Hats

It wasn't Easter, but the little girls paraded in new hats last week.  The pictures make me happy.  I hope they work that way for you!

Jordann's saucy cloche had us humming Charleston.

Skye's crocheted beret suited her smile.

                                                             And Maddie charmed us all with her jaunty plaid cap.


                                                                                                            

Cousin Tea Party

Instead of two for tea, there were three this weekend as Maddie, Skye, and Jordann asked to have a tea party.  No pretend tea this time.  We took down the tea pot, heated the electric kettle, and brewed afternoon tea.  What fun the cousins had together.  I love the sights and sounds of little girls! 

It's Good to Be Back

We broke alot of records recently in Texas. June, July, August and right into September found us with the most days without rain, the most days of temperatures over 100, the most damaging wildfires, the highest water and electricity bills, and the least happy roses, among other plants and grasses. In an effort to be a better steward of the water we are blessed with, I started saving water that I had used to wash vegetables and collected the bits of leftover water from drinking and cooking to take out to the plants. I even took the iced tea pitcher out to water the ferns with leftover tea, something I remember my grandmother doing.

 Cooler mornings and more reasonable, if still hot days in the past week are bringing some old friends fresh growth and a few tentative blooms.  Our pink  Peggy Martin, the antique rose with the reputation of being a survivor of Katrina has a few small clusters of buds.  This less hardy climbing rose is named Crepescule, an old French old rose.  Its name is not so pretty, but the blooms that are beginning are lovely and fragrant, reminding me once more why all the work and watering is worth it, and that we all need a little more nurturing in drought, whether it is of the weather or the heart.

Headed for Fall, Remembering Summer

At the beginning of the summer, when the herb and vegetable garden was producing plenty to pick every day, Maddie and Skye loved helping with the harvest.  One day they asked if they could have a farm stand in the front yard.  They had the sign all ready to go:  Tomatoes were 50 cents each, bunches of Basil were advertised at 10 cents, and mint for 2 cents per handful.  Peppers were 30 cents, and underneath the large "OPEN and SALE!"   lettering was the enticing "1 Free Water with each purchase!"

A couple of neighbors helpfully shopped from their market, and they happily counted their proceeds as they chattered about how much more fun that was than a lemonade stand.

Now, at summer's end, I think about our long hot Texas summer with record breaking drought and am thankful we had those weeks of bounty before the garden said "no more."  I pick up the sun hats they wore that afternoon, and move the little round table to a spot until they are ready to use it for another project.  And as grandmothers do, I carefully put the sign in a good place for keeping. 

Rescued

In 1982, our family lived for a time in a three story Victorian house with halls and nooks and crannies as well as rooms that swallowed the furniture we brought with us when we moved from a suburban home back to the small town where both Joe and I grew up.  Living there and working on the home's restoration was both fascinating and flabbergasting.  Part of the hard work and happy times we had there was giving myself an occasional afternoon for prowling in second hand and junk shops for pieces to restore and use in the house.  One day I found this rocker stuck in the middle of a pile of discarded tables and chairs.  The fanciful curlicues and swirls drew me to look closer at the wicker weaving on the back of the chair but when I looked down I saw straight through.  There was no seat, only some tattered strips of rotting burlap hanging to the frame by the tenacity of dozens of tiny rusted nails.  A few pieces of trim curls were missing, the color was best described as dirty, and mud dauber nests clung to the underside of the arms. I believe the shop owner laughed as he watched me load the chair into my truck as he stuffed the $20 bill he had required as payment into his pocket!

My youngest son, Ben, was game to help me pry out over 200 nails from the seat of the chair and scrub it down to get rid of the insect homes and cobwebs. I had never done caning, but   I ordered a piece of cane webbing, spline, chisels and glue which cost more than the chair had.  We soaked the webbing,  pounded the spline into the groove of the shaped seat and watched in amazement as it all dried and began to tighten to make a new seat.  We got more white paint on us than on the chair, but began to feel a sense of pride as this beautiful Victorian rocker emerged to take its place in our new old home.  When I rock a grandchild in it or tuck a pillow in its seat, I still have a sense of all the stories it could tell me.  One story would be that of a rescue.

                                                        

Squash Baby

Sometimes a vegetable hides under its foliage until it is beyond edible.  Jordann found this yellow squash  and obviously loves it, warts and all!  Seeing her cradle it reminds me of a zucchini I displayed in the same fashion a few years ago.  I come from a long line of farmers. When I was Jordann's age, we often used surplus cucumbers and squash from the garden to make a menagerie of animals with toothpick legs and button eyes.  I still create with these fresh treats, but now it is in the kitchen. Today's produce prices at the supermarket are making me expand my list of vegetables to grow in the coming season.  Tomatoes are in and finally beginning to grow as temperatures come down from triple digits.  Soon we will plant collards, swiss chard, and bok choy which winter well here. When possible I find heirloom seeds and plants to use.  I am thankful for my garden, and I delight in seeing my children and grandchildren becoming gardeners, too.

Feeling Real

Summer 2011 may be the time I remember as the hottest and driest on record in South Texas, but it will also be one more time in my life when I am reminded that I am real. Joe has had his 12th knee surgery . It is hard to see him in so much pain and for so long. Two hospitalizations, surgery, medical appointments and all the in betweens has been exhausting for him, and challenging as I care for him. His faith and courage and spirit persist and inspire me, but I know he is worn out. Today, Skye has been here with her quick smile, tight hugs and good company. She was looking at a picture of herself that is on my kitchen desk that shows her at three, thanking God for her bowl of chicken soup. As we talked, I thought to myself that of all the things I enjoy doing and being with her, one of the best is conversation. Listening to each other. She helps me know I am real. She helps Joe remember that he is, too.

“Real isn't how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real. It doesn't happen all at once...it takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily or have sharp edges or have to be carefully kept. Generally by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But those things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to the people who don't understand.”

~ from The Velveteen Rabbit, by Marjorie Williams (one of our all time favorite children's books)

For Love of a Sunday

The Terrell home place rested at the top of a hill, accessible only by forked red dirt roads lined with wild blackberries and purple phlox. On Sunday afternoons after church we took a ride out to the country to visit. On the way, we watched for flashes of color in the woods, and sang “Red Bird, Red Bird, in my sight! Hope we get to Grandma's before it gets night!”



As we drove up one side of the entrance to where the iron rich clay ended in sand under an ancient oak tree, I felt I could not get there fast enough, loving the first sight of the white house with its sagging swing on the front porch and sprawling, fragrant yellow rose at the front window. But we always went on to the back, leaving the car to walk past the well and beds of Old Maids and Marigolds. I adored my Grandma's bosomy, talcum-scented embrace and Papa's toothless laugh. As he threw open the screen door, we went straight to the kitchen, sniffing baking cookies. These were pillowy tea cakes, redolent of vanilla and cinnamon. We ate them warm, often with a red watermelon, cut in half so we could dig with our spoons for bites, never minding the juice running down our chins.



In the wide front hall, my sister and I sat cross-legged to play jacks on blue linoleum with white stars. Sometimes, we were allowed to go into musty darkened rooms where my great grandmother had lived before she died. This area held shelves with jars of fruit and vegetables my grandmother put up, a trunk full of quilts, stacks of books, a tiny wicker rocking chair, an oval frame holding a portrait of an uncle who died when he was 13, a spinning wheel. Treasures.



I wanted to keep it all.



But Sunday afternoons changed.



I left for school, then marriage. Papa died. Grandma broke up house and moved to a tiny apartment in town. The house burned to the ground. I found a melted door knob to save.



The only smell was smoke.

A Celebration

I am celebrating a 5th anniversary!  Not a wedding anniverary (that will be number 48 this year).  This is a celebration of sight. Five years ago I had two cornea transplants that changed my vision and my life forever.  In late 2005, I was diagnosed with a degenerative corneal disease, Fuch's Corneal Dystrophy. Changes came quickly.  Within a few months, my vision became so poor that I was advised to have transplant surgery on both eyes.  In May 2006, I received the gift of a donor cornea for my left eye.  Two months later, the procedure was repeated for my right eye.  I recovered quickly from both surgeries, and receive follow up exams and testing every 6 months.

 Yesterday was one of those medical appointments. Afterward,  I drove myself to another appointment, read a book while I was waiting there, joined the heavy freeway traffic on my way home, and picked up my mail to read when I got there.  I saw a hummingbird at the feeder by my kitchen window while I was preparing our dinner.  I finished blogging for my other two blogs http://www.stonesandfeathers.wordpress.com/ and  http://www.kitchenkeepers.blogspot.com/.  I read the thermometer when I took my husband's temperature.  Every single one of the things I just wrote about was possible because of two donor families who said yes to organ donation.  Because of 2 complete strangers and their families, the skill of a dedicated doctor, and Grace, I can see.
Yes, I am celebrating!  I am thankful.

These words are dedicated to awareness of organ donation and to vision research.

Glimmers from the Past

I was recently asked what country or regions my birth family came from.  I have some answers and alot of blanks!

I only wish had early known the questions I now have and asked them while those who might have answered were still alive! There are, however, glimmers from the past, and some apparently accurate passing down of ancestral origin. I was born to Opal Terrell Teal and Howard Teal in Tyler, Texas in 1940. My father's mother, Ida Mayfield Teal,  took care of her parents until their death, and only then married, "late in life" was the phrase I always heard. My father, the oldest of 4 children was born when she was 41. I know very little about her background save that she drilled a hole in a memorial coin (given to her father William Mayfield in the Spanish-American war) put the coin on a string for her babies to teeth on! Her husband, my paternal grandfather was a stout man, deaf as a post, red faced and according to family story, Irish, and Protestant.


The information about my maternal grandparents is definitely more detailed and full of stories. I have an ancestral chart which shows my maternal grandfather's maternal line back to the Mayflower and beyond to England and Scotland. I have heard many stories about my Methodist Great Grandfather, John Wesley Terrell. He was an East Texas farmer with a large family, but he was known for generosity.

My maternal grandmother was born to Ernestine Matilde Augier Curley, who was born in Marseilles, France, and  immigrated from southern France with her parents, Bienvenue Pascal Augier and wife Clara Orthinet to a southern Parish in Louisiana when she was a child. Their Catholic past is evident from a small holy water font that was passed down and currently rests in my china cabinet. Just yesterday I was sorting through the stacks of family papers and memorabilia. I can only do this in intervals, a little at a time. Partly because I feel a deep connection to all these letters and kept things and feel a heaviness of decision making as I sift through. I think "if my grandmother and my great grandmother kept these things, who am I to decide they are or are not worth keeping?" I am approaching my 71st birthday and have been avoiding all these boxes and stacks for one reason or another for far too long. I need to organize, pass on what is meaningful, and store in the most efficient way what needs to be kept for the time being. But lest I sound resentful, let me say there is great honor in being the designated keeper of these things, and there is story in nearly everything I touch. Yesterday I unfolded a long piece of delicate handmade lace from the box I marked "Great Grandmother Curley's Things" many years ago. It was probably used as a covering for a library table or dresser. I haven't yet made myself put it away. Touching it evokes a world of question. Did she make this lace, or did her own mother, who would have been my French great great grandmother? As I think these thoughts, I know I will wait until my granddaughters are here so that I can show it to them. Think about it....holding something that your great great great grandmother loved and used.

When they are ready, I will tell how this grandmother lived through a traumatic period in her adopted country's history: the Civil War, Reconstruction, the Spanish-American War, World War 1, and Hitler's invasion of Europe. How during this time, she birthed 10 children by 2 husbands, neither of whom lived to see all their children born. A story is told that her second husband, James Curley, (my great grandfather) was later found to be a fugitive from justice, but no word of what he had done to claim that status. They were married only 5 years, but 3 babies were born during that time, including twins one of whom was still born. My grandmother, Mary Clyde Curley Terrell, was born shortly after his death. When Grandma Curley could no longer live alone, she lived with my grandmother and her family, but she was present at the birth of every grandchild.  With 10 children, that is alot of grandchildren!

"Grandma, I look at your picture. You look so stern and strong. I know that you loved to crochet and do fine needlework because I have boxes of intricately patterned crochet and lace pieces that you used for "go-bys". Even though you died when I was 3 months old, I was told that you rocked me and held me and loved me.  I see in my own granddaughters some of your independence and ability to endure. You modeled faith and faithfulness. They have a deeply rich legacy."

I am indebted to my cousin, Jane Hill Pirtle, for much of the information here. She included this in a story about her own grandmothers published in Filtered Images, women Remembering Their Grandmothers.

Moon Flowers and Morning Glories

These fat Moon Flower buds stay tightly furled in our daytime triple digit heat but when the sun sinks low, they begin their slow revelation of white tissue petals and yellow star centers.  Growing on the same trellis, Morning Glories begin their deep purple  show just as the Moon Flowers are folding up again.  Here, I stand on the outside of my kitchen window to catch their image.  But when I am inside, standing at the kitchen sink, I marvel at the vines and their ever changing art at my window.  I think that is why they call it a window frame.

Last night Joe and I were invited by our youngest son, Ben, to share a meal with him and his wife Kristen in their new home. Ben promised to make us one of Kristen's favorite dishes, Leek and Two Cheese Quiche. We brought some homemade gazpacho and an arugula salad. The table was set beautifully, with wedding goblets and a huge bunch of basil from their garden. Just as I was thinking how special they had made our evening, one more realization gave me a smile as well as a tear.


As I picked up my spoon, I recognized a piece of vintage silverplate. Not a fancy pattern, but simple, beautiful, and achingly familiar. We didn't have a lot of fancy kitchenware when I was growing up – no matching pots and pans, no crystal, mostly mismatched plates and bowls and glasses,stainless flatware, miscellaneous plastic and wood handled spoons and serving items. The knives and forks and spoons we used for every day meals were in a shallow drawer on one side of the short kitchen counter. But the spoon I held in my hand was kept with a matched set. This was my mother's silverplate, the pieces she kept in a box she had painted light green to match her kitchen at one point. She had a set of butter yellow china that she kept on a high cabinet shelf. The silverware box sat by itself at the end of the counter. This flatware she pulled out for use for special or holiday meals, or when we had company.

When my mother sold her small house to move into a still smaller apartment, she gave many things to my sister and me, and to her grandchildren, who call her Nana.

She gave Ben the green box. In the years to come he kept the box and its contents on his own kitchen counter. He made Sunday after-church dinners and a Mothers' Day lunch to which Nana was invited.  She noticed his use of her silverware, and bragged on his cooking.  Now, he and Kristen have given the delicately traced knives and forks and spoons a place of honor in a drawer of their beautiful china cabinet. I felt Nana nodding and saw her smile last night as we began to fork bites of Ben's delicious pastry. I know she approved. Her spirit and her spoons continue to bless the gathering of family.

Jacksonville,Texas: The Tomato Capitol of the World

Joe and I both grew up in Jacksonville, Texas.  Recently a number of facebook threads of conversations as well as a website have provided pictures of years past in our hometown.  I like this picture because it shows a line of women packing tomatoes in the tomato sheds for which Jacksonville was famous.  My mother, Opal Terrell Teal, worked packing tomatoes in the 1930's.  The picture is not of her, but I can see her, discarding imperfect tomatoes as "culls", which were sold at reduced prices, and wrapping the select tomatoes in tissue paper as the conveyor belt rolled them down the line in boxes to be shipped.
http://www.tomatocapital.com/photos/packingtomatoes.php

Imagination

My younger granddaughters know what they want to do when they come to visit.  The dressup basket is always the first stop after I claim my hello hugs and kisses.  On a recent visit, Maddie modeled glamor with one of my old skirts, a garden hat, sunglasses, and glittery purple ribbon,picking this outfit out of all the scarves, jewelry, tutus, aprons, and yards of fabric in the basket. Skye and Jordann joined in the fun as they modeled for us with a fashion show. I love watching them choose and create and pretend.  There are so many toys and games to choose from in the market today.  Many of them are fine choices, educational, and challenging.  But too many of them offer children little choice, squelching imagination in an electronic stupor.

  Maddie, and Skye, and Jordann, keep on creating!  Here's to your imagination!

Red, White, and Blue

We celebrated with a Fourth of July breakfast this morning.  A Dutch Baby (puffed pancake) with blueberries, rasperries, and strawberries.  We enjoy a variety of pancakes of various origins, but this may just be voted family favorite.  Nearly 25 years ago, our friends Bob and Dorothy Thomas made this.  Once I tasted it, I hastily scribbled the bones of the recipe on a torn piece of paper, which is still the one I pull out when I get ready to make it.  Even though I know the simple ingredients and preparation by heart, I like to connect with the memories by handling this tattered little note. It may be simple, but because it rises and puffs and is always beautiful with any assortment of fresh fruit, it is a great way to make guests feel special, whether served at breakfast, brunch, or a lovely dinner dessert.

                                                                  1/3 cup butter
                                                                   4 eggs
                                                                   1 cup milk
                                                                   1 cup flour

Begin heating oven to 425 degrees.  Put butter into an 8 inch round iron skillet and place in oven.  While butter is melting, put eggs, milk, and flour into blender jar and mix throughly.  Take hot skillet out of oven and pour batter directly into melted butter.  Do not stir.  Place back into oven for about 20 minutes, or until puffed and browned.  I cut it into fourths and top with fresh berries or peaches and sprinkle lightly with powdered sugar.  If you wish, add a dollop if whipped cream.  Garnish with a sprig of mint.
Optional:  Add vanilla or a dash of nutmeg for flavor.  We like it plain.

Together, Alone

I enjoy participating in an online reading group.  We take turns leading a book each month.  For July, I am moderating discussion questions for this book.  I bought the book and Susan signed it at a Story Circle Network conference in Austin shortly after it was published.  During my second reading, Together, Alone draws me once again to examine the power of place in my own story.

The Eggplant Chronicles

  I have always enjoyed foraging - looking for what looks good whether it is in my pantry or available fresh vegetables and herbs, then planning meals around that.  I believe cooking for two or ten is an art project in which I create the healthiest and most appealing foods. Our weekly share of CSA produce delivered from an organic farm an hour north of Houston has changed my habits of planning meals.  Since I don't know what I am going to bring home until I get it (a little like looking in your Christmas stocking) I wait until then to plan the next week's food fare. I love the fresh vegetables, but it can be challenging to provide variety. 

We have received alot of onions, tomatoes, squash, and eggplant. I made Eggplant Parmesan.   I made a huge dish of classic French ratatouille with fresh basil and thyme for Father's Day weekend.  As I checked out recipes online, I realized there was a similar dish in many cultures, particularly Mediterranean.  There are slight variations. Spanish Pisto is served with a fried egg on top.  The Greek dish Briam contains white wine and is seasoned with mint and basil and dill.  Turkish Torlu  is sweet and savory with potatoes and chickpeas and has cinnamon and cilantro as well.  Alboronia (Andalusia) has paprika and vinegar. Samfaina, from Catalonia calls for the vegetables to be chopped fine and caramelized.   There was a recipe for Soufiko (from the Greek Island Ikaria).  But  they all contain eggplant.  I think I have alot of new dishes to try. 

I still enjoy foraging, this time for recipes, and their stories.

A Week with Maddie

My granddaughter, Madelyn, has been here for over a week.  She loves to cook as much as I do, so we have baked cupcakes, made Amish Friendship Bread, mixed up egg salad for a picnic, used the vegetable spiraler on zucchini and cucumbers, and enjoyed making Papa's dinner.  That doesn't mean she didn't have time to catch tadpoles, pick dozens of bouquets, raid the dressup basket for fashion shows with her cousin Skye, cut herbs, and harvest every tomato, okra, and cucumber that wasn't hiding under a leaf.  This list hardly begins to tell all the fun we had.  One morning when she woke up and ran in to give me a hug, she asked what I was writing.  I showed her the little journal and told her every morning I write down 5 things I am thankful for.  She wanted me to read her what I had been writing all week. Every day had her name written...Maddies' songs, Maddie's smile, snuggling with Maddie, reading with Maddie, Maddie's prayers.  She took the pen and asked if she could write something in the Gratitude Book and asked me for a little help with spelling.  When she gave it back to me, I read  I  AM  THANKFUL  FOR  GRANMARY. I don't know if she will always remember this week, but I know that I will.  Thank you God for Maddie!

8 Ball Squash

I was only recently introduced to a new vegetable.  I have been eating different kinds of squash all my life, but who knew there was a zucchini called 8 Ball?  Named for its perfectly round shape, this squash can of course be cooked like any of the other summer squash.  However, it is beautifully designed to be stuffed.  I admit this is a little more trouble than slicing and steaming.  But the results were pretty enough to photograph, and tasty enough to write down the recipe.  I took a short cut by purchasing a frozen risotto with asparagus and mushrooms from the local supermarket, but it would be even better with a rice mixture made from scratch.
The old idiom "behind the 8 Ball" definitely does not apply to this dish!

                                                        Stuffed 8 Ball Squash

2 Medium to large 8 Ball Zucchini
1 package frozen risotto mix (I used Asparagus and Mushroom risotto from HEB)
1/4 cup toasted pine nuts
1/2 cup sliced Kalimata olives
1/3 cup grated Parmesan
1 Tablespoon butter

Slice off tops of squash, scoop out centers, but do not discard.  Melt butter in saute pan, add mashed up squash centers.  Cook, stirring to break up the squash, for 3 minutes.  Add risotto mix, nuts and olives, and stir to mix. Add parmesan, mix, and stuff squash shells, pressing down then mounding stuffing slightly.  If desired, use the squash tops which were trimmed off  to perch on top like little hats.

Note:  Instead of the prepared risotto mixture, use cooked rice to which you can add grated cheese, raisins, chopped green onion, herbs, and nuts.

Congratulations to Lauren

Our oldest granddaughter graduated from high school a few days ago.  One of my gifts to her is a book of pictures we gathered in a photo session in our back yard.  As she went from porch to path to pond and I stopped to receive images of her, I was taken back to times when her running, skipping, dancing feet took her home from first grade to an after school snack in my kitchen.  Blessings for the path that lies ahead, Lauren! 

Homegrown Flavors

In spite of the severe draught in Texas this spring, we are managing to harvest an abundance of tomatoes, peppers, and herbs.  Even if  I didn't cook with them, they make a beautiful still life, and are as pretty as a bouquet of  cut flowers to sit on the kitchen counter.  My current favorites are Gypsy peppers and Cherokee Purple tomatoes but I use herbs in almost everything I cook.  I love the several varieties of basil for pestos, and adding brightness to the flavor of pasta sauces, soups, and roasted meats.  Rosemary is the herb known for remembrance, so I won't forget all the ways I use it, too. Herbs thrive in our hot summers if we don't over water them, and that is certainly not a problem this year. We have plenty of different mints, too, and give cuttings to anyone who will take them.  A sprig of mint in iced tea, or as a smoothie ingredient is refreshing.  A delicious way to include mint is in a the following recipe..

                                             Citrus Salad with Mint Sugar

• 3 grapefruits
• 4-5 large navel oranges

• 1/2 cup fresh mint leaves
• 1/4 cup sugar

Cut peel and white pith from grapefruits and oranges. Cut between membranes to release segments. Combine fruit in large shallow bowl. (Fruit can be segmented 1 day ahead. Cover and refrigerate.)

Place mint and sugar in processor. Using on/off turns, blend until mint is finely chopped, occasionally scraping down sides of bowl. Sprinkle mint sugar over fruit; serve. (adapted from an Epicurious.com recipe)

Focus on Foccacia

The previous posts clearly show I like making bread and my family likes eating it.  Without thinking twice, I can tell you the all time favorite any of us would name.  Years ago I found a recipe for Focaccia Bread in a Southern Living magazine which was attributed to Eva Royal from Evening Shade, Arkansas.  I have used her recipe with success, changing size of loaf and what I put on top of it according to how I will use the bread and which herbs are currently flourishing in the garden.  We love the taste of sundried tomatoes, so I add more, plus garlic and Kalamata olives.  I also occasionally use whole wheat flour for part of the flour requested.

 Foccacia is kin to pizza, with almost as many ways to dress up. The main differences are toppings and the thickness of the dough.  Traditionally, once the dough has risen and been punched down, it is shaped and dotted with  indentations that catch olive oil and salt as they are drizzled on before baking.  These little reservoirs are wonderful catchments for chopped fresh basil and rosemary or oregano and chives plus a generous addition of kalamata olives. The fresh herbs contribute texture and delicious flavor and fragrance.

My daughter in law Kristen helped me make dozens of dinner roll size loaves for a family celebration last year.  We have made them into sandwich buns which can also be stuffed with fillings.  But most often, we make two rustic rounds that disappear very quickly.  You will love it, too.

10 pieces of sundried tomato (1/2 cup or more, according to your taste)
1/2 cup boiling water
1 cup milk
2 Tablespoons butter
31/2 to 4 cups bread flour, divided
2 packages active dry yeast
2 Tablespoons sugar
2 teaspoons salt
1 large egg
1/2 cup chopped fresh chives
4 cloves chopped garlic
1/4 cup olive oil
1/3 cup shredded fresh basil
1-2 Tablespoons chopped rosemary, stems discarded
1/2 cup Kalamata olives, roughly chopped
optional:  1 Tablespoon chopped fresh oregano. 
(if you don't have fresh herbs, remember that 1 teaspoon dried herbs can be used to 1 Tablespoon fresh)

Add tomatoes to boiling water in small pan and let stand for 30 minutes.  Drain, reserving liquid.  Finely chop tomatoes and set aside.  Stir milk and butter into reserved liquid and heat until temperature reaches 120 to 130 degrees.

Combine 11/2 cups of the flour with yeast, sugar and salt in a large bowl.  Gradually add liquid mixture, beating at low speed with electric mixer.  add egg, beat 3 minutes, stir in tomatoes, garlic, chives, and enough of the remaining flour to make a soft dough.

Turn dough out onto a floured surface and knead for 5 minutes.  Put dough into a well greased bowl, turn to grease top.  Cover and let rise in a warm place free from drafts for 2 hour or until doubled in size.

Combine herbs and olive oil in small dish.   Punch dough down.  For round loaves, divide in half and shape each into a 10 inch round.  For sandwich buns, divide into 12 balls, and shape into 3 inch rounds.  Place on ligtly greased baking sheets; flatten slightly, curving fingers to poke little wells into the dough.  Brush with half of the herbs and oil, sprinkle olives,  cover, and let rest for 10 minutes.  Bake at 350 for 15 minutes, brush with remaining herbs and oil and bake an additional 5 to 10 minutes or until lightly browned and the loaf sounds hollow when tapped.  Cool on wire racks.

This has never lasted long enough for me to photograph!

Good Eats

I am not just borrowing from Alton Brown's Food Network TV show title...the kale, onions, broccoli, squash, turnips, and broccoli arrived on my kitchen counter this week after I picked up my CSA (community sustainable agriculture) share from Home Sweet Farms in Brenham, Texas.  Along with tomatoes and herbs from my current garden production, we indeed have good eats.  So far I have made a roasted beet and swiss chard salad,  roasted the turnips and cooked a medley of squash and onions. Tonight we will have Zuppa Toscano using the kale and more onions along with spicy Italian sausage and  potatoes. This recipe is modeled after Olive Garden's tasty soup by that name.

                                         ZUPPA TOSCANA



1 lb ground Italian sausage (we like hot and spicy, but you may use mild)

1½ tsp crushed red peppers

1 large diced white onion

4 tbsp bacon pieces

2 tsp minced garlic
10 cups water

5 cubes of chicken bouillon

1 cup heavy cream

1 lb sliced small red potatoes

several leaves of kale...more if you like


Brown Italian sausage and crushed red pepper in soup pot, drain and refrigerate. In the same pan, sautee bacon, onions and garlic for approxiamtly 15 mins. or until the onions are soft. Mix the chicken bouillon and water, then add it to the onions, bacon and garlic, bringing to a boil. Add potatoes and cook until fork tender. Add cream and heat through. Stir in the sausage and kale to heat.

Buon Appetito!
                      

Baking Bread

I love making bread from scratch. The kneading and punching are therapeutic, and the results are always gratifying.  The family favorite, Focaccia, with its dimpled surface brushed with olive oil and sprinkled with sea salt, olives, and fresh herbs from the garden might get made 2 or 3 times a year .  A few months ago, a gift from Jeremy and Michala arrived:  a shiny white bread machine that takes all my time honored ingredients and literally gives them a new twist.  I will still bake bread the old fashioned way occasionally to keep my kneading knack, but this is really fun!  I have not purchased bread at the grocery store since I tried it the first time!  Part of the fun is picking which bread to make next.  I have made Banana Oatmeal Bread, Honey Wheat, Egg Bread, and am working my way down the list of rye breads.  So far, we vote Russian Black Bread and Black Forest Pumpernickle our favorites, but Dill Rye and Sauerkraut Rye were delicious, too. I made a sweet bread with mangoes and one with flaxseed.  It is amazing to pop the ingredients in, get it started and wait for the tantalizing smell of homemade bread to fill the kitchen.  Nutritious ingredients, no preservatives, and endless variety.  I have shared my kitchen with alot of appliances that have only occasional use, but this is one that keeps its place on the counter.

Harvesting Bok Choy

Maddie and Jordann hunted Easter Eggs this weekend, but they also helped their Dad harvest the late Bok Choy crop in our garden.  Now I am hunting recipes to add to our family favorite, Bok Choy salad tossed with sunflower seeds, almonds, and toasted Ramen noodles drizzled with a spicy soy vinaigrette.  This is not a vegetable that freezes well, so we will share some as well as having stir fry and trying bok choy kim chee.

This year, the girls have their own vegetable and herb garden at their house so stay tuned for more "girls in the garden" pictures.

Palette of Tomatoes

A favorite gardening project, growing tomatoes has taken wings the last couple of years.  Not only are we growing more tomatoes, but most of them are heirloom varieties.  I am intrigued with being part of  sharing history and story.  Heirloom vegetables are grown from seeds passed down by many generations in a family and shared.  Last year, our family voted one heirloom our all time favorite.  It is one of the very first known "black", or deep dusky rose colored tomatoes, and is called Cherokee Purple. It was named in 1990 by. Craig LeHoullier  , who received seeds of an unnamed cultivar in the mail from J. D. Green of Tennessee. Mr. Green indicated that the "purple" tomato  was given by the Cherokee Indians to his neighbor "100 years ago".

We love the color and taste of this tomato, and enjoy thinking about others who have liked it enough for over 100 years to share it with others and save the seeds.  We have at least 2 dozen tomato plants.  Some of the other heirlooms are named Black Plum, Brown Berry, and Purple Russian.  Did I hear you say you thought tomatoes were red?

Invitation

I read in home and garden magazines about creating different spaces in the garden that are like different rooms.  Our garden has a variety of plants and paths that lead to herbs and vegetables, roses and fruit trees, flowers and vines.  Then there are what we call our "sitting spots".  A small table and chair, benches, stone walls, and tucked into the shady background here, child size chairs with cushions for the little girls who call us Papa Joe and Granmary...our invitation to come sit awhile.  There is so much rushing about and working to mark the next thing off a list.  The sitting spots call us to just be, doing nothing but breathing a prayer of gratitude for garden beauty.

In Love with Lavender

 Spring cleaning has not happened yet inside my home, but we have been hard at work Spring Cleaning the garden.  Pruning, wood-chipping, composting, tilling, mulching, cleaning out all the debris left in winter's wake and making room for new growth has resulted in sore knees, aching backs and glad welcome for the return of a palette of greens and rainbow colors.  As we put in fresh herbs, we picked plants for flavor, color and fragrance.  I learn more and more about herbs, and use them many more places than my kitchen herb bed.  We plant several different kinds of lavender for foliage and fragrance, as well as their lovely stalks of bloom.  There is English, Spanish, and French lavender, Godwin's Creek lavender, and Fern-leaf lavender.  I have a number of recipes which use lavender. We use it to make potpourri, and have made salves and tea.  Our few plants bring us joy, but on my list for "someday" is a visit to the lavender farms in the Texas Hill country.  If you are traveling near there in the next few months, be sure to visit and tell me all about it.  The Unlikely Lavender Queen:  A Memoir of Unexpected Blossoming, would be perfect reading for your trip!
                                                
                                                 http://www.blancolavenderfest.com/

Texas Bluebonnets

One of the most beloved gifts the month of March brings to Texans is the lavish spread of bluebonnets along the sides of highways and neighborhood roads. As historian Jack Maguire so aptly wrote, "It's not only the state flower but also a kind of floral trademark almost as well known to outsiders as cowboy boots and the Stetson hat." He goes on to affirm that "The bluebonnet is to Texas what the shamrock is to Ireland, the cherry blossom to Japan, the lily to France, the rose to England and the tulip to Holland."

Although seeds have been taken to grow in other places, the two predominant species of bluebonnets are found growing naturally only in Texas and at no other location in the world. When I was growing up in East Texas, we watched for the first bluebonnets, usually accompanied by other Texas wildflower color, especially the complimenting colors of Indian Paintbrush and Crimson Clover.

I don't have a Stetson, can't ride a horse, and cowboy boots make my feet hurt. But I am glad to be a Texan, and love bluebonnets as much as the lady bugs on these I photographed just down the road.

In Gratitude

March 25, 2011: The redbuds are blooming, and I am remembering a grandmother's birthday. She has been physically gone from me for 34 years, but she is part of me and will always live in my heart and in the way I live my life. Mary Clyde Curley Terrell was born on this date in 1887 and lived until just weeks short of her 90th birthday. She loved me lavishly, taught me much of what I know about taking care of home and family, the gifts of hospitality and gardening. Her faith in God never waivered, throughout years of growing sons and a daughter (my mother), during which she endured the tragic death of her first son at age 13, loosing home and household to a fire, working ceaselessly as a farmer's wife to "make do". She never drove a car, did not have indoor plumbing until she had to move from her home to a small apartment when she was in her 80's. But she knew how to spread her table with a white cloth and gather flowers in a jar and make fried chicken Sunday dinners for her preacher and our family. She made patchwork and crazy quilts from clothing scraps that are still kept and passed on. She knew how to give a skinny litle girl good night kisses and tuck her into a feather bed. She made tea cakes and cornbread and chow chow. Near the end of her life on earth, sharing a room in a small nursing home, she saved her morning snack cookies and wrapped them in a napkin so she would have something to offer me when I came to see her. I saw the face of God in her face and felt His hands in hers. Thank you, Grandma. I am your namesake. You do live on, not just in me and in my sons, but in their children. I see the Redbud trees and greet another Spring, a precious reminder of ongoing life.

Grace Upon Grace

When family and friends gather in our home for a meal, we hold hands and say grace. My earliest memories include my Daddy’s quickly murmured prayer of thanks. My grandfather could hardly be understood the words ran together so fast. I cannot remember the exact words used, but I remember their bowed heads and their humility, and their gratitude for simple food. I do remember the words were the same every time, spoken with a cadence I did not hear in their voices at other times. Through all the years of my own marriage and family, in many different places and situations, that early example and teaching prompted gratitude and recognition of God’s presence at our table. I am grateful for those early influences. When I have cooked a meal for two or twenty, I love that moment when the work stops, hands reach out, blessing is asked on people and the food we share. It feels right to express our connections to God and each other in this way.
G.K.Chesterton reminds me that all the things on my list for today may be marked for significance in the same way.

"You say grace before meals. All right. But I say grace before the concert and the opera, and grace before the play and pantomime, and grace before I open a book, and grace before sketching, painting, swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing and grace before I dip the pen in the ink."
- G. K. Chesterton

So, thank you,God... for these plants and the earth in which I place them. Thank you for the book I read and the person who wrote it. Bless the person who will use these towels I am folding. Bless these words as I write them. For these and all your bounty, I give thanks. Be present at our table, Lord. Be here and everywhere adored.

Fragrance

“One should garden for the nose, for the eyes will take care of themselves.”
Robert Lewis Stevenson

So soon after pruning, some of our antique roses are loaded with buds and blooms. The first blooms surprised me, almost as if saying "Fooled you!" Commonly called Butterfly Roses, Mutabulis rose bushes leap high and wide and announce that they are back. These single petal roses change in hue as the bud opens, so that at any time there are usually pink, yellow, dusky rose, and apricot blooming at the same time like a swarm of butterflies covering the bush. Like all old roses (antique, or "found") they have a distinctive but unique fragrance that I can identify with my eyes closed. Breathe!

Maddie's Redbird

After we saw a cardinal in the tree in our back yard last week, Maddie drew a picture for me. Thanks to the technology of scanning, email, and blogging, here is her gift for you to enjoy, too.

"Grandparenting is a gift between two people at opposite ends of their journey."
~Judy Ford

Mother's Music

The title may suggest lullabies, but these photos tell a different story. This music is from a collection of sheet music my mother, Opal Terrell, used when she was sweet sixteen and a very sassy seventeen! The young men who vied for her attention brought her music instead of candy or flowers. On several pieces she has written their names. Eventually there was only one who brought her music: Howard Teal, my Daddy. He asked her father if he could marry her and was given permission only if they would wait until she was 18. Opal celebrated that birthday on October 20, 1931, so on December 28, 1931 they drove over to a neighbor's house. The preacher from their little Baptist church was having Sunday dinner there, but he came out to the car before they could get out and go in, so the ceremony took place in the front seat of a Model T!

When I turn the yellowed pages and play the lilting melodies, I remember Mother's hands at the piano, Daddy's grip at the wheel of his pickup truck, and the way they held hands for over 50 years of marriage.

The music plays on.

French Knots and Daisy Chains

My mother and grandmother taught me to embroider by the time I knew how to read and write. I have some of the iron on patterns, colorful skeins of thread, and needles that they used when they embellished clothing, table linens, and pillowcases, like this one that I still use for my favorite bed pillow. It has been washed so many times it no longer needs the ironing they once would have done before carefully folding it and its mate (pillowcases were always done in pairs). The thin cotton is so soft and worn it is in danger of becoming kept instead of used. I love running my fingers over the blue flowers with their bumpy french knot centers and remembering how swift and deft their fingers were as they threaded kneedles, loaded embroidery hoops and began piercing with the needle, pulling it up at just the right spot, drawing out the thread, knowing which special stitch would achieve the right effect. There were feather stitches, blanket stitches, and feather stitches for borders and trims, but those used to bring the pattern lines to bloom were the ones that fascinated me. Running stitches, chain stitches, daisy chains and french knots brought the designs alive. I have enjoyed similar needle work: crewel, cross-stitching, and have loved crocheting and knitting. All of which I owe to those two women who were patient enough to teach me.

Valentine Trees and Treats

You are right.  I did not pack away all my Christmas stuff.  This tree was a lovely woodland bird tree with strips of music from the Carol of the birds tucked into the branches, along with birds of every feather,  acorns, and tiny red glass berries.  I removed the music strips and tucked in red tissue paper hearts for this Valentine tree.  Appropriately, a photo of me and my Valentine (married for over 47 years now) is in the background.

  This transition from December to February has grown from simply keeping out a few red candles to multipurposing several holiday decorations.  Another tree with heart has stayed in my dining room.  This tiny tree,  a teacup tree with smaller hearts added to miniature teacups and my late mother-in-law's collection of tiny spoons, sits on- what else - a tea tray.
                                                                      Today, I am decorating Valentine cookies to add to the heart shaped basket.   Happy Valentine's Day!   

                                            

                                              

Learning Something New

While browsing blogs this week I came across a post which introduced me to a new art form. I never heard the word Zentangle before much less made one, but after checking some guidelines and looking up a few tangles, here is the result. In its simplest description, a Zentangle is a deliberate doodle in which you paint spaces with patterns. It is sometimes called yoga for the brain. Now that I have tried it with the materials I had on hand (a sketch pencil and fine tipped pen) I plan to shop for supplies and practice some more. Mine are obviously beginning attempts, but that is one of the plus points for these 3 1/2", one of a kind squares of line drawing and pencil smudges: no right or wrong! It is hard to do just one!

http://zentangle.blogspot.com

Let it Snow

February has ushered Winter right to our front door. We woke this morning to howling winds and plummeting temperatures. Predictions are for snow before the end of the week, and a hard freeze every night this week. I went outside to cover some plants, moved others inside, and came back in even more thankful for the warmth and shelter of home. I think Bella just opened one eye and agreed with me.

Putting It All Together

I love introducing good people to good food.  That is one reason I am cooking soup one Wednesday night a month for over 50 people.  Our weekly church suppers give me a chance for a favorite meet and greet.  This week we will have Mexican Chicken Stew, served with cheese quesadillas and greens tossed with apples, walnuts, and apple cider vinaigrette.  With help from loving family and good friends (many hands make light work), the large steaming pots of stew will warm a cold evening.  Even better, as we gather around tables to enjoy eating together, hearts are warmed, too.  As I  put on my favorite apron, and begin to chop and simmer, putting it all together - I stir with a spoon that belonged to my father who, with my mother, ran a small cafe in a bus station in East Texas. 

When the soup is ready, I will ladle it into bowls with a ladle that he also used in the cafe. He put delicious foods together, and had customers who came back time after time for his home style cooking.  My earliest memories include aprons and spoons and feeding people.  I enjoy new recipes, new kitchen tools, and new opportunities to cook for others, but I will always love using Daddy's old spoon and ladle.