TO THE FLAKY TART I WENT

October 12, 2011 Clif Graves 1 Comment

This morning, I got on my bike—Blue Beauty—and pedaled to downtown Winthrop, about a mile away. I had arranged to meet my friend Judy Johnson at The Flaky Tart, a new, funky café that sells muffins, cookies, scones, whoopie pies, and light lunches. The Flaky Tart only has a few tables, but it’s such a warm place—both the atmosphere and the colors—that all kinds of people are meeting there for lunch or for tea and dessert.

Although Winthrop has more than its fair share of places to eat, The Flaky Tart, right in the middle of town, is just what this town needs as a comfortable meeting place for family and friends to gather. In fact, it seems to me that every town needs a café like The Flaky Tart to bring cohesiveness to its community, to make the town more than a mere collection of houses connected by roads. Or even worse, a place you only drive through to get someplace else.

I left home a little early so that I could check out the shops—we only have a few—and perhaps find some birthday and Christmas presents. My first stop was Apple Valley Bookstore, where I did indeed find a gift, which I won’t reveal as family members read this blog. I also found a book that might be a gift or might very well go on my own bookshelves. It’s called Patience & Fortitude: A Roving Chronicle of Book People, Book Places, and Book Culture by Nicholas A. Basbanes. In his prologue, Basbanes writes about Dr. Otto Bettmann, “the creator of a vast archive of photographic material that he had furnished” to publishers of all kinds. Bettmann was also an author and a musician.

Here is what Bettmann had to say about books: “The Chinese have a saying that one picture is worth a thousand words, but I disagree. I believe that one word can be worth a thousand pictures….only reading allows you to penetrate the world. That is the power of the book.”

Yes, it is, and a reminder that the life of the mind is just as important as the life of the physical world. This is not to say that one is superior to the other; merely that both are necessary for human creativity and understanding.

Now, with a quotation like that, how could I resist Patience & Fortitude, which, by the way, are the unofficial names of the lions outside the New York Public Library? Clearly, I couldn’t.

After the bookstore, I went to the Flaky Tart, where Judy was waiting for me, and I had tea and the sweetest little scone—gone in two bites—that I have ever had. The scone was a perfect late-morning snack, small enough so that it wouldn’t interfere either with lunch or with trying to lose weight.

I hadn’t even settled down with my tea when another friend—Debbie Maddi—came in. She had gone for a walk and wanted to see what the Flaky Tart was like. We all chatted a bit, and Debbie left.

Some more people I knew came in, and I must admit I just love being in a place where people drop in for a while before heading on their way.

Judy couldn’t stay long. She and her husband, Paul, are moving into a brand new home at the end of this week, and Judy had many things to do.

Off I went, to a shop called Potato, which sells Maine-made crafts, and I found several gift possibilities. Then, it was time for my daily bike ride, me and Blue Beauty zipping down Memorial Drive and by Marancook Lake, today a gray reflection of the sky. But along the edges of the lake, there were blazes of yellow and orange to brighten the overcast day.

Food for the Soul, Nature, News, People

BIKING IN NEW HAMPSHIRE WITH BOB AND KATE

October 12, 2011 Clif Graves 2 Comments

In my last post, I was griping about the cold weather and the short days of October. Then came the weekend and with it weather so wonderful and warm that with only a bit of effort, I could pretend it was still summer. (There were, of course, those shorter days to remind me that it was still fall.) How lucky that my husband, Clif, and I had planned this weekend to visit our friends and biking gurus Bob and Kate in New Hampshire and go biking with them along the coastline. At the beginning of the week, we were sure we’d need to wear fleece and leggings to bike. As it turned out, we could wear T-shirts and shorts. And plenty of sunscreen.

Early Saturday morning, with the bikes strapped to the car and our dog, Liam, in the backseat, we headed south. Our first stop was South Portland, where we dropped off the dog with our daughter Shannon and her husband, Mike. Liam, too, would have a beach day, but in Cape Elizabeth rather than in New Hampshire. With Liam in the loving care of Mike and Shannon, we didn’t have to worry about hurrying back home.

Then it was off to New Hampshire, across the Piscataqua River Bridge to Portsmouth. Clif and I had never been to the New Hampshire coast before. Being Mainers, when we want to go to the ocean, we head for somewhere in Maine. Therefore, we weren’t sure what to expect. Rocky? Sandy? Flat? Hilly? We would find out. From my point of view, any day—especially one so sunny and warm—spent biking with friends by the ocean was bound to be a great day.

We met Bob and Kate in the parking lot of Wallis Sands State Beach in Rye and away we went. From the very start, with the intoxicating smell of the salt air to spur us on, I knew this would be one of those rides that I would always remember. Above, the blue sky and the sun. Alongside the road, purple asters, late roses, and cattails. We passed a marsh with two white swans, elegant and serene. Here we came upon a rocky beach, next a sandy beach. The road curved up and around, giving a broad prospect that looked almost Mediterranean. In the distance, the Isles of Shoals shimmered.

What especially impressed Clif and me was how much of the this coastline is part of the New Hampshire state park system. This means that even “simple folks” can enjoy a day at the seaside, and many, many people were doing just that.

“We never knew how spectacular the New Hampshire coastline is,” I said to Kate at one of our ocean rest stops. “Let’s make this a yearly tradition.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Kate said.

We rode about 20 miles, and after that we drove to Kate and Bob’s house for showers—how good they felt!—drinks, appetizers, vegetable soup, and apple gingerbread. A feast. It was still so warm that we could sit on the deck and eat and drink and chat.

As the sun set and the dampness settled in, we reluctantly said goodbye and headed back to Maine to pick up our dog and have tea with Mike and Shannon.

All the way back, Clif and I talked about various parts of our bike ride, and the taste of the gingerbread still lingered. (Kate gave me the recipe—it’s from Smitten Kitchen—and I plan on making some this weekend.)

In the distance, we saw a bright light streak across the sky.

“Is that a shooting star?” I asked.

“I think it is,” Clif replied.

A perfect ending to a perfect day.

News

THE LET THEM EAT BREAD REPORT: SEPTEMBER

October 7, 2011 Clif Graves 1 Comment

Somehow, September, busy as it was, seems like a distant memory—warm and lovely with lots of time spent biking and on the patio and celebrating birthdays. Then came October, and when we flipped the calendar, it felt like we actually flipped the season, going from summer to fall. Suddenly, the days became cool, and the nights grew downright cold. Suddenly, it became too dark to go on bike rides when my husband, Clif, came home from work. Could it really only be a week or so ago, in warm September, when we optimistically believed that we might be able to go on evening bike rides until the middle of October? Whatever were we thinking? We’re Mainers, for heaven’s sake. We know what October is like. We should have known better.

Despite the busy hubbub of September, I gave away 4 loaves of bread, bringing my total of the year to 46 1/2 loaves. My year-long goal of giving away at least one loaf of bread a week for a total of 52 loaves is getting ever closer. The way things are going, I should reach my goal in November. However, I still plan on giving away one loaf a week through December, whatever the actual total might be. That was my plan, and I’m sticking to it.

I would like to be able to say that giving away all this bread has made me more generous in all aspects of my life. But, alas, I still struggle with selfish tendencies. Last week when I visited the Bowdoin College Museum of Art, I brought enough money for gelato afterward but not enough to put into the donation box at the museum. I have been brooding about this, off and on, ever since. Why didn’t I bring a little extra money so that I would have enough for both? The truth is, I didn’t think of it, even though I knew about the donation box. My mind was on gelato, and it was on art. It was not on the donation box.

Well, the box will be there the next time Clif and I visit, and we’ll put a couple of dollars into it.

In the meantime, I’ll be making bread and giving it away.

Environment, Food for Thought

GROWING IN CIRCLES

October 4, 2011 Clif Graves 3 Comments

It’s funny how one thing leads to another. Last week at our town’s Green Committee meeting, Jenn Currier spoke about an upcoming Transition Town meeting that she wants to attend. For some strange reason, I was unfamiliar with the Transition Town movement, but as Jenn explained some of the movement’s goals—food security, the emphasis on community, and resilience in the face of the many challenges we’ll be facing because of climate change and peak oil—I thought it was definitely something I should check into.

Then, today on FaceBook, I received a link—not from Jenn—about Transition Towns, and that link, in turn, lead me to the website Transition Culture, which has the tag-line “an evolving exploration into the head, heart, and hands of energy descent.” Now, you might think that a website that focuses on “energy descent” would be a rather gloomy site, but just the reverse seems to be true. Granted, I’ve only just found Transition Culture, but as far as I can tell, the website’s mood and tone are buoyant and hopeful. The emphasis is on what can be done and all the good things that can be gained by living, working, creating, and growing food close to home.

Via Transition Culture, I even watched an hour-long show on the computer, and this is something I never do. My time for watching shows is pretty much regulated to an hour or so at night. While there is a place for watching shows in my life, I want it to be a small part, not a big part, of my day. The show I watched today was Town with Nicholas Crane, and the featured town was Totnes, in southern England. Totnes is, of course, a transition town and they are doing some nifty things, including widespread use of solar panels, community festivals, and lots of local food. To justify watching this show, I viewed half of it while I was eating breakfast and half as I ate lunch.

For dessert I watched a very short video called A Story of Transition in 10 objects: Number 4. An Egg. Now, with my love of chickens and eggs, how could I resist this video? Here the focus is on Forres, a town in Scotland, and while I was drawn to the egg, what really caught my attention were the vegetable gardens, planted in a circles. I was fascinated by this layout, which looks like a terrific way to use a relatively small plot, and the circular beds appeared as though they would be very easy to tend while producing quite a bit of food.

I’m not sure if I could use the circular design on my shady plot of land. But I will certainly be thinking about how I might be able to do so because after years of talking about moving to Brunswick—a kicky college community with great restaurants—my husband, Clif, and I have decided to stay right here in Winthrop and to devote ourselves to our house, our yard, and our community.

Another circle, as we are, so to speak, back where we started.

Food for Thought, News, People

DON’T JUDGE AN APPLE BY ITS LOOKS

October 3, 2011 Clif Graves

Last week at our town’s Green Committee meeting, Gary Dawbin came in with a bag of apples picked from a tree in his yard, and my husband, Clif, and I were the lucky recipients. The apples, as you can see from the photo, would not win any prizes for beauty, but Gary assured me they were good cooking apples, perfect for pies and crisps and, of course, apple sauce. When I got home, I tasted one, and it was indeed very good, a little tart and a little sweet.

On Saturday, a cool, rainy day, I commenced making a pie. I love the whole process of baking an apple pie—cutting the apples, making the dough, and then smelling the apples as they cook.

As Clif just received an ice cream maker for his birthday from our friends Bob and Kate, we decided to make some vanilla ice cream to go with the pie. (I also made bread. A busy cooking day!)

When the pie was done, we were eager to sample a piece. What would these little yellow apples with their bruises and blemishes be like in a pie? After only one bite, Clif and I were in total agreement—this was one of the best apple pies we have ever eaten. Clif got it exactly right when he noted, “The apples have just the right balance of tart and sweet.” (Need I add I was thrilled to make such a good pie with backyard apples?) And the homemade vanilla ice cream just gilded the lily.

Quick as can be, I was on the phone, calling Gary Dawbin to find out more about those apples. Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell me what variety they were, but he knew they were an old heirloom apple planted by Mose B. Sears, one of the owners of the old Winthrop house in which Gary and his wife, Rose, live. Moses B. Sears owned the house in the 1800s, and when I Googled his name, I also learned that Moses was part of the Maine Anti-Slavery Society. Apparently, along with being socially conscious, Moses had such a green thumb that with its apples, plums, grapes, pears, and blackberries, the yard around his house was referred to as “the Garden of Eden.” (This last bit of information about Moses’ Garden of Eden came from Gary.)

“I have more apples,” Gary said, “If you would like some. There is a limit to how many apples Rose and I can eat.”

“Yes, please!” I said, and on Sunday, Gary gave me enough apples for at least two more pies.

Now, there is also a limit to how much pie Clif and I should be eating, so we shared some of the pie with Gary and his wife, Rose, as well as our friends Dawna and Jim Leavitt. Next weekend, I’ll be making more pie and will be sharing that one as well.

Once upon a time, Winthrop was full of apple orchards, and all over town there are vestiges of these old trees, one here, one there, the varieties long forgotten. The trees were planted during a time when people grew a significant amount of their own food, and they are reminders of how much food this town could produce if it wanted to do so. (We are not the only happy recipients of Gary’s apples from this one tree.)

I’ll let Clif have the last word here: “Gary’s tree needs to be grafted so that those apples can carry on.”

News

A NIGHT RIDE ON THE LAST DAY OF SEPTEMBER AND SUPPER AT MIA LINA’S

October 1, 2011 Clif Graves 2 Comments

Recently, my husband, Clif, celebrated his 60th birthday, and as we are both very keen on biking, we thought that over the course of the week, we would ride 60 miles in honor of his 60 years. Unfortunately, our schedules and the weather did not allow us to reach our goal. No matter! We went 48 miles and had a great low-carbon time.

Last night, Clif came home from work a bit early so that we could go on a bike ride. Even though we left our home by 6:00 P.M., it was dark on the last leg of our ten-mile trip along Memorial Drive, which goes by Maranacook Lake. We weren’t really that concerned. There are street lights as you get closer to town, and we have reflectors, lights, and flashers on our bikes. This means we can see and be seen, and there is something a little thrilling about riding in the night.

On the way back, we stopped at the public beach to look across the dark water at the lights and the night sky.

Then, it was on to Mia Lina’s, a better than average pizza place, for a Friday-night treat of Lina bread and a salad.

After supper we rode home, across busy Route 202, where there was night construction, and the kind road workers stopped traffic for us; down pretty Highland Avenue, with its street lights and big leafy trees; and finally onto Narrows Pond Road, where there are no street lights at all. Last night, it was so dark—no moon, no stars—that it looked as though we were about to enter a great, black tunnel on Narrows Pond Road. Down we went on our trusty bikes, our little lights beaming a safe course between the road and the ditch until we turned into our own driveway.

A good evening.

Notes From the Hinterland

Monthly Archives: October 2011