The predominant AM sound track at our new home is “cock-a-doodle-do”.    We love the chickens down the hill.  In fact we are so enamored with them that we bought weekly deliveries of their eggs from our preschool auction.  A few weeks ago these eggs arrived.  Big and little, a perfect salute to the joyful inconsistency of nature.  Thanks down hill chickens and neighbors.

Stephanie brought several dozen quail eggs on our trip to Tahoe.  Since we were the last to leave, we got to take home the remaining unboiled eggs.  I explained to Seth about blowing out the yolk and insides of an egg so the shell can be preserved.  He loved this idea.  He spent about three hours of his life this spring happily blowing  quail eggs.  He was so patient.  Whenever  one would crack mid blow,  he would swish out his mouth with water (he kept a glass nearby for this common occurrence), wipe his face with a with a paper towel and carry on.

The morning after Seth finished his egg blowing marathon he announced that he was going to paint the eggs.  Ryder handed over some water colors and Seth got to it.  I forget from year to year how memorizing egg coloring really is.  By the time he was half way through I couldn’t hold myself back, I had to get in on the action too.  The pinks and greens were particularly spectacular.  I don’t know why color is so appealing on eggs, there is something about the form that lends itself to hue.

My springs are very busy.  Every year we have a big egg hunt.  This year we had a small egg hunt that was preceded by a big school auction, that took my time instead.  For some reason these eggs remind me of spring break in college.  All I can remember is sleet out side my window in Providence, and quail eggs.  I don’t know why we would have had these eggs but the speckles make me feel so introspective.  Back then I wanted the life I have now.  It’s funny that I knew someday I would get to make art and crafts with my own kid, all I had to do was bide my time and work through all the things that happened between then and now.

Today was our last official day of Mountain School at the little red school house.  In honor of this transition I thought I would document some of my favorite preschool phenomena, starting with community paintings.  I love the way the children gather around a shared canvas.  This is such a great way to start out the collaborative path of learning.  My own childhood and education were singular, there was little in the way of group projects.  I don’t want this for Seth.  I want him to enjoy a lifetime of social connection and exponential productivity.  There is so much joy to be found in collaborating with others, it is a fundamental part of being human.

Seth has brought beets that he grew in his own garden all three years we have been at Mountain School.  In those years life was a bit transitory, but we managed to plant beets where ever we were.  Planting beets twice a year helps us hold on to the importance of the growing cycle, and keeps us rooted in what is real.  I guess most of all, it’s  the continuity of one plant.  There is one plant that, come hell or global warming, Seth knows how to grow to sustain himself.

Mountain School above all is about stewardship.  A. rescued this snail from the beet greens.  She must have carried it around for 20 minutes, showing it to friends and faithfully caring for it.  Eventually she let it go in the garden where it could munch on our flowering kale.  It struck me that a child like A. who is usually spearheading the more human-centered activities would take the time to engage with this snail.  It’s not so unusual in the larger context of our school.  The philosophy is so rich in natural experience and observation, that even for the most “social” of children this act of stewardship was undertaken with the least bit of pretense.    She picked up the snail and took care of it because when you go to Mountain School that is what you do – without a second thought.

So this is it our new house!  As you can tell it’s mostly kitchen.  This open plan is what really “rented” us on the place   There is lots of room for cooking, drawing, painting, working and doing “homework”,  all of it bright and cheerful.

As you can tell from the photo below the house has few even surfaces – just the way I like it.  It’s worn around the edges with the occasional pleasant creek indicative of anything over the age of 100.  The living room has plenty of open space for our various farm scenarios, pillow fights and shenanigans involving match box cars.

The bedroom is mostly bed, and it’s really too cozy for productivity.  It’s all I can do to pry myself from the covers in the morning.  I can’t remember the last time I slept so well.

It’s charming to move somewhere and have all your ideal pets already living there.  Cleo the cat is a fierce hunter and consummate lover.  Onyx the dog is a fabulous pile of warm black fur always lounging in the sun.  It’s reassuring to know she is asleep on the driveway whenever I need my dog fix.  Remi, Ace and Cherokee are all quite charming horses (and I am not a horse person).  Seth goes out to the horses every morning, because the first skill he has to master is learning how to make a connection with a horse.

This house is a gardener’s dream.  The back yard is nicely fenced off from the dear.  There is not a gopher in site (thanks to Cleo).  The manure is piled, aged and ready to be hauled up and turned in.  What more could one ask for?

Today Seth was the cooking boy and we brought sunflower seeds.  I originally had the idea to bring this snack when we still had sunflowers in the garden to bring  to class.  However, the sunflower snack was postponed and the idea seemed academic upon revival today.  Not to mention that after tasting the seeds out of the oven Seth asked me if we could bring some different seeds for him to eat.  All this did not bode well, but the snack was a huge success.  The kids seemed to like eating the little seeds, playing with the seed heads and they even ate the sunflower sprouts.  Here is what we brought:

Pre hulled sunflower seeds, baked at 325 for 8 minutes on baking trays.  We served them in paper baking cups.

Sprouted sunflower seeds, sunflower seeds in a few inches of dirt.  Ours only had 5 days to gestate, but this was good because the seeds were still on the sprouts and enhanced the effect.

Sunflower seed heads.  We saved these big heads from the summer garden.  We let them dry fully inside so that the birds would not eat them.

We augmented with the last of the tomatoes that the kids harvested in the garden.  These were not part of the official snack, but they are so pretty I can’t not include a picture!

Seth and I were unable to see each other on the actual Harvest Moon, but we started our own harvest on Monday afternoon.  We hitched a ride with Martina to our class field trip at Rodoni Farm Pumpkin Patch in Santa Cruz County.  This year Aydin and Seth were all about “the haul”.  They set about piling as many pumpkins as possible into their wagon.  Needless to say we purchased an entirely different set of pumpkins that were selected for their edible qualities.  The boys found ornamental crook neck squash that looked like guns, and Seth was able to pay for those with a dollar from my wallet.  I’m not sure how he purchased the ammo.  I love the energy at the pumpkin patch, the sun is brilliant, the sky is clear and the pacific reflects the children’s joy a thousand times over.

On Tuesday Seth was eager to harvest at his own home.  Seth and his cousins had taken care of “harvesting” most of the pumpkins and squash from our garden (see below).  This fact did not deter Seth, he marched straight to the beans and got started with his harvest.  At a certain point in the late summer beans just become too much to keep up with.  Ours had definitely gone by, and Seth spent a good half hour picking the seeds from the pods and collecting them in a jar.  He told me we were going to save them for planting next year, however I saw them getting hauled around in a Playskool marine mammal rescue truck after dinner so we’ll see.  We were not the only creatures harvesting.  Lots of little birds were busy eating seeds from the sunflowers.  We had to take long breaks from harvesting to watch them chow down.

Our garden has graciously yielded so much his summer, we are truly thankful.  In all it’s glory we managed to miss all sorts of little treasures.  Tuesday was all about treasure hunting.  We found a few more peppers, a passel of little eggplants and basil galore.  I stayed up late on Tuesday night and made tons of pumpkin seed pesto to hold us till Christmas.  Our week of Mommy Seth Harvesting ended on a perfect note.  Daddy Jim picked Seth up on Wednesday and we all talked for a long time.  Jim harvested all the straggling tomatoes which he carted off in a bike helmet for cooking.  I said goodbye to my loved ones for a few days, and goodbye to this garden for the summer.  It is time to layer compost these beds, and let them dream the winter away till we meet again in the spring.

For the past month I’ve been eyeing the bag of buckwheat groats when I dig through our nest of bulk grains and legumes.  The groats have beckoned in their green auburn way and my fingers slip past to the safety of lentils.  Each time I pushed them away, the details of preparation distant and hazy.  I hedged around adding water and boiling for fear of remembering all the events that lay between then and now.

Sometimes we are compelled to do what matters.  My proverbial “grain hit the pot” when I found out that Sterling’s daughter was in the hospital awaiting heart surgery.  I am a really spontaneous person, so I’ve never been much good at signing up to bring food on schedules or fitting into other routines of suburban life.  However, when old friends are in trouble my inner lioness takes over, psychological blocks are drop kicked and hot cakes hit the griddle!

Sterling kept everyone up to date on Facebook.  As the week progressed I couldn’t help ignoring my urge to fry up buckwheat griddle cakes and rush them to Lucille Packard.  Since the recipe remained hazy, just out of reach in my subconscious I was forced to perform a kitchen brain intervention.  I purposefully shoved fresh basil, garlic and pine nuts into the food processor in an attempt to loosen the ingredients from my mind.  Some bits came to me…sage?…maybe dill?  Finally I turned to old kitchen spattered cookbooks.  I flipped through the pages to see if any of the spills or recipe shapes spawned a memory.  Finally I found it, Red Lentil Cakes with Garlic and Sage from Savoring the Day by Judith Ben Hurley.  Needless to say my version of this recipe is far from the original, but it was what Sterling needed, so I was determined to reconstruct!

1 cup buckwheat groats
½ cup quinoa
1 heaping teaspoon of yellow miso
3 cups water
Combine and boil on medium heat for 20 minutes or till the mixture has no water left

Dice
Sage leaves to taste 2 to 4 Tbs
1 red onion
1 clove garlic
Saute till wilted
Combine cooked grains, and sauteed vegetables/sage in the food processor.  Pulse a few times till the mixture is partially ground and feels sticky.
I also added a cup of cooked garbanzos, but I think it would work without.

One meager handful of batter compresses into the right size cake.
Fry liberally with lots of olive oil!

I usually serve these cakes piled with barely steamed summer squash, sunflower sprouts and a yogurt lemon tahini sauce.  I did not have the ingredients to make the sauce this time, so Sterling made due with some lemon and sour cream.  I will add the sauce to this post next time I make it.

Sterling said the following about the meal, “amazing the restorative power of food made with love!”  As usual she hit the nail on the head.  We do what matters when love is involved.  We are driven by love to work through life and collaborate in the healing process.  Sterling and her family’s need for immediate survival prompted me to “clean house”, to examine an ingredient heaped in personal baggage, and to “restore” buckwheat to its proper place in the forefront of our pantry.

Dear MZ,
On Thursday after our conversation I found myself engrossed in the preparation of my mushroom cabbage and cheese casserole.  When Jim and Seth got a load of mushroom compost for the garden last week they were kind enough to give me two bags of fresh mushrooms from the farm.  When I peeked into the bags overflowing with fluffy white and brown goodness my inner Alice Waters kicked in.  I felt compelled to seek out just the right smoked cheddar, use up a stagnant bag of sunflower seeds and harvest fresh dill for the first time in many years.

Every time I see this color in vegetable form I am overcome by you.  It was particularly strong in this cabbage because I have the image of you in your recently knitted lavender sweater burned in my brain.  Like all best friends I dote on everything you create, your art, your kids, your dreams.

I poured my heart into this casserole.  My preparations were filled with joy.  How fortunate was I that a crop of killer mushrooms had fallen in my lap.  How savory the fresh cabbage, that in the store was labeled with the name of the man who grew it next to the price.  It was a party in the kitchen.  As I stirred in the spinach with the onions and cabbage I realized that I was making this for you.  You are on the verge of labor, or in it right now.  My soul friend, you are about to leave one meadow and enter an ever broadening valley.  Like you it will be filled with flowers.  I can’t wait to visit!

Dill was an ingredient that until recently was respectfully absent in my cooking.  I’m learning to cook with it again.  It seems to grow like a weed here next to the galley kitchen where I hang my apron.  I can’t seem to get enough of it of late.  When paired with the right cheese the flavor is heavenly.  Add a little bit of white wine and the dill becomes energetic.  It’s definitely my ingredient of the summer.

Finding just the right cheese is something that I know you would understand.  Not only are you married to a fabulous chef, you are from Wisconsin – cheese heaven of the western world.  I was in half moon bay which always reminds me of you, and I stopped by the New Leaf.  When I told the cheese gentleman what I was making he said he had just the thing, and got it out of the back.  The yummiest smoked cheddar ever, I could have eaten it all before it ever hit the shrooms and cabbage.  There was one small oversight that didn’t really mesh with my MZ agenda.  The cheese was from Vermont.

When it was all prepared and packed away ready for the freezer I really started to miss you.  You are about to have a baby in the spring laden heart land, and I am here cooking like a rock star on the left coast.  We are so far away.  Each loaf pan that I set in the freezer was accompanied by a little blessing for you and the baby.  I want to come and swoop the girls away.  I want to give you the space that you need to do your work of love and labor.  I want to make sure that you are fed comfort food, and that your toilet is nice and clean.  However, I can’t do those things.  All I can do is remind you from afar how proud I am of you.  Perhaps someone in your extensive gourmet family will make this mushroom goodness for you on behalf of me.
Love and Birth Blessings + Alis

This recipe is always loosely based on Mollie Katzen’s Macaroni and Cheese Casserole from the Moosewood Cookbook.

Ingredients

Pile of Mushrooms

Red Cabbage

Red Onions

Fresh Dill

Salt

Smoked Cheddar Cheese

Motzarella Cheese

Ricotta Cheese

Macaroni

Sunflower Seeds

White Wine

A la The Wiz, “…and the color is red”!  Red has been a mounting preoccupation with Seth for the last few weeks.  Red had been his second favorite color, but I think it has now moved to number one on his spectrum.  It all started at the construction table at school.  While the other kids were busy hammering in corks and connecting odd bits of nail and wood together with wire, Seth was studiously engrossed in red.  He got a hold of the red sharpie used for writing names on construction projects, and spent 45 minutes coloring “emergency cabins” for the boat he was constructing with Naomi.

A few days later he announced that he was going to give his vintage rusty milk truck, “a fresh new coat of shiny red paint”.  He went about the business of getting the paint and carefully detailing the quaint but decrepit vehicle.  I must say it does look much better, and the variations of paint mixed with rust are divine from a textural perspective.  After this initial truck sketch, he moved on to a more ambitious project that involved painting and construction.  Perhaps the process of painting and watching varigated red texture appear got his creative juices flowing.  The result was the “control center” for his “train”.  The control center involved meticulous painting, and well engineered placement of every last paint brush in leveled sand.  I overheard him tell guests, “not to touch the controls they are permanent” and chuckled at his serious demeanor.

I chuckled too soon, because things got really serious a week later.  Gramps and Mattie got new bedside tables and proclaimed their old castaways were “up for grabs”.  Seth inspected both tables and pointed to the smaller one announcing, “I know…we can paint it red”!  This called for real paint, so I got out the bottle of acrylic that I used for the fund raiser signs.  There were a few days between when the paint was located, and all the while Seth kept me on target, “When can I paint the table red?  Is tomorrow when I paint the table red?”  When the time came he was the consummate professional, setting out newspaper, digging up a smock and brush, fully taking control of that side table’s destiny.

It didn’t end there.  The next day there were doll pins to be painted, his fire shirt engine needed to be red, a chair from his art table was in dire need of a makeover, and one of the flower pots simply *had* to be red!  I can completely understand this love of color.  I have spent my entire life in love with one color or another.  I read so much meaning and emotion into colors that my rational mind is constantly threatening to disown my emotional mind.  That said, there is nothing more gratifying that bedecking an object in your favorite color.  So much joy will be gleaned from a glance at this red table and chairs, even if they only serve the banal purpose of fire desk and fire chair for Seth’s new fire station.

The other day Seth proudly told me, “Mommy I am the artist that paints in red”.  I swooned.  I mean come on art school mommies, you know the feeling, the moment when your child manifests vision and implements.  It is the moment when you see them gearing up to take the leap from concept play to considered project.  It’s the instant when the thousands of hours of whimsical process pay off and the meandering path becomes a true direction.

Perhaps I have more of a stake in the growth of an artful child than other parents.  Innately Seth is a man of mechanism.  I can live through 20 more years of engineering if there is the spark of color, the willingness to paint on the side, some vehicle for us to communicate parallel experience.  I am sure Seth will not be quite so extreme, but it is my deepest fear.  So, I meditate on this month of red, cultivating the hope that we can move through life sharing the indulgence of hue appreciation.

I used a recipe for lemon bread made with lemon verbena.  Seth added calendula petals to the batter and when you opened the cake you could see the petals baked in.  We put whipped cream cheese on as frosting and the petals stuck as the kids decorated their cakes.