All posts by Laurie Graves

I write about nature, food, the environment, home, family, community, and people.

National Donut Day, In which Clif, Alice, and I Make Donuts

June 3, 2016 Laurie Graves 19 Comments

Today, this first Friday in June, is National Donut Day. Earlier this week I said to Clif, “Let’s make donuts in honor of National Donut Day. And let’s invite Alice. She’s going to be in town this Friday.”

“All right,” Clif answered blithely, knowing as well I did that it had been a long, long time since we had made donuts and that we might be just a teensy weensy bit rusty. But one of the things I especially love about Clif is that he is always up for a cooking adventure, especially when it involves his deep fryer.

Alice accepted the invitation, and the game was on.

Alice is one of those friends that everyone should have. We are very good buddies, and I have known her long enough so that if there was a disaster with donuts, it would be all right. We would just laugh about it.

Since Alice planned to come over around 11:30, I decided we should have a little lunch first, so I put together a platter of homemade chicken salad, which we gobbled up.

Then, it was on to donuts, and while it wasn’t exactly a disaster, we did have a few difficulties, the first being that I didn’t read the directions thoroughly. I dumped all the flour in the bowl at once, and this made it difficult for my little hand mixer to mix the dough properly. But the biggest kerfuffle was that the dough was too sticky for the donut cutters, and the dough stuck stubbornly inside the cutters.

Okay, more flour. Still too sticky. A little more flour. The donuts came out with a thump, but they were a weird shape.

Alice said, “My mother used to shake them into her hand.”

I tried doing this, and success!

“What was your mother’s name?” I asked Alice.

“Dorothy, but she liked to be called Dottie.”

“Thank you, Dottie,” I said, smiling and looking upward.

With a firmer dough and Dottie’s method, we were finally in donut-making business, with me cutting the donuts, Clif frying them, and Alice rolling them in sugar and cinnamon.

When we were done, we had two fine plates of donuts, and we settled around the dining room table with coffee and tea to go with the donuts.

When warm, the donuts were delicious. However, as they cooled, they became a little too crusty for my taste. When I mentioned this to Clif, he said that the next time we made donuts, he would not fry them as long.

This just goes to show that even with something as seemingly simple as donuts, practice is required to get them just right.

Over the next year, we’ll be making half-batches of donuts so that they will come out exactly the way we want. That way, when National Donut Day rolls around in 2017, Clif and I won’t be such a bumbling team.

Flowers, Nature

Of Lupine and the Lake, of Pink and Frothy White

June 2, 2016 Laurie Graves 21 Comments

Yesterday, Clif and I went on a bike ride. As we have been, ahem, a little inactive this winter, we only went five miles. (Somehow, riding on the road to nowhere on the exercise bike just doesn’t do it for us.) No matter! It was a glorious five miles, and as June wears on, we will build up our strength. For our birthdays in September, we hope to go on a fifteen-mile trek and then cap it off with fish and chips at a local pub.

For yesterday’s bike ride, we started from Norcross Point, a small but lovely waterfront park in town where residents can launch their boats or come for a picnic or just plain relax and enjoy the view.

We went past the public beach and down pretty Memorial Drive, a great road for bikers, and I came upon these lupines, which are early this year.

Here is a closer look. Always fascinating to see flowers up close, where they are nearly unrecognizable.

We also stopped to take pictures of a friend’s garden, which right now is vivid with pink. Later in the summer, it will be cool blue and yellow. I love how gardens change color with the seasons.

On we went by the lake, and although we were slow, we were steady. The sun was hot, but there was a gentle breeze to help cool us. When we got back to Norcross Point, I noticed a froth of white by the edge of the lake. Naturally, I had to take a picture.

Two women from my book group were sitting nearby. They had brought their lawn chairs and lunches, and were reveling in the fine weather and the beautiful sweep of the lake. “A bit of paradise,” one of them said.

I couldn’t argue.

This afternoon, Clif and I will go on another bike ride. This time I hope to get good pictures of a hawthorn tree that is in glorious bloom in my friend’s yard.

Fingers crossed!

Flowers, Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday: Neglected Beauty

June 1, 2016 Laurie Graves 4 Comments

Nature

Farewell, Beautiful May!

May 31, 2016 Laurie Graves 17 Comments

It’s the last day of May, a bittersweet time when we say farewell to one of the loveliest months in Maine. (Yes, autumn is beautiful, but May is so green, so full of promise, the beginning rather than the end.)

In the backyard, the ferns are nearly mature, and the woods are filled with shades of green.

Jack and his brethren are now full grown.

The large irises are in bud.

The dwarf snapdragons have been planted.

And in the front yard, Lester keeps an eye on things.

The squadrons of dragonflies have arrived—no pictures yet, but I will be on the lookout when I have my camera, and ditto for the swallowtail butterflies, another recent arrival.

Tonight Clif and I will go for a bike ride along Marancook Lake, where we will be held by the warm air. Ahead of us, we have three more months of beautiful summer, and we intend to squeeze as much joy as we can out of these precious months where we can spend much of our time outside—payback for the many months we must spend inside.

So, adieu, adieu, lovely May, until you return next year.

Flowers, Food for Thought, Nature

Memorial Day Weekend, 2016

May 30, 2016 Laurie Graves 10 Comments

On Sunday, our friends Joel and Alice and Diane came over for a Memorial Day gathering that featured grilled bread, salads, and homemade strawberry ice cream with homemade shortbread. Accordingly, Saturday was a busy day of getting ready. However, I did find time to work a bit in the garden, and I came upon this tiny fellow—a spring peeper? (Eliza, what do you think?)

The little creature, about an inch long, bounced around as though it were on a spring, but I did manage to capture a picture.

Sunday was a little cloudy, but it didn’t rain, and it was warm enough to eat on the patio. We toasted loved ones who had passed as well as service men and woman who had sacrificed themselves for this country.

Clif’s legendary grilled bread was the centerpiece of the meal, and we had salads to go with the bread. I’m always afraid there won’t be enough to eat, but with the huge grilled bread, there was more than enough with the salads that Alice, Diane, and I made. (We, of course, had appetizers beforehand—chips and salsa and cheddar popcorn. ) We all decided that the bread and salad meal was a tradition we should continue. (Thanks, Alice, for providing the dough.)

I had enough presence of mind to snap a picture of the bread and salads, but not enough to get a picture of dessert.

Among other things, we talked about politics—lots to discuss!—and, as is our way—we also talked about movies. Diane made an interesting point. She is mentoring a student at Bowdoin College, and this student and her friends hardly ever go to the movies. They do, however, watch movies. One of the students has a TV, and they regularly get together to have pizza and watch a movie.

Diane reflected as to how our generation was the movie generation. We grew up going to the movies, and it was the thing to do with family and friends. But now, with the changes in technology—the quality of the image on flat screens is pretty darned good—combined with the high price of movie tickets and popcorn, going to the movies is not the regular event it once was. Someday, perhaps, when we baby boomers are gone, the cinemas will close because of lack of business. (I recently read in the New Yorker that the average teenager goes to the movies six times a year, and this matches Diane’s experience with her college students.)

As someone who grew up going to the movies, I must admit that it’s a little sad to think of this. But times change, and with services such as Amazon Prime and Netflix, there are plenty of good shows and movies to watch at home.

And who knows? Perhaps somehow cinemas will manage to hold on.

Finally, today—Memorial Day—is the 105 anniversary of my grandmother’s birthday. How old that makes me feel! Josephine Lena Jacques was born in northern Maine, in North Caribou, in a farmhouse that I expect did not have electricity or running water. French was her first language, although by the time I was born, she was fluent in English. Her mother and father were potato farmers, and they went to town in a horse and wagon. The changes my grandmother saw in her lifetime.

Happy birthday, Mémère. Here is a pansy, one of my favorite flowers, in your honor.

Food for Thought, Nature

The Cusp of Summer: Memorial Day Weekend, 2016

May 27, 2016 Laurie Graves 23 Comments

In Maine, despite what the calendar says, we are on the cusp of summer. In less than a month, we’ve gone from darling buds to nearly full-grown leaves on the trees. May is like that.

The same is true of the ferns.

Except for my beloved purple irises, the front garden is mostly foliage. Strangely enough, I love the gardens at this stage, when the slugs and snails have yet to launch an assault, and the Japanese beetles are a month away. The leaves of the plants look so green and fresh and new. While the garden is more beautiful with flowers in July, it is also more tattered.

Spring wild flowers continue to bloom on the lawn and on the edges by the wood.

In the United States, this is Memorial Day weekend, a time when we remember those who have passed. Usually, this involves some kind of gathering, often a barbecue. This year, we will have a small get together with friends, and unless it is pouring, Clif will make his legendary grilled bread. Whatever the weather, I will be making homemade strawberry ice cream.

And I’ll certainly be thinking of loved ones who have passed—my mother, my father, and my dear friend Barbara. They all died too soon, but my love for them continues and will do so until I die.

In this most beautiful of months—for Catholics, the month of Mary—it somehow seems very appropriate to remember those who have passed from this green, green world.

Books

A Regency Bonbon: Friday’s Child

May 26, 2016 Laurie Graves 8 Comments

Every once in a while when, say, the political season just drags me down, and I simply hate the thought of having to choose between the lesser of two evils, I find myself turning to Georgette Heyer and her Regency novels for some relief. For the uninitiated, Georgette Heyer wrote Regency novels, lots of them, from 1932 to 1974, but according to Wikipedia, she also wrote thrillers, detective, and historical fiction. In fact, Heyer is credited with creating the Regency romance genre, and she is well known for meticulous research and authentic period details. (Officially, the British Regency began in 1811 and lasted until 1820, and Jane Austen’s books were published during this period.)

All right. Let’s clear the air—Georgette Heyer was no Jane Austen, who while writing about love and the upper class, delved into the condition of women and the cruelties of the British aristocracy. Heyer, while not ignoring the excesses of the upper class, blithely skimmed across them. Simply put, Austen is deeper than Heyer. Also, Heyer’s writing style is not as fine as Jane Austen’s. There, we’ve gotten that out of the way.

But what fun Georgette Heyer’s novels can be, and sometimes, fun is exactly what a person needs. Recently I came across Heyer’s Friday’s Child in my bookcase, and I decided it was exactly the right book to distract me from the political season. And so it was.

Friday’s Child is equal parts romance novel, farce, and screw-ball comedy, and Heyer whips the reader through the first months of the improbable marriage of the very young Hero Wantage and the self-centered Lord Sheringham (aka Sherry). Hero and Sherry have known each other from childhood, and when Sherry comes upon Hero, a poorly-treated orphan who is down in the dumps because her guardian and cousin is insisting that Hero go to Bath to become a governess, well, Sherry does what any high-minded young male of the Regency era might do—he proposes marriage. (An added inducement is that Sherry won’t come into his large inheritance until he marries.) Hero, who has been in love with Sherry since she was very young, immediately accepts the proposal. In today’s parlance, it is a win-win situation.

Off to London the pair go, where Hero gets into one “scrape” after another. Hero, who falls into the category of the adorable but naive heroine, must be schooled by Sherry and his friends, well-meaning but imperfect and hilarious teachers. Most of Hero’s mistakes involve making the wrong sorts of friends and going to the wrong sorts of places, thus opening her up to public shame and snubbing. However, on a more serious note, both Hero and Sherry run up huge debts while gambling.

Unlike most romance novels, the central concern of the story isn’t whether the two protagonists will end up together—indeed they are married early in the story. Instead, the plot revolves around Sherry, who must learn not to be so selfish and to fall in love with his sweet but hapless wife. I must admit that as I chortled my way through Friday’s Child, I wasn’t particularly worried about this. With all such novels, the destination is never in doubt. Instead, it is the delightful journey that matters.

Friday’s Child, like all of Heyer’s Regency novels, is a bonbon of a story. As it is with many rich sweets, one is definitely enough, and it will probably be quite a while before I read another of Heyer’s books. (Richard Russo’s Everybody’s Fool is waiting for me at the library.)

Still what a delight to read a book that made me laugh out loud. And while Friday’s Child certainly falls into the guilty pleasure category, the New Yorker’s blurb on the back of the book gets it exactly right: “Nimbel, light-hearted…Almost too good to be true.”

Flowers, Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday: Pansy’s Sweet Face

Image May 25, 2016 Laurie Graves 4 Comments

Animals - especially dogs, Flowers

A Busy Day of Buying Flowers and Chasing a Chipmunk

May 24, 2016 Laurie Graves 15 Comments

For Mother’s Day, my daughters bought me gift certificates to a local garden center, and yesterday I went to buy plants for my gardens and for containers. Because of the shadiness of the yard at the little house in the big woods, I am very limited as to what I can buy, not only for the gardens but also to put in pots. Never mind. I have learned to love what thrives here—begonias, impatiens, and coleus. (Surely there is a lesson in this somewhere.) My front garden even has a relatively moist spot for astilbe, which I never had to learn to love. I was smitten with them from the very start. And, lucky me, snapdragons thrive here. How I admire those jaunty flowers, and I always buy the dwarf variety to put on the edge of the back garden. I also bought herbs and one tomato plant—the fair Juliet, which does well in part sun and part shade.

Even though I knew what I wanted, I spent a happy hour or so looking at the various plants and flowers at the garden center. With the back of the car full of plants and flowers, I headed home, happy and content.

However, as soon as I got home and saw Clif just standing in the dining room, I knew something wasn’t right. When he came out to help me with the flowers, he looked glum, and I knew for sure something was wrong.

“What happened?” I asked.

“There might be a squirrel in the house?”

“What do you mean there might be?”

“Well, I was working in my office, and the cats chased one into the room. It ran into the closet, and I had the devil of a time getting it out.”

“Then what happened?”

“It ran out of my office, and I haven’t seen it since. Maybe it went back outside.”

“Maybe,” I said, hopeful but not convinced. Nothing is ever that easy.

But the squirrel could have found its way back outside. On nice days, we leave the cellar door open so that the dog and cats can go in and out as they please. In twelve years of doing so, this is the first time we have had a squirrel come into the house.

“Was it a red squirrel?” I asked.

“I think so,” Clif answered.

A red squirrel! Those fierce little bundles of Tasmanian-devil aggression and energy. A while back, one got into the house of a friend when she was away, and it did so much damage trying to get out that her whole house had to be remodelled.

“I wonder if homeowners insurance covers squirrel damage,” I said.

“Probably,” Clif replied.

Hoping that it wouldn’t get to that point, we poked around the house and looked for the squirrel. Nothing. Eventually, like the cats, we gave up looking for it. Maybe it had gone back outside.

But a little later, when I was out on the patio, I heard Clif call, “It’s in the dining room!” I went down cellar, grabbed a broom, and headed upstairs to help Clif.

“Where is it?” I asked.

“Behind the bookcase with the cook books,” Clif said, nudging it with the broom he was holding.

The little creature leaped onto the window sill, and “That’s not a squirrel!” I exclaimed. “That’s a chipmunk!”

As a rule, I am not a huge fan of rodents. I am not afraid of them—all right, big rats do freak me out—and I wish them no harm. I just want them to stay outside where they belong. However, I must admit I have a soft spot for chipmunks, those mild, unassuming but very cute rodents who, as a rule, never try to come inside. (My theory is that the cats chased this one inside.) When I saw this chipmunk, I smiled, and the dread I was feeling went away. I knew we would be able to get this little creature back outside.

“Open the dining room door,” I said, and Clif did so.

Taking the broom, he nudged the chipmunk, and I stood with my broom, blocking the way to the rest of the house. The chipmunk leaped from the window sill, and glory hallelujah, it rushed out the open door.

“Success!” I yelled. “Chalk one up for team Clif and Laurie.”

Such are the goings-on at the little house in the big woods. We have our moments of failure, but we also have our moments of triumph.

Now, let us hope there are no more cat and rodent shenanigans for the rest of the summer.

Flowers, Nature

Wild Flowers at the Little House in the Big Woods

May 23, 2016 Laurie Graves 13 Comments

As regular readers of this blog know, I refer to our home as “the little house in the big woods,” a nod, of course, to Laura Ingalls Wilder. (As a child, I loved her books.) Yes, we have neighbors, and yes, a road goes right by our house. Nevertheless, our home is tucked into the the woods at the edge of a watershed that protects the Upper Narrows Pond, which is used as a source of drinking water.

Many years ago, a college friend of my daughter’s came here to visit. Because he arrived at night, he really didn’t get a sense of the lay of the land. The next morning, my daughter found him looking out the dining-room window into our backyard.

“I have never seen so many trees in my life,” he said. As he is from Long Island, from a tight neighborhood, I’m sure he wasn’t exaggerating.

Because we are so much in the woods, my flower gardens are a constant challenge, and when you add dry shade to this, it is easy to understand why I frequently grumble that I have the worst yard in Winthrop in which to garden.

However, nature often compensates. What it lacks in one way, it provides in another. For the shady yard at the little house in the big woods, this means spring wild flowers, which bloom in modest profusion on the lawn and by the edges of the woods. These flowers are not bright and showy but are nonetheless lovely, and I look forward to them every spring.

There is Jack-in-the-Pulpit, the pride of the backyard.