No Way, Jose!

I can't do it. No way, no how. Not happening. Nope. Uh uh, no, no, no. You can't make me....go inside. I just can't bring myself to stay inside when there is so much going on outside. Not to mention the scenery is drop dead gorgeous. So my laundry is piling up, my email is overflowing, my articles need to be written and the bookkeeping? Forget it!

Ah, springtime! The sun is shining, the birds are out in force and the wildflowers are blooming. I would be crazy to miss a SECOND of it. And my canine partners in crime feel no guilt in luring me outside to play, swim and explore. Not that I resist much...if at all. C'mon, can you blame me?

So, every morning I wake up and run through the list of all the things that must be accomplished that day. I have steely resolve as I leash up the troops to take our morning walk, telling myself that we won't dilly dally, that we'll go out, they'll do their business and we will come right back in and I'll get straight to work. Everything is going fine until that first soft, fragrant spring breeze swirls around me, tempting me to do a little happy dance. Then the contingent of robins start in with their "Good morning!" trills. The sun is just rising and casts a golden rosy glow on the landscape around me. Ahhh, heaven!


We make it through the field of newly blossoming wildflowers and step into the woods, heading for the river. The dogs are darting and sniffing and frolicking and I happily trail along behind them noticing which trees are starting to leaf out, watching the red fox dart across the wash, and listening to the local woodpecker tap, tap, tapping on the snag above me. There is a little herd of deer that we run into every day that stare cautiously back at us as we meander along. And once we hit the river, oh glory! The breeze brings fresh, new scents, the sun warms my face and the Canadian geese fly over honking encouragingly at each other.


If we're lucky, the beaver and his little beaver family are swimming nearby. He never fails to startle the crap out of me by slapping the water as loudly as he can with that monstrous tail of his (I think he gets some sort of sick amusement out of watching me jump and contort all Kramer-like). It's such a shock in the quiet stillness of the dewy morning but once he does it and gets his cheap laugh, he goes about his beaver morning and leaves us to enjoy our solitude.

At this point I realize my resolve is slipping and I round up the troops and we start making our way back home. I do usually get us back to get the breakfast served and the coffee brewed, to kiss the hubby as he heads off on his bike to work and sometimes I even get myself to sit down in front of the computer. I'm set, I'm ready, I have my list of all the things I need to get done right in front of me....and then I look up and get an unobstructed view of all the action taking place just beyond the glass. No! Focus! Must....get....through....list....

And that's when I feel a little nudge and I look down to see big, brown eyes looking hopefully up at me. Just one quick run, they seem to say. Just a quick sniff, a turn around the campground to see what's new. And I know I should resist. I KNOW I have a ton to get done...but.....I find myself lying on a patch of grass, with the sun sprinkling down on me through the new leaves that have just sprung and a dog, or two, or three rolling happily on their backs beside me, loving life, loving where this adventure has taken us and I just close my eyes and breathe it all in.

I can start on my list tomorrow......

Cast Iron and Cornbread

As I wander about exploring this new area we've landed in, I just can't resist diving into the local antique and junk stores. I've been on a quest for a long time now to find old cast iron pans since, as I've bemoaned previously, none were passed on through my family. I've hit stores from California to Alaska and back and, sure, I've run across them here and there but most dealers understand the treasure that they're selling and want to catch a sap like me who will be willing to slap down sixty bucks for a dutch oven...missing its cover, no less! Outrageous, I say, so I move on and the treasure hunt continues.

Well, let me tell you that I recently hit the motherlode! I guess it stands to reason that in this area of homesteaders and ranchers, cast iron is as ubiquitous as cowboy boots and bison. To me, though, it was as if I was a miner and I had just hit a huge vein of gold. When, in poking around one of the local stores, my good sport of a husband casually strolled over to me with a corn cob cast iron pan in his hand and asked, "Isn't this what you've been looking for?", I swear I almost fainted. And when I took a look at the price tag and it was less than ten bucks, I let out a whoop that shook the rafters.


I pranced around that shop with that pan clutched tightly in my hands and couldn't believe my luck as we uncovered more and more cast iron jewels just begging to be taken home, cleaned up and put back in service. Ok, sure, we live in a motorhome with a kitchen the size of a postage stamp but, c'mon, who am I to say no to a hardworkin' piece of historic cookware that just wants to get back in the game?


So, I packed those suckers up, got a good arm workout to boot, and headed home to try them out. Umm, let me just say, it was everything I've ever dreamed it to be. I made cornbread in the corn cob pans and paired it with a hearty bean stew and Erik and I gobbled it up, licked our fingers.... and dove in for more. Oh, man, is there anything better than hot-out-of-the-oven, crispy, fluffy and mouthwatering cornbread....drenched in butter? Ok, yea, yea, there goes the diet and I'll have to run from here to Missoula and back to work it off but whateva! It was SO worth it and, hey, let's not forget I burned those calories hauling those babies home.


So, I am FINALLY the proud, new owner of ancient cast iron and couldn't be happier with my new kitchen accoutrement. Don't get me wrong, I'm still on the prowl for my holy grail of cast iron... a small dutch oven WITH a lid that will fit in my motorhome's Easy Bake oven but, for now, I will bask in the glow of knowing that if my life depended on my making skillet biscuits or crispy cornbread, I am SO on it.

Now, on to the next issue...where the heck to store all of them... Hmm, maybe Erik will make some room in his bicycle equipment storage bin. I mean, really, cast iron or a bicycle tube? No contest if you ask me!

Back under the Big Sky

We made it. Back to Big Sky Country and just have to say it's nice to be, well, home. Ok, not in my beloved Missoula and postcard perfect Western Montana but, still, under that glorious big sky and surrounded by those huge rivers, wide open spaces and, oh, those magical, mystical mountains. Friendly people, strong espresso and miles and miles and miles of trails to explore. Absolute heaven.

There is just something about this state that speaks so loudly and clearly to me. As we crossed the state line and Monida Pass in her icy winter finery spread out around us, I took a deep breath and just knew, yes, this is it. So far, in all of our travels nothing has come close to replacing Montana in my heart. Ok, yes, those Southern California beaches hold a special place (especially in the winter when my feet have been numb for MONTHS!) but, when play time is over, it's Montana that I want to come home to.

I can definitely say I'm still moonstruck in Montana......

Our new backyard

Chloe (above) and Riley (below) resting up for the next tracking expedition

On the hunt

Home Sweet Home

Even the plants are happy

Hand Me Downs

Grandma's paring knife

Being the only girl born between two brothers, hand-me-downs weren't really part of my daily life. In fact, when I did happen to acquire something passed on by my older, very stylish and much-admired friend, Margaret, I cherished it above all else. I wore my Chemin de Fers (anyone remember those?) until the material was transparent and despite the fact they didn't fit my shorter, curvier frame they way they molded to Margaret's tall, willowy, modelesque figure. I worshipped the white and lemon-yellow striped sweater she casually passed over to me and I can still feel that giddy, I-can't-believe-she-gave-this-to-me feeling as I type this. I wore that poor sweater until the gust of a strong wind would have blown it apart.

And so it has gone throughout my life. My most treasured possessions are not the shiny, spankin' new, of-the-moment, latest "it' things. They are the items that have been passed down, passed on, have some history behind them, have a story to tell. I buy antique furniture and wonder who used to love it, I gaze longingly at old silverware and china sets and wonder what celebrations they were used for, and, oh, to hear the stories that were told around them. I live (when not on the road) in a little, old Victorian house with intricately carved door moldings and baseboards and I wonder which craftsman worked so painstakingly on them. I'm even addicted to old photographs. The people staring out at me are not of my blood but I long to know their story. What were they thinking when the cameraman snapped that shot? And better yet, where are they now and how was their life after they stepped away from that captured moment in time?

Home

No surprise then that it was with much interest that I was reading Clotilde's (Chocolate and Zucchini) post about how she came to acquire a beautiful marble mortar that her grandmother found buried in her garden in Marseille, France in 1937. It was such a touching story and it made me regret my own family's lack of cooking tradition. Unfortunately, in my house, cooking was a necessity, not a joy, and if opening a box or a packet or a can could make the ordeal any easier, it was used enthusiastically. Thus, I have very few kitchen hand-me-downs; my grandmother's paring knife, a heart-healthy pie crust recipe and a Joy of Cooking (yes, I see the irony) cookbook from my aunt and little else.

Kay and her favorite guy, Terry

To make up for this lack of kitchen heirlooms, I started raiding the history of other families by collecting their family recipes. One of my dearest friends, Kay, generously shared a bread recipe that was passed on to her 45 years ago by her aunt, Lorraine Thompson, of Petersburg, AK. Kay grew up in that tiny fishing village on an island in the middle of Alaska's Inside Passage, and with its strong Norwegian heritage, tradition and history are valuable commodities. I was absolutely thrilled to be entrusted with it and this recipe has become a staple in my baking repertoire.

In honor of all of you out there who might not have a rich family kitchen heritage, I am humbly handing down Kay's kick-ass bread recipe (with her gracious permission) and hope it becomes as treasured a hand-me-down to you as it has become to me. Make it with love, people!
Aunt Lorraine Thompson's Brown Bread Recipe

3 cups lukewarm water (110-115 degrees)
1 pkg active dry yeast
1 cup milk, scalded
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup molasses
1 1/2 tsp salt
2 tbsp oil (I use olive oil)
3 cups whole wheat or rye flour
8 to 9 cups all-purpose flour

(I half this recipe since it's only the hubby and me and it works great. FYI, I still use the whole pkg of yeast but half everything else, using 4 cups of all-purpose flour to start)

Stir the yeast into the water and set aside to proof (approximately 5 minutes). Combine milk, brown sugar, molasses, salt and oil in a bowl (I do this directly in the bowl of my KitchenAid which, by the way, was a hand-me-down) and stir to dissolve. Add proofed yeast mixture, whole wheat or rye flour and 8 cups of the all-purpose flour. Mix (with dough-hook if using your KitchenAid) until well-combined and it has formed a ball.

At this point, Kay uses her KitchenAid to knead it until the dough is smooth, I turn the dough out on a floured-surface and start kneading by hand, adding additional flour as needed. If kneading by hand, knead for approximately 7 to 10 minutes or until the dough is smooth and elastic.

Oil a large bowl and put dough in it, turning it once to coat. Cover with a cloth and let sit overnight or at least until it has doubled in size (approx 1 to 1-1/2 hours).

In the morning (or once doubled in size), punch dough down and divide into 3 to 4 loaves. Put into greased bread pans, cover with cloths and let rise again until double in size (approx 45 min).

Bake at 325 degrees for 45 minutes. Transfer pans to a wire rack and let cool in pans for 5 minutes then turn out loaves onto wire rack to finish cooling.

Eat and enjoy, knowing that many other people in places far, far away have eaten and enjoyed it as much as you. Cool, huh? Gotta love hand-me-downs.

Thanks and much love to you and your family, Kay. My life is richer and fuller because of you.

Wildflower Safari

One of the best things about this Grand Adventure that we're on is getting the opportunity to explore places we might not make the effort to get to if we were at home. This weekend, we headed out to Anza-Borrego Desert State Park and went on a wildflower safari!

I can't even begin to tell you how much fun it was to stalk, with camera in hand, through the wild desert landscape and come upon a mass of blooming flowers. It was like the ultimate Easter Egg Hunt with a twist. You had to be very careful where you were walking and take a good look before you knelt down (yes, I learned this the hard way!) because the number of plants and animals that are willing to run you through and take you down out there are innumerable. And let me just say that pulling Cholla cactus spines out of any body part is not a pleasant experience. I still find myself looking carefully where I'm stepping. (Can you be psychologically damaged from a wrestling match with a cactus?)

The other thing that stuck with me (yuck, yuck) is that the majority of these flowers are so delicate, and so fleeting. In such a harsh landscape, you expect the big strong cactus and creosote bushes and agave but stumbling upon flowers with paper-thin petals and delicate tiny leaves was so surprising...and confounding.

Another interesting dynamic was seeing a delicate, beautiful flower perched on top of a frightful plant body. It was like the face of a supermodel with Rambo's appendages. Bizarre and strangely disturbing. Take the Desert Lily, for example. Those leaves! What the hell is that? I was afraid to take my eyes off of it for fear that, when I wasn't looking, it would slither over , grab my ankle and toss me into the closest cactus. Creepy!

With all of the rain this year, they should have a bumper crop of color extravaganza out there in the desert so if you happen to be heading to this corner of the world between late February to about mid-March, it really is worth the effort to get out and stalk that elusive desert sunflower! Happy almost Spring!


If you want more info, check out my article at Examiner.com. For more photos, I put up a web album here. Yes, I went crazy with the photos. Over 200. I just couldn't stop. I was like a soon-to-be bride at the basement sale of Filene's. But, not to worry, I only put up about 35 or so.

The Magic of Simplicity

"Simplicity means the achievement of maximum effect with minimum means."—Koichi Kawana

How is it that the combination of seemingly innocuous and unrelated ingredients can combine to make the most delicious and satisfying nourishment? And I'm not just talking "satisfying nourishment" for the body but also for the soul.

Let's take pizza, for example. On the surface, it's just some very basic plain jane ingredients mixed together then baked in a hot oven. Take flour, salt, yeast, throw in some water, let rise, roll out and top with garlic, cheese, some tomatoes and a sprinkle of an herb or two, throw in the oven and, Voila!, magic. That rough day you had? Forgotten. Been craving something you can sink your teeth into? Done.

Nothing spectacular used to create it, no eye of newt or dragon's blood so where exactly does the Bibbity Bobbity Boo come in? Is it just me, or does the rising dough, all warm and yeasty, fluffy and puffy make you feel contented, happy, expectant? How about proud at the way you managed to stir some flour, water and yeast together and now your dough is rising like the phoenix from the ashes and you get to watch this transformation taking place before your eyes?

As I chop the garlic and grate the cheese, the aromas rise up and swirl around me filling our tiny kitchen with the scents of dinner, of home, of coziness. I walk outside to gather some of the herbs dancing happily in the evening breeze and their bouquet coats my fingers and blends with the cheese and garlic to create a symphony of savory perfume.

Now the magic is really picking up steam. The subtle mixing of flavors whispering promises of amazing and mouthwatering results. Into the oven, and the incantations begin, "Is it done yet?, How much longer? Oh, I can't wait, my stomach's growling. Wow, it looks so good". My husband does the requisite pizza dance. With oven mitt on hand, he peeks and peers through the tiny oven window, pacing back and forth while chanting some of the aforementioned incantations.

And, then...Bing!...the moment has arrived. Those simple, solitary ingredients have melded and transformed into a hot, spicy, tasty, gooey delicious circle of comfort and love, nourishment for both the body and soul.

I smile lovingly at my husband and he smiles happily back at me....then we both lunge for the biggest slice.

Magic in the simplest of moments....

A Blister for Valentines Day

For Valentines Day. my husband gave me a blister. Yep, no roses, no romance just a blister. And, quite frankly, I'm still wondering how it happened.

I'm usually much more savvy and wary than that. Look, when living with a mutant superhuman who thinks nothing of going out and running marathons before breakfast, one develops a keen sense of self-preservation because the mutant superhuman is ALWAYS trying to talk their normal and sane partner into doing extremely ridiculous and dangerously uncomfortable events....like hiking to the top of Mt. Whitney with a 40lb pack strapped to your back ("because it's there and wouldn't you like to say you've been to the top of the tallest peak in the lower 48?"), or doing the Australian Wobbly Wine Cycling Tour ("See, it clearly states "no fitness required"". For the record, those Australians are lying bastards! I swear it was like racing Lance Armstrong up Mont Ventoux in the Tour de France....tipsy) or zip-lining through a Central American rainforest with a couple of local teens who had strung some wire up in the canopy and thought it was fun to go balls-out wearing nothing more than a climbing harness and a leather glove they had found in the barn hoping against hope today was not the day the line would snap and send us all crashing to the forest floor at least 1/4 mile below us....oh wait, that was my idea. Shit, well, that was only because my mutant superhuman husband must have spiked my drink and the heat and humidity had muddled my brain. Let's move on.

So, the blister. I vaguely remember him excitedly jabbering about all the races he was going to enter in the next few months but, since this is a weekly conversation, I was distractedly answering yea, yea, yea while painting my toenails and trying to watch the next contestant on American Idol make an ass of himself. I also do remember the words "5K" and "Walker friendly" being bandied about but I absolutely do NOT ever remember hearing "you are going to run a walker-friendly 5K...on VALENTINES DAY" Nope, I distinctly remember NOT hearing those words. He might have said something like, "I'm sending in the entrance form for you, ok?" But again, no mention of Valentines Day. None.

So, imagine my surprise when I finally got around to asking, "So, when is this 5k? and hearing the sheepishly mumbled reply, "Um, Feb 14th". Notice he didn't say, Valentines Day. Nope, he was hoping his normal and sane partner wouldn't recognise the date to which I say, "Are you effing kidding me?" I don't care what all of you haters out there say about good ol' V Day. I happen to think anyday that celebrates love....and the mass consumption of chocolate! should be celebrated EVERYDAY! In fact, I'm off to have some chocolate in St. Valentines honor right after this rant.

The fact that I didn't wring his neck goes to show the considerable restraint I've developed over the years. There's an Olympic event for you. And on February 14th, I found myself woken up not with breakfast in bed, not with a loving caress. Oh no, I was woken by my loving spouse yelling at me to get my butt up...at 5:15 in the MORNING...on a SUNDAY. Grrrr!

It always amazes me how many people are willing to wake up at ungodly hours to run around and punish their bodies. You can always tell the mutant superhumans because they're the ones stretching and jumping and running around to warm up and slapping each other on the backs and excitedly chattering about how fast they're going to be able to run. Take a valium, would ya! By contrast, the normal and sane people who have not had their coffee, shuffle around, avoiding eye contact, and huddle miserably together and grumble if anyone asks them a question.

Notice the mutant superhuman in the foreground. They're easy to spot.

And that's how I found myself in a park with a bunch of lunatics before the sun was fully up with an electronic monitoring device attached to my foot. Funny where life takes you, isn't it? So, since I was up, I went ahead and ran the Palm Springs 5K. And I had a good time. I think this was due to the fact that I wasn't awake yet.

Erik told me that if I made a break for the car, they'd track me down

It really was a beautiful morning and since the 5K course winds through the old Movie Colony neighborhood of Palm Springs, I had a great time looking at all of the houses (and of course the landscaping, as I'm crazy like that) as I huffed and puffed along.

And, as is usually the case when I get roped into these ridiculous and dangerously uncomfortable events, I learned a few things along the way . I discovered that irritation is a great motivator and that I could run quite fast to escape the bullshit yammerings of my fellow competitors (if the guy in the fluorescent yellow running shorts had told his wife to "pick it up" one more time, I would have clobbered him!). I discovered that it was the 4 year olds you really had to watch out for. They'll take you DOWN!

My competition. Notice he's in front of me but the kid was quick as lightening!

I discovered not looking at the race route map before you start running could add quite a lot of distance to your run!

Aren't we only running 3 miles?

And I discovered that if you just keep going, you'll eventually make it it to the finish line.

Me in my snazzy Skirtports capris.

Ok, so I didn't get roses and chocolate for Valentines Day this year. Big, fat bummer, yea, but what I did get was my sweaty high-five at the end of the not so grueling but still unnecessary run...and the satisfaction that my very own mutant superhuman was proud of me and happy that I was taking part (albeit small and begrudgingly) in something he loves more than I love chocolate (I told you he was a mutant!). Oh, and, of course, let's not forget that blister!

Love you, baby!