Make new friends, but keep the old

I have a towel that came with me to college nearly 30 years ago. It's nothing special, but it's very serviceable and the color always went with my decor, so I kept it through moves and life changes.

The blue towel is still serviceable, but frayed at the edges. I keep it folded in thirds so you can't see the frayed threads as I simply can't bear to part with it. It still works and I like its slightly rough texture.

Man of the House and I are fairly prosperous and sometimes we laugh at how, despite the fact that we could easily go out and buy new towels, we still keep the old ones. But we have developed a relationship with some of the things in our lives and they feel like old friends.

My dear departed Uncle Frank gave me a toaster oven nearly 20 years ago. It still works, but it is obviously slowing down and the day is coming when I will have to get rid of it. But it will be the end of an era when it goes.

In the era of overabundance, I believe it is important to consume mindfully. And part of that mindful consumption is to have a tie to the objects in our lives, to treat them with a certain respect and not use them carelessly. It seems a little odd to say I have a relationship with my toaster oven and towel (along with other items), but they improve my life and I believe are deserving of a certain regard despite their inanimate status.

Walnuts!

I live in a fairly agricultural area, with fields mere minutes from La Casa. This area used to be known for its walnut groves and while walnuts are no longer commercially grown here, walnut trees still linger in backyards like mine.

In the summer, the walnut tree provides welcome shade and a convenient perch for my hammock chair. Come fall, it starts to shed its walnuts and the tree becomes the center of many critters' attention. Crows come from far and wide to nab nuts from its branches and a bratty squirrel pays us a visit and stocks up. It can get quite noisy in the mornings when everyone checks on the tree!

Luckily I've been able to gather a fair number of walnuts. The basil plant is starting to fail, so I may make pesto this week with the leaves from the basil and walnuts from the tree. I'll freeze the pesto and months from now, thaw it out and remember these early fall days and the squirrel romping around the yard, a nut in its mouth, while crows perch in the highest branches and call out to their comrades.

This is what makes it worth it

As the pasta water was boiling on the stove, I went outside into the garden. The recipe called for basil and cherry tomatoes and I had plenty of both. The evening was warm after a balmy, breezy day, and I lingered over the basil plant, selecting the best leaves for our dinner.

The recipe was simple: pasta with sausage, tomatoes, basil, a bit of garlic and red wine vinegar. But it tasted especially delicious with produce from my own little garden.

Summer into Fall

We didn't get much of a summer in Beach City this year. It was marginally better than last year, but still far too many gray days and not enough sunshine. We've slid right into fall and yesterday was downright wintry, overcast and chilly. I keep hoping that suddenly we'll get lovely clear early fall days and that'll make up for such a disappointing summer. My hopes haven't been realized yet.

Hope sprouts eternal

The summer veggie garden was, frankly, a disappointment. It was the biggest garden I had every cultivated and I amended the soil, planted at the right time, watered and weeded regularly. A few things flourished-- tomatoes and a mystery squash that turned out to be a pumpkin, but everything else was stunted or simply died in the ground.

I did learn alot and now I'm starting the winter garden with high hopes. It is in a different plot (luckily I have a big yard) and I planted a bunch of seeds in flats. There'll be arugula, beets, bok choy, broccoli, cabbage, carrots, cauliflower, chard, kale and lettuce. I'm hoping this will yield a better crop.

The best solution is the most beautiful

When I canned peaches last weekend, it took me a while to get the hang of getting the peach halves into the jars. The first jar I just plopped the peaches in haphazardly. Some faced outward, others hung at awkward angles. I couldn't fit very many peaches into a jar and it didn't look very attractive. (That's the jar that'll be opened first)

The next jar, I started to layer the peaches in, cut side down. They slid on top of one another, creating more space and a pretty pattern. By the last jar, I had become a pro, creating a lovely interlaced design and mazimizing the number of peaches that fit in each jar.

I was reminded of the mathematical axiom that the correct solution to a problem is also the most beautiful and elegant. There is an order and a pattern in the universe and it manifests itself everywhere, even in as humble a setting as a jar of peaches.

Can do attitude

I've always been intrigued by canning. I would linger by the prize winning canned good entries at the county fair, admiring the jewel tones of the jams and the neat stalks of canned green beans.

Yet I was afraid to try it for myself. I was terrified I would poison myself. About ten years ago I went so far as to buy a canning kit, complete with jars, jar lifter and funnel. I stowed the box in the hall closet and resolved to give it a try.

Then the local grocery store had jars half off and I cannot resist a bargain. I loaded up on a dozen each of half pint, pint and quart jars. I bought some pectin and at the next farmers' market I bought a few pounds of apricots. I came home and made four jars of heavenly apricot jam. It was alot of effort and I didn't save any money, but oh, how proud I was when I surveyed my wares!

Since then I've canned salsa, peaches, more jams of various varieties and then, in a fit of insanity, I went to a local pick your own farm during their annual Pick Your Own Romas (I call it Romapalooza) and within 90 minutes had picked 62 lbs of Romas. I spent two days making red sauce, canning whole tomatoes and even spent four hours and 10 lbs of tomatoes making a grand total of 12 ozs of tomato paste. I even dreamed of killer tomatoes one night.

My hoard is now kept on a shelf in the hall closet. I take a peek from time to time, gloating over my treasure. When Man of the House took a precious jar of red sauce to whip up an ordinary weeknight batch of spaghetti, I nearly wept. The remaining two jars are now being saved for special occasions when we have guests. I dole out jars of jam to particularly dear friends, enticing them to return the empties for more jam. I am also evangelizing canning, sharing my supplies with anyone who shows an interest.

A great resource for getting started with canning is http://pickyourown.org/ They have lots of great recipes, tips on canning and preserving produce and lists of pick your own farms.

Home/life

"Is there any special reason why you've become such a domestic goddess all of a sudden?" Man of the House asked as I stood stirring a pot of peach jam. I've been on a knitting, cooking, canning and gardening bender this summer, the likes of which I have never experienced.

I can't recall the answer I gave, it must have been something jokey, but the question stuck with me and I pondered it for a while. I came up with two answers.

Last month, I was given a new position at the company I have worked at the past 13 years. It's a great fit for my analytical brain, but it took me away from the actual handling of product. I went into apparel to make things, to shape something, to see it start out one way and end up another. Now I spend my days analyzing customer spending and satisfaction trends. It is deeply satisfying to the part of my brain that likes to figure things out, but the tactile part of my brain feels ignored.

So I come home and cook and garden and preserve and knit. At the end of a session in mi casa, I have something tangible-- a yummy meal, a row of jars filled with a taste of summer, vigorous little seedlings pushing up toward the sun, a knit cap that'll go to a soldier facing another winter in Afghanistan.

And as the outside news grows bleaker, it is a joy to come home, close the door, and create a serene world where I return to the crafts of an earlier time. My Grandma put up preserves for the winter, my Nana fed her family with simple yet divinely delicious meals, the elderly next door neighbor of my childhood knit socks for sailors in WWI. I reach back to these women and many other of my foremothers and feel the loving warmth of their wisdom and value of the traditional ways. That helps fortify me to return to the stresses and strains of every day life.