left by her absence. Avoidance of this pain will not be possible on Sunday and I am not sure how I will handle my feelings. I do find momentary comfort in various memories that have been coming to me in random moments recently as my psyche prepares itself for this monumental day. As a tribute to her life and the bottomless love she had for me and my siblings, I would like to share one of these memories with you.

Food has been in the forefront of my mind for a lifetime now and perhaps that is why the earliest of my memories centers around my mother in the kitchen. I was somewhere around the age of two and a curious observer perched securely within the confines of a wooden high chair. I had claimed the position of my parent's only child for the first fourteen months of my life, but because I don't believe I was quite that young in this memory, my baby sister was probably safely tucked in her crib for she was not present in my mind's eye on that particular morning.




As the scenario begins I can visualize the exact position of my high chair in the kitchen that day. I was sitting there with a Sugar Smack stuck up my nostril. My mother was carefully attempting to remove it with a hairpin and was repeatedly telling me not to move as she did a very poor job of trying to hide the escalating panic contained in her voice. That in turn caused me to be as non compliant as I dare, squirming and screaming but with the restraint of a kid that knew her mother meant business. I am happy to report that the extraction was successful and that I was not permanently traumatized by ready made cereal or hairpins!

On that same eventful morning, and in that same chair, I remember watching my mother bake a cherry pie from scratch. You have to understand that anyone who knew my mother would say that I must be mistaken...that I was too young to have a clear memory of that day...that I must be mixing her up with someone else. I can barely believe it myself but I am telling you that I am very clear on this point. It was my mother that was with me that day in the kitchen.

All the equipment for the auspicious task ahead was set out on the kitchen table...the egg beater, the wooden rolling pin, the metal flour sifter with a red wooden knob, and the brown glazed mixing bowl. The kitchen table was draped with a white table cloth that appropriately had a light blue border decorated with cherries on their stems, and it was folded back to reveal my mother's work surface. As the years went by that tablecloth served as a reminder of that memorable morning, as that day was the only one that would involve my mother baking a pie, cherry or otherwise.

There are no other specific details to share with you about that day other than a deep sense of the frustration and pride expressed by my mother and a beautiful homemade pie that sat on the kitchen table to show for it. To this day I absolutely love homemade sour cherry pie. I guess that kitchen memory had a profound effect on me because for a long time I had to wait for a luscious cherry pie to cross my path if I wanted to enjoy a piece. I was just too intimidated to even attempt to make one. I feel as though there may be some repressed memories of a negative nature connected to the crust making part of that baking project because the crust is what I feared the most.

Over the years I have collected many pie recipes and have even made several attempts at becoming the pie maker that I have always aspired to be, but every one of those experiences served to drive me deeper into the depths of my phobia. I know that it doesn't make a bit of sense, but I had actually dreamed of opening a shop one day and selling the most delectable and creative pies known to man. I knew I had to go back to those beginning memories of Sugar Smacks and cherry pits to figure out what happened in the kitchen of 618 Cricket Avenue that morning if I wanted to have a fighting chance of having that pie in the sky dream come to fruition. I never was able to remember the negative events of that day or open that pie shop, but I have conquered the reluctance of baking my favorite pie.

Thanks to my Momma for teaching me that it is not whether you succeed of fail, it's in trying that you become a winner. It will be that lesson taught to me by my mother's example, and a thousand others, that I will reflect upon when the sadness rushes in this week and especially on Sunday. My Mom will be right next to me this morning as I make my attempt to create the cherry pie of childhood memories and as I experience the bittersweet emotions of frustration, pride, emptiness, comfort, sadness, happiness, and nostalgia. I miss you my Momma...I miss you!!!


There is a town in neighboring Lebanon County called Schaefferstown that holds it's annual Cherry Fair, complete with a cherry pie baking contest, every June. Several years ago I saw the published winning recipes from the contest in my morning newspaper and decided to try my hand at making the first place pie recipe. For this recipe you don't even have to wait for cherry season because canned tart cherries are used. Make sure you have a very dull metal or Pyrex pie plate because your crust will not bake properly in a foil pan, as the shine will reflect the heat.




Cherry Pie/ First Place/ Barb Long,Lebanon

2(14.5 ounce)cans Musselman's Tart Pitted Cherries
1 cup sugar
3 Tablespoons cornstarch
1 Tablespoon butter

Drain cherries, reserving one cup liquid. Mix sugar and cornstarch in a small, heavy saucepan. Gradually stir in reserved liquid until smooth. Cook, stirring over medium heat,until mixture bubbles. Cook one minute more until thick and clear. Remove from heat. Stir in butter and cherries.

Pour into prepared pie crust. Cover with vented or lattice top crust. Bake at 425 degrees for 10 minutes. Reduce heat to 350 degrees, and bake for 25 minutes until golden brown.


Crusts

4 cups flour
1 Tablespoon sugar
2 teaspoons salt
1 3/4 cups softened Crisco
1 large egg,cold
1/2 cup water
1 Tablespoon white distilled or white wine vinegar

Mix flour, sugar, and salt in a large bowl. Cut the shortening into the flour mixture with a pastry blender until uniformly mixed. Particles can be pretty large, but there should not be recognizable chunks of shortening or areas of plain flour remaining. Do not work the mixture so much that it turns into a paste.

Mix the cold egg, cold water, and vinegar in a measuring cup or small dish with a fork. The vinegar is an important ingredient. It emulsifies the egg and makes the dough more tender. Add the water mixture all at once to the flour-shortening in a large bowl and stir with a fork until it all hangs together. It will be a soft wet mixture.

Gather the dough together in a ball. You may have to add a tablespoon more of flour if it is very sticky. Pat into a ball with your hands like you were making a snowball. Wrap in wax paper, plastic wrap, or drop into a plastic bag.

Chill in the refrigerator at least one hour before rolling. This is enough for four 9-inch pie shells. You may freeze what you don't use for another time.


We Did It Mom!!

A Carnation Instant Weekend - Part Two

I was not raised Catholic but when I was in 8th grade I had a boyfriend who was. He knew he was Catholic, he just didn't know he was my boyfriend! If truth be told, I am referring to the boyfriend of "A Carnation Instant Weekend" (Part One) notoriety. On that special weekend in November, somewhere between fantasies evoked by the perfect school dance and nightmares created by the blindsided nourishment of instant milk, another memory began to unfold. I guess you could call it a religious experience....actually it was a religious experience - literally!

Without fail, every Sunday morning, my host family would attend Mass at the local Catholic church of their parish. It had been decided I would be going with them this time and I excitedly looked forward to it, but because of all that had taken place that night, I had a difficult time falling asleep. Needless to say, by the time I was gently awakened the next morning to get ready for church I could barely open my eyes. I did, however, manage to get dressed and climb into the family van for the short ride to the church...two parents, six siblings, and a fish out of water, all dressed in their Sunday best before the sun was even up! It was all I could do to fight off the motion sickness that quickly overtook me as I bounced around in the backseat of a vehicle that was in desperate need of shocks. There had been no time for breakfast that morning and the negative effects of an empty stomach under those circumstances was becoming quite evident.


I wasn't sure what to expect that cold, dark November morning as we entered the tiny chapel, but I had come prepared. Somehow I had gotten my hands on a black lacy mantilla and I couldn't wait to cover my head with it. I had seen pictures of Jacqueline Kennedy in Life Magazine exiting a stone cathedral after attending Mass with her family and had noticed she was wearing one in several of the photos. For a fleeting moment I thought that this snapshot in time could not get better...I mean I was almost running in the same circles as presidential royalty for gosh sakes! Very quickly, however, the reality of my situation took over.

I loved being in this new world of ceremony and tradition. What I didn't love was standing during the Mass until my knees quivered and the thought of vomiting almost became a reality. Kneeling, which happened equally, was just as bad because the benches were narrow and lacked any sort of padding what-so-ever. I felt like a hung over sinner trying to balance myself on "the ledge of last chance forgiveness". It was too darn early for such calisthenics! Because at that time the Mass was routinely spoken in Latin, I didn't understand a word that was being said. My mind would wander and boredom would quickly set in. Add to this the fact that, about ten minutes in, my stomach sounded like it was growling in Latin - loudly growling and almost in unison with the priest's every word - and the whole situation became an extremely embarrassing and disillusioning hour and a half for me.

After a week or two of being home and daydreaming about my "Carnation Instant Weekend", the cold hard reality of my cultural adventure began to fade. I would again romanticize the whole Roman Catholic experience, imagining myself in a plaid parochial school uniform, being given tons of homework and a slap on the knuckles by a large, masculine looking nun. It was a very sad time in my highly imaginatively young life!!

Since the days of Catholic intrigue, going without breakfast is not an option for me. Never again do I want to sit in the morning silence of a large gathering listening to the "language of hunger" coming from my gastric instrument. Over the years breakfast has become my favorite meal, whether it is eaten in the early dawn of a work day or at the late morning brunch buffet of a special holiday. I have collected many great breakfast recipes over the years, but let's face it, many times it is not an easy task to make and partake of a suitable breakfast before leaving the house in the morning. I have found, however, that with a little preparation you can become more creative than you ever thought possible at the business of filling your stomach when time does not allow for a leisurely version of the most important meal of the day.

Breakfast breads are a great option when time is short and in this category my very favorites are scones. I love their delicate flavor and course texture. If you plan ahead you can make them the night before and a tasty triangle of goodness will be waiting on the kitchen counter right next to the coffee maker and a travel mug as you take leave of home in the first hours of a new day.

I have always paid for the indulgence of a delicious scone when occasionally stopping at a local coffee house for a treat on my way to work, never considering that such a special thing could be produced in the very confines of my own kitchen until several months ago. While having my hair cut by Emily, my stylist and a wonderful friend, the conversation turned to our common passion for good food and I told her about my love of scones. She, in turn, told me about her grandmother's scones and most graciously gave me the recipe for them. I must say they are everything Emily said they would be and more. They are by far the best scones I have ever tasted. Before I share this gem of a recipe with you I have one thing to say...Emily, you are a dear...and when you see Grammy Rose give her a big hug for me. I have you both to thank for the key to a treasure that, from time to time, will brighten my life for many years to come.

This recipe is a keeper guys. May you enjoy your breakfast in good health and may your stomach never publicly request the special goodness of a scone before you have actually had the chance to eat one!


GRAMMY ROSE'S SCONES

1 cup sour cream
1 tsp baking soda
(Mix these together in a bowl and set aside)
4 cups flour
1 cup sugar
1 tsp salt
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp cream of tartar
1 cup(2 sticks) butter (cold)
1 egg
1/2 cup craisins or dried cranberries (may use chocolate chips, blueberries, or raisins etc. if you prefer)


Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Mix the flour, sugar, salt, baking powder, and cream of tartar together in a large bowl. Cut the cold butter into small squares. Drop these little squares of fat over the dry ingredients and work the butter and flour between your fingers until thoroughly incorporated.




Beat the egg in a separate bowl and, along with the sour cream mixture, add to the dry ingredients, stirring with a wooden spoon until just moistened. Stir in the craisins. Kneed the dough lightly until smooth, being careful not to overwork it. Don't worry if you are unable to incorporate all of the loose flour that will be at the bottom of the bowl into the dough. Pat into two 3/4 inch circles on a lightly floured surface.




Cut each circle into eight wedges, like a pizza, and place on two cookies sheets lined with parchment paper. If desired, you can then brush each wedge with a little whole milk, or half and half, and sprinkle with some sanding sugar. This will give your scones a pretty appearance and a slightly sweet outer crispiness.




Bake the scones two inches apart for 12 to 15 minutes until they begin to take on a golden brown color. Keep an eye on the color of the bottom of the scones to assure that they are not becoming too dark. You may need to bake the scones longer than the allotted time frame if your triangles turn out to be thicker than 3/4 inch. If the center of one scone is soft and chewy after being removed from the oven, place them back in the oven and check at 1 to 2 minute intervals until you achieve a drier crumb but without over browning them. After they are baked to perfection place the scones on a rack until completely cooled and store in an air tight container. These scones, more than some, are so good and rich that they stand up beautifully to no accompaniment at all, but you can serve them with a dollop of Devonshire cream, lemon curd, butter, or jam if you wish. I can also imagine them covered with a nice thin layer of a vanilla or citrus glaze after the have cooled.

This recipe yields 16 scones. You can bake these scones all at one time and freeze what you don't need, as they freeze well. You can also bake half of the scones and keep the remaining dough in the fridge for use later in the week, or if you prefer, you can freeze the remaining dough until you are ready to bake more. This recipe can easily be cut in half as well.

A Carnation Instant Weekend - Part One

When I first began to notice boys as a young teen, the fact that I was shy caused me to be very prone to crushes. One of these crushes involved a boy who was the son of one of my mother's friends. Our families would get together on a sporadic basis. They lived just far enough away so as to make it inconvenient for a more frequent rendezvous. This made him even more enticing to my adolescent happily-ever-after imagination. I loved his mom and he had four sisters that I would hang out with so it was only natural to accept an invitation to come home with them for a long holiday weekend one Thanksgiving when their family came to our house for a lovely turkey dinner. Over the next three days the girls and I took a lot of walks and sat at the kitchen table talking about everything imaginable. When the boys were around we played cards and watched movies. There were six kids in the family - the four girls, my heart throb, and his brother. Everything about that family was attractive to me and I loved every moment I spent with them.

Back then, being around any boy I even remotely liked would cause my mind to go blank and there would be nothing left for him to relate to except the empty shell of an awkward school girl. During this particular holiday weekend my painful shyness would periodically rear its ugly head causing me to retreat to the bedroom. During those episodes I would sit on my assigned bunk bed and study French vocab. I totally aced my French exam the following week as I was held up in that bedroom quite a bit over that three day time period.


As luck would have it, a dance was being held that particular Saturday night at my boyfriend's high school and it was being sponsored by a local Philadelphia radio station. With no choice but to invite me, that long admired object of my affection became my first official date. At the dance Hi Lit, a very popular DJ from W I B G, played our favorite songs from the radio. In excited anticipation I waited for, if truth be told, my "forced escort" to ask me to dance and during a very moving "Ooo Baby Baby" by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, I experienced internal fireworks in a way I will never forget! Up until then my pillow had been my only dance partner and I had no idea that being held close by someone of the opposite sex could cause a girl to think she might faint, not to mention erase all capability of intelligent conversation! That evening could not have been dreamier had my imagination created every last detail. Despite the shear happiness (and other things) I was feeling that night there was one near disaster during the second dance with my knight in shining armor that had the potential to destroy all the giddy girl wonder of that entire evening. While shyly glancing downward in a desperate attempt to avoid any form of direct eye contact, I was horrified to see the crinkled pink tissues I had recycled as temporary breast implants scattered in a random pattern at my feet. Fortunately I was able to kick them aside without missing a beat before (I hope) my blue eyed date could be a witness to what must have felt like the sudden frontal deflation of a speechless, gawky, never before dated, dance floor novice. Despite the quick cover up of my flat chested caper, that evening I took one "life" step forward and at least ten backward on my journey down the rocky road of dating.

By the noon hour of the next day as we sat around the kitchen table waiting for lunch to be served I had regained my composure, and due to the need to preserve my dignity, I had temporally put the awkwardness and trauma of the preceding evening behind me. Because we did not have time for breakfast earlier that morning I was very hungry and was anticipating something hardy and savory for lunch. My heart sank when a glass of chalky, see through liquid was set before me. As I told you earlier, there was a total of six children in the family. It must have been very expensive to feed that many kids back then, as it would be at any time in history, so I suppose that was why powered milk was the drink of choice in this household. As I stared at the cloudy, ghostly image of a refrigerator reflected through my drinking glass, I realized my shyness had once again returned to haunt me and I just couldn't seem to communicate the fact that I would prefer to die of dehydration rather than to partake of that meals chief source of protein. It took quite a bit of finesse to make a trip to the sink to dispose of my white beverage without being seen, but I pulled it off and made a mental note to request a glass of water within the ten minutes preceding any meal consumed in that house for the remainder of my teenage visitations.

Just recently while remembering the charm of that early one sided relationship, I decided to find out if the revolution I had experienced toward powdered milk that day was an exaggeration. There was a chance I had developed an unfair repulsion to the stuff given the fact that I had never brought the rim of that glass to my lips. Well I'm here to tell you folks that my original feelings toward that glass of milk was no exaggeration! In lieu of the fact that the now opened box of instant milk I had purchased for this experiment was an expensive proposition, and in the spirit of reconciliation with the Carnation company, I decided to find another way to use the zero fat, protein rich miracle of six children households. To warm heart and soul, I found a soup recipe that is sure to be one of my favorites in the years to come. Every time I sip on its nutritious goodness I will remember my first encounter with powdered beverages and realize there is a silver lining in all that is awkward and chalky. I raise my glass (actually soup bowl) to the Diggins family (I can do this bravely as I have no idea where any of them are and am quite sure none of them will ever read this blog). I would not be the person I am today without those carnation instant weekends!


The point of this soup recipe is to give you something that is healthy, tasty, quick and easy to make. You can put this soup together in no time at all if you use frozen broccoli and jarred minced garlic, but feel free to use fresh ingredients as that is always my preferred option. The quick version has an excellent taste, however, and has almost no fat at all until the very last step. If low fat/calories is a goal use low fat cheese.....and trust me, you will never know this soup is made with anything other than "Elsie's" best.



Broccoli Cheese Soup


3 (14 1/2) ounce cans of low sodium chicken broth
2 small (16 ounce)packages of frozen cut broccoli/may
use fresh and pre-cook to just tender
1 small onion, coarsely chopped
1 tsp bottled minced garlic/may use fresh
1 1/2 cups dry milk
1/2 cup water
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup (4 ounces)shredded Cheddar cheese, plus for garnish

Heat broth in a large sauce pan to boiling. Add broccoli, onion, and garlic. Return to boil, then reduce and heat covered for 5-7 minutes until broccoli is tender. Remove from heat and cool slightly. Transfer half the broth to the blender, or food processor, and puree. Return the puree to the pot. Combine the dry milk, flour, and water in a medium bowl and blend thoroughly. Stir into the soup, season with salt and pepper, and heat through. Add one cup of cheese and stir well to melt. Serve with added cheese for garnish.

Thank You Mr. McGregor !

Books have always been a big part of my life. As a child I hated the isolation and loneliness of bed time, but ironically, the time each evening just prior to that was my happiest. It was then, while helping me brush my teeth, that my father would tell me the tales of "Br'er Rabbit and the Tar Baby". I also have memories of him taking me in his arms and swinging me to the songs of "Daddy's Little Girl" or "Rock-a-Bye My Baby To A Dixie Melody". Afterward, he would open up "A Child's Garden of Verses" and, while my imagination would weave a pictorial image of his words triggered by the unforgettable illustrations of Eulalie (1929 edition), the repetition of those poetic lines would sooth my soul and nurture a loving bond with the man who gave me the love of reading....my dad.

Books are capable of leaving a big impression on children, sometimes not always good. Occasionally a bedtime story would worry my little soul. An example of this was the fact that in the "Tale of Peter Rabbit", Peter did not have a father because Mr. McGregor "put him in a pie". How could someone do that!!!...especially to a rabbit???...I would ask myself. When it came time to hear the story for the umpteenth time, I would do my best to block out that terrible image. To compensate for this Mr. McGregor's garden became the object of intense focus in my mind. My imagination would envision the most beautiful produce... all perfectly shaped and vibrantly colored. I could almost smell the dampened soil that ran between the rows of dark green french beans and the lighter colored cabbages. For whatever reason there was one vegetable that stood out in my mind among all the rest...the radish. The bright green leaves and bulbular roots, all dressed in crimson and white, were a thing of beauty as Peter rushed past them in a desperate attempt to get away from that nasty hoe carrying gardener. At the end of the story I would be so relieved to know that he had been successful and was back home with his family in their tiny rabbit house tucked in bed and sipping a freshly brewed cup of chamomile tea.

I hate to admit this, but in the years that have followed those night time kisses after the reading of a story or a poem, I have come to slightly identify with Mr. McGregor's situation. Raising a garden requires a lot of time and hard work. Seeing evidence of a bunny feast is something that has made me very unhappy in the past, not that I would ever consider catching one of those cute little critters and putting him in a pie mind you! For example, if even one of the lovely radishes my son and I raised last year had been marred in any way with the markings of a bunny's buck teeth, I would have been heart broken. I guess what I am saying is that over the years I have learned that there are two sides to every story. With that in mind, Mr. McGregor, after all this time I owe you an apology for not totally understanding your situation in the garden...and a very big thank you for your contribution to the love of vegetables I have today.

There are natural ways to keep bunnies from nibbling away at your garden's bounty. I use DeFence by Havahart and it has worked wonderfully to protect my garden from the Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter's that take up residence in my neighborhood every year. My garden might not be as opulent as Mr McGregor's, but with a little luck, it can produce some pretty nice salad veggies...and I love my salads!

My favorite salad not only has just the right combination of flavors and crunch, but is appealing to the eye as well. I eat it at least once a week and sometimes more. It is my favorite salad to make for guests. It has the characteristics of great crispness and the ability to meld its sweet and tart flavors beautifully. Try making it some night for dinner or a side and, although it may be too sophisticated for your little ones palate, hopefully it will put you in the mood to share one of the greatest children's classics ever written with the children in your life.















Butter Salad With Radish and Feta

10 ounces sweet butter lettuce
1-2 Belgian endive sliced (after removing the bitter core)
5-6 large radishes thinly sliced
a handful of cilantro (about the size of 1/2 a bunch sold in the grocery store) chopped with stems removed
1 avocado
a handful of dried cranberries
1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese
the juice of 1/2 fresh lemon or lime

Wash and spin the lettuce and place in your serving bowl. Wash and dry the radishes and slice paper thin - using a mandolin makes this much easier and gives you uniform slices. After washing the cilantro, shake off as much water as possible, roll it in a paper towel to absorb the remainder of the moisture, and chop finely. Add the radishes and cilantro to the bowl and toss. After washing, coring, and slicing the endive, gently toss with the rest of the salad ingredients. Peel the avocado, remove the pit, slice and then cut into 1/4 inch pieces. Drizzle with the juice of a fresh lemon or lime. Gently distribute the avocado through the salad or, because it is so delicate, divide the salad into individual dishes and add an equal portion of the avocado to each dish. The feta is also fragile so don't worry about tossing it with the other ingredients - just top the salad with it and then sprinkle with dried cranberries.
Makes 4 nice size salads



Dijon Vinaigrette

1 tablespoon of Dijon mustard
2-3 tablespoons red wine vinegar
4-5 tablespoons olive oil
salt to taste
sugar to taste

In a small bowl combine the mustard and vinegar. Whisk the olive oil while drizzling it into the vinegar and mustard until the mixture is emulsified and the tartness is at an acceptable level of taste. The more oil, the less acidic the dressing will be. Season with approximately 1/4 teaspoon of salt and 1/2 teaspoon of sugar (to taste). Sometimes I squeeze the remaining juice from my lemon or lime into the dressing, taste, and add a little more sugar if needed. I drizzle this dressing over my individual salad rather than tossing it in the larger bowl to control the vinegary goodness, as too much of this dressing can be overpowering. The more you make it the better you will get at blending the perfect combination of ingredients.

The smoothness of the avocado, the crispness of the endive and radishes, the saltiness of the feta, the sweetness of the cranberries, and the tartness of the dressing, all enmeshed with the flavor of the cilantro make this salad a playground for you mouth!

Birds Of A Feather

Over the past twelve months, my family and I have had the privilege of spotting some of God's unique and beautiful fine feathered creatures. I'm talking birds that none of us had ever laid eyes on before in the wild (what can I say...I guess we have been living under a rock) - some never at all, not even in a zoo or wildlife preserve. The first in a series of these special sightings took place last winter. In the late hours of a January afternoon my son was riding his bike home from a neighborhood friends house. He decided to take a left and cruise down around the cul-de-sac at the end of the street before coming home for supper. There are no sidewalks in our development so everyones mailbox is located right along the curb. As he peddled down Pleasant Hill Drive past one of the homes on his right, he saw a plastic bird perched on top of someones mailbox. It is not unusual to see lawn ornaments and statues on various properties around Lancaster County so he thought nothing of it. As he completed the circle and headed back in the direction he had just come, he glanced once again at that decorated mailbox just in time to see the bird blink... the bird that he had previously thought to be plastic. It was then that he realized he was close enough to touch a real red tailed hawk sitting there like a statue watching his every move. He rushed home to tell us what he had just seen, but by the time we went back to the now infamous mailbox, the hawk had vanished.

Several months later in the early spring it was our pleasure to host a family of bluebirds as they took up temporary residence in the holly bush of our front yard. They would flit around the branches eating the holly berries until their round little bellies were full. They would then fly away day after day leaving us to wonder if we would ever see them again only to return the next morning for the holly's offering of a red berry breakfast. Finally, one by one, they flew the coop never to show their plump peach colored breasts again.

Next, I had the privilege of seeing a hummingbird in the courtyard at work feeding on the nectar of the magenta flowers of a wispy shrub. This little creature was as close to me on the other side of the glass window as you are to your computer screen so I was able to see him in great detail except for the blur on either side of his tiny body. He stayed out there "humming" from one flower to the next for several hours before he moved on.

Spring also brought with it many attacks on various windows around the ground level of our home. I would be in the kitchen washing dishes when a rhythmic tapping would sound in the living room. As I quickly left the sudsy water, drying my hands on the back of my slacks as I went in preparation of opening the front door, I would see a feathered culprit at my front window insistently requesting entrance to the house with his bright orange beak. From time to time this would happen at the back of the house as well. It was an unusual behavior by some not so unusual birds and it served as another unique birding event that my family and I experienced over the next several months.

The next series of sightings can easily explained as we went further south for vacation than we had ever been before, at least by car. Over the years, sometimes not always at the same time, most members of my family have flown to Florida and three years ago we all became eligible to join Royal Caribbeans Crown and Anchor Society by cruising with them to ports in the Bahamas, Key West, Cancun and Cozumel Mexico, and the Port Canaveral/Orlando area. The ship's guest register included various invited friends and family members as my handsome son and his beautiful wife were married as we disembarked in Key West on a lovely June morning. It was the trip of a life time...the wedding, the travel, the ship, the never before seen ports, the food...oh, the food - the whole nine yards. I remember one day as I was lounging near the pool on deck, my son looked at me and said it was as if I had been born to cruise - like I had been doing this my whole life. At the same time he couldn't believe I was there, sunning on the deck with a book and drink in hand, and had literally left the country to boot! I am not someone that leaves my backyard very often. What can I say, I'm a homebody!

Anyway, back to the birds. While vacationing just south of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina this past August with my immediate and extended family I had, what was for me, several unique and special bird sightings. I had the pleasure of lying on the beach as tiny sandpipers ran back and forth with the rhythm with the surf. I was a kid from the Phillie area where the Jersey beaches were the place to be and the only birds I ever observed on the beach were sea gulls swooping down to steel my french fries and, occasionally much to my delight, pooping on my brother's head. However, we were now in the south and looking out over the beach from our private deck, I observed brown pelicans flying just above the ocean in groups of two and three diving for their breakfast in the quiet of the early dawn. One late afternoon just before sunset as we ate hush puppies on the deck of a restaurant located along an ocean inlet, I saw two storks flying inland with their giant legs and feet flapping in the breeze. It was a sight to behold and one that I will never forget. OK, I realize these were not unusual sightings for most, but for me, they were golden!

I love all wildlife, but have never thought of myself as a fanatic in that regard. As time marches on, however, it just seems so impossible to me to actually view something in person that I have only ever seen on the glossy pages of National Geographic...as if those images are not a real part of this world, just set decorations or representations of someones wild imagination that the passage of time cements as a fantasy and a concept of impossible reality. The older I get the more I appreciate experiencing all that God has made. I think part of that appreciation is because every year that I am alive and experiencing only the routine and common aspects of life, becomes one more year that I am on this earth without seeing things that others have always known. For that reason every new thing in nature I am given the privilege of being exposed to is like being given the best of all possible of gifts and the ultimate blessing of life. The longer one has to wait for something, the sweeter it becomes. I am sure another aspect of my evolving gratitude and appreciation for all of God's creation is because of the fact that I love where I live and keep that area so close to heart and home. I am, as I mentioned before, someone who is content and happy to stay home and, therefore, I have many less chances to see things unique and unusual to my little corner of the world.

After a particularly rainy couple of days in early November, my family and I were driving home after dark along an isolated back road that winds itself through the tall trees lining a nearby meadow stream. There is no man made lighting of any sort along that route to guide the way. Because the trees are so thick in that area, the moon beams were blocked as well. Suddenly, among a pile of wet leaves that had been brought down by the rain and left matted and wet in the middle of the road, I saw a shape. I yelled out and my husband swerved just in time to avoid hitting a tiny owl. Whether it was a baby, or an adult screech owl, we weren't sure. All I can tell you is that he was adorable. He flew up as the car neared his resting place and landed on a branch in clear vision of his vehicular spectators. As we sat in the car for several minutes watching our fine feathered friend I was again in awe. Actually I have heard a owl hooting several times, both in the still morning air and sometimes in the silent dusk of evening somewhere along the woods edge, but have never laid eyes on one except at The Philadelphia Zoo , the oldest zoo in America. To see that little guy out in the woods were he belongs, and knowing he had been there all along, was simply awesome.

The next "bird story" that thrilled my heart was one that didn't even include me in the equation. It was an event that my fourteen year old son was blessed to experience. Dylan was scheduled to play an ice hockey game against a team in Maryland. As my husband drove Dylan and his friend over the Susquehanna River and the state line via the Conowingo Dam, a bald eagle flew right past the side passenger window. Mind you, they were driving over a dam that is 105 feet high and just under one mile long. My son later told me that his dad did not see this miracle of nature, but his friend Austin was a witness to his sighting. I told him never to forget what they saw that day as most people in this world have never seen an eagle soar, let alone in such close proximity to them. It was an ornithologist's dream!

The last aviarian experience I want to tell you about happened on New Years Day. I was working at my job as an RN supervisor and as I walked down the hallway toward the pharmacy, I glanced out through a row of windows that overlook the same grassy courtyard where I had spotted the hummingbird months before. There before me were seven, count em... seven, wild turkeys. For a moment I thought my eyes were deceiving me. I was frozen in awe and afraid to move fearing I would scare them away, but they calmly pecked at the soil with no indication of fright or flight. It looks like 2010 has the potential to be a very good year for me if I'm starting out with a gift like that...actually, seven gifts like that. Hopefully seven really is a lucky number!

Lancaster County and its surrounding areas are the perfect place to live if you love bird watching. Whether or not you are lucky enough to have more than a few species in your own backyard there are so many places to go for sightings. It is an activity that is fun and educational and one that can be done alone or in a group of family or friends. For starters, as recently reported in our local newspaper last week, there are 170 eagle's nests in Pennsylvania alone.

With all that went on for me this year with regard to feathers and beaks, it seemed ironic to have received a particular gift from a friend and coworker this year at Christmas time. She is someone who didn't even know about most of my birding adventures. The gift was a simple suet cage. With it, a homemade block of suet and a recipe of instructions on how to make "breakfast for the birds" was included. You can buy something like this at almost any hardware store or garden center, such as Esbenshades Garden Center and Greenhouses just north of Lititz in Brickerville, but I thought I would share the recipe with you and encourage you to make some yourself for your backyard friends. What a nice thing to do for the feathered creatures that give us so much pleasure just by being what God made them to be. Happy bird watching everybody and feel free to post in the comment section any unique and beautiful birding experiences you have been lucky enough to happen upon!


BREAKFAST FOR THE BIRDS

1 1/2 cups quick-cooking oats (not instant)
2 cups of boiling water
1/2 cup chunky peanut butter
3/4 cup suet, lard, or vegetable shorting
1/2 cup birdseed
1 cup yellow cornmeal
1 cup Cream of Wheat cereal (not instant)
1/3 cup of cranberries, chopped


Cook the rolled oats in boiling water in a large saucepan for about 2 minutes, stirring constantly until very thick. Remove from heat. Stir in the peanut butter and suet until melted. Stir in the remaining four ingredients. Cool and shape as desired.
You may also use trail mix, nuts, berries, and even peanuts because the birds love them! You can store this in the freezer and use as needed.
One batch makes approximately 6 cakes depending on their thickness.

Old Man Winter

Winter is in full swing and there is no turning back. The intensity of this year's frigid weather, and its relentless desire to make its presence known, has caused me to go into hibernation mode. I actually have to stop and debate if I really want to go outside when such an occasion arises requiring me to do so. If I can come up with a good reason to stay inside - I do! I have learned that many of the reasons I leave the house are unnecessary and that many of the items I wish to purchase are things I can usually live without. I will be so much better off if I can just hold onto this mindset well beyond the turn of the season in a few months as will be evidenced by the emerging green shoots of the side yard's grape hyacinths peeking through the warming soil of a new spring. In the mean time, as I look out on the stark winter landscape and listen to the wind blowing fiercely through the eaves, I am happy to cuddle up by my fire and read.

I love my house, but one thing it has always lacked is a fireplace. For many years I did not allow my thoughts to settle upon this fact, but with every winter season, it has become harder and harder to ignore my unfilled desire to cozy up by a crackling fire. In fact, several times while day dreaming about laying in front of the radiating warmth of one, I actually picked up the fragrance of seasoned apple wood glowing on the hearth. It was during one of those "periods of craving" years ago that I found an old wooden mantle propped in the dark and musty corner of an antique shop located along a country highway in the Ephrata area. It had a mirror encased in the wood surround and columns on either side of its center shelf. It was beautiful and I called my husband with its dimensions as soon as I had taken them. It was too wide for the space we had envisioned, but as directed, I wrote out a check and told the store owner that I would be back to pick it up later. The next day, after loading it into the truck, it was promptly taken to the shop of a carpenter friend who seamlessly cut it down to fit the space. When it arrived home you would have thought it had always been there. It stayed that way for quite awhile - just a piece of decorative wood attached to the dry wall, but it was the essence of a fireplace long desired and I couldn't have been happier with its contribution to my idea of what a cozy home should contain.

Last fall, after becoming restless with the anticipation of the near approaching winter, I began to look into gas fireplace inserts. It would have to be a custom fit and, after doing some research, I found out that not only did such a thing exist, but that it was indeed possible to install the insert with a slight manipulation of the mantel's placement. The problem was the vent. Since the living room wall was located just behind the brick of the front porch, that big, ugly, metal vent would be in the direct vision of anyone looking at the front of our house. This just seemed too big an obstacle to overcome, and with no creative solutions coming to mind, the whole thing was put on the back burner. Yet another winter would go by, I thought, without the warmth of an internal flame. I accepted the concept like a trooper, not allowing the collapsed idea to add to the depression potential of the post holiday season. I did vow, however, that by the next Christmas season a cheery fire would indeed grace the empty hearth of my barren fireplace.

I'm happy to say that a fire was blazing in my living room this year as we opened our gifts on Christmas morning. Oh...did I mention...it was a fake fire. Earlier this fall, again while spending time in a shop that sold antiques and collectibles, I found a set of old fashioned electric logs. When turned on, I noticed the glow was courtesy of a light bulb, and the crackling sound heard was due the rotation of a tinsel covered rod. I brought the logs home, added a set of andirons and a fireplace screen, and actually "psyched" myself into thinking I had a cozy fire to read by. It worked and for now, anyway, it is my perfect solution!

Having a fireplace is a plus, but our homes are our havens regardless. With God's blessing, staying in after a hot bath to wait out the cold is a universal pleasure most of us have experienced. Even without a fireplace, there are only two things that one really needs to complete a perfect winter's night hibernation session: a good book and something warm and comforting to eat. Recently I read two books that I can highly recommend as I know their content will keep the pages turning. Both "The Secret Life of Bees" (a novel) and "The Gastronomy of Marriage" (a food memoir) are excellent examples of writing and the perfect addition to your reading pleasure. For the required warm and satisfying meal, there are any number of comfort foods that would fit the bill, but for something different and delicious you might want to try my new favorite chili recipe. I found it a few months ago while leafing through an issue of the Relish Magazine insert found occasionally within the confines of my newspaper. With ingredients like leeks, barley, and cumin I was driven to try it. With slight modification I was not disappointed, as its texture and flavor are surprisingly exceptional. With all the negatives the winter season can bring, there are always enough positives to balance things out. A glowing fire in the fireplace, a few good books, and white chicken chili are three of them and enough to make me actually look forward to a cold frosty night - at least once in a while!














WHITE CHICKEN CHILI

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 cup chopped leeks or onions
3 garlic cloves, chopped
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 teaspoon cumin seeds (optional)
1 pound ground turkey sausage (I buy mine fresh and ask the butcher to remove it from its casing if loose sausage is not available)
3 cups roughly chopped rotisserie chicken (white meat)
2 (16oz) cans of garbanzo or white kidney (cannellini) beans, drained
2/3 cup barley
1 (4oz) can of diced jalapenos or green chilies
6 cups of reduced sodium chicken broth or stock
4 (and up to 8) cups of chopped kale (also optional, but the taste and nutrition are best not sacrificed)
1/2 cup shredded Monterrey Jack or Cheddar cheese for garnish
enough chopped green onions for garnish
dollops of sour cream for garnish


Heat the oil in a Dutch oven or large stock pot over medium heat. Add the leeks or onions, and garlic. Saute for 5 minutes, being careful not to burn or darken them (the garlic will be especially prone to this). Add the cumin, cumin seed, and turkey sausage. Cook over medium heat until the sausage is browned, breaking it up with a wooden spoon as it cooks. Add the chicken, beans, barley, peppers, broth, and kale. Bring to a boil and simmer about 20 minutes until barley is cooked and the kale reduces in volume considerably. Serve topped with sour cream, shredded cheese, and chopped green onion.
Makes approximately 6-8 large servings with the possibility of left overs.