Yesterday, Liam and I went into the woods so that I could gather greens and he could be off-leash and sniff to his heart’s content. Other dogs walk that trail, and their scents are an endless source of fascination to Liam. By Maine standards, these woods are not deep, and they are certainly not old growth. But the trail loops by the lower Narrows, and they are lovely in a quiet way. We spent an hour or so in the woods before cutting what we needed for greens. Today, I’ll arrange the greens in a box to go on our deck. A little greenery for Christmas cheer is always a good thing.

Yesterday, Clif and I woke up to find 6 inches of snow in the yard and in the driveway. Clif took out Little Green for the first snow throwing of the season while I shoveled the backyard pathways to the wood pile, the bird feeders, and the compost bins. Liam barked and leaped at the snow as I shoveled, and it made me laugh to watch him.

I am a summer person, but when I get used to the cold, I actually do enjoy winter, that still time of muted colors when the birds crowd the feeder. Tufted titmice, nuthatches, finches, woodpeckers, and last, but certainly not least, the chickadees, my favorites, all come to the backyard feeders. Indeed, we have so many chickadees here that once upon a time I referred to our home as Chickadee Place. As my friend Barbara once observed, chickadees may be plentiful, but they are not common. No, they aren’t, and chickadees are always a welcome sight at the feeder.

White beans are simmering on the stove, and soon I’ll be making a white bean soup in my Crock-Pot. I’ll use fresh sage and thyme that have weathered the cold. I’m thinking of adding the last of the gravy and a bit of leftover chicken stock, so it will be more like a stew than a soup. Celery, onion, garlic, carrots, and mushrooms. Perhaps a sweet yellow pepper. A hearty meal for a cold night. Add homemade bran muffins, and we’ll have a pretty good meal, as Clif might say.

Today will also be a day to take stock of Christmas presents, to assess what I already have and to decide what else I might need. I’ll be placing a Daedalus order, something I always enjoy doing. Good books at reasonable prices. What’s not to like?

As I’ve often noted, we are a family with a modest budget, and, accordingly, our presents are modest. But modest or not, we enjoy giving and receiving them. We plan ahead, we make some of the presents we give, and despite the hecticness of the season, we do our best to make things merry.

No bah humbugs at Chickadee Place.

The week before Thanksgiving was spent cooking and cleaning, and by the time the big day came, I was prepared. The turkey was thawing in the refrigerator. The gravy was also thawing in the refrigerator. The green bean casserole had been made. Ditto for the yeast rolls. The house was dusted, scrubbed, and vacuumed. All that could be done ahead of time had been done.

Then came the call from Shannon on Thanksgiving Day. Her dog, Holly, was sick. Very sick. Perhaps it was a flu, perhaps Holly had eaten something she shouldn’t. Whatever the case, Holly was too sick to bring and too sick to leave alone for that length of time. Therefore, Mike and Shannon wouldn’t be coming over for dinner.

Because Dee was with Shannon in South Portland, this meant that Clif had to pick her up in Topsham—halfway for both Shannon and Clif. (Mike stayed home with the dog while Shannon brought Dee to Topsham.) While I had done all that I could ahead of time, there were still many last minute things to do, and I was counting on Clif to help me. But there was no way around it. Clif had to fetch Dee, and I had to finish the last of the getting ready by myself.

Nevertheless, all seemed to be going well. Clif picked up Dee. Our friends arrived and settled in the living room with wine, nuts, cheese, and crackers. Then chaos descended as the turkey came out of the oven, and various dishes went from the microwave, where they were heated, to the oven, where they would stay warm. As Dee mashed the potatoes—mounds and mounds of them—bits of potato flew onto the counter and onto her sweater. I juggled dishes from the microwave to the stove and finally to the sideboard in the dining room. Was the candle lit? Yes. Did everyone have water? They did. And more wine as well. Olives, pickles, squash bread? Check, check, check.

We gathered together around the table, and I actually sighed gratefully. Everything tasted good. The food was even vaguely warm.

But later that night, after everyone had left, Clif said, “I didn’t have any stuffing.”

“Oh?” I replied. “Well, maybe your plate was too full and you didn’t have any room.”

“Maybe.”

Then I started thinking about my own plate. Had I eaten any stuffing? I couldn’t remember that I had.

We are a family that loves stuffing, and I had actually made extra, in a casserole dish, as there is never enough in the turkey.

I had a sneaking suspicion about that stuffing, and when I checked, my suspicions were confirmed. Both stuffings, two huge dishes full, were still in the oven, pushed to the back. They had never made it to the sideboard.

And here’s the funny thing. At dinner, our friend Jill had commented on how during a big hectic meal, dishes sometimes were forgotten in the oven. Did Jill miss the stuffing? She didn’t mention it, and I think she would have done so had she noticed its absence. Nevertheless, it was a funny coincidence, especially since it was the first time I had forgotten anything in the oven.

Ah, well. We feasted, we talked, and thanks to the dishwasher, clean up was pretty easy.

And along with all the other leftovers, we had lots of stuffing. Plenty to bring to Shannon when we visited on Saturday, where an almost fully-recovered Holly was happy to see us.

Now, onward to Christmas!

The rain is beating down on the roof, in the yard, and on the road, but all is cosy inside. I’ve started a wood fire in our furnace, and nothing warms the house as well as wood does. Cooking has commenced, and for the most part, I am right on schedule.

Tomorrow at the little house in the big woods, eight people, two dogs, and two cats will be coming together—some more easily than others—to celebrate Thanksgiving. When all is done and the food is served, I will indeed give thanks for what I have—a snug house, loving family and friends, the animals, and another year where I am cancer free.

Our daughter Dee will be staying with us until Saturday, which means I’ll be taking a little break from the blog to be with her. Happy Thanksgiving to all readers who live in the United States. Indeed, a happy day to all readers. May your plates be full and your hearts be merry.

Another busy weekend coming up. Is there any other kind this time of year? On Saturday, friends will be coming over for wine and appetizers. Along with the usual chit-chat, we will be celebrating the retirement of one of the friends. I plan to make a crab dip from a recipe I found in one of Gladys Taber’s books. The dip is made in a double boiler, and along with the crab it includes cream cheese, a bit of mayonnaise, wine, and Worcestershire sauce. This afternoon, I’ll be making homemade crackers to go with the crab dip.

On a recent trip to Trader Joe’s, we stocked up on wine that is very, very reasonably priced and quite good. The prices even go as low as $3.99, and I am not at all ashamed to serve this wine at gatherings. For those living on a modest budget, I highly recommend getting wine at Trader Joe’s. We have enough, I think, for the season, and that is one worry out of the way.

Planning ahead and organizing don’t come easily to me. However, over the years, I have certainly seen the benefits of both, and I make such an effort to be organized that I give the impression of naturally being that way. Therefore, friends are always shocked when I tell them I am not. This is a good example of the value of effort. I might never be as organized as many of my friends, but with effort, I have made great strides, and for the most part we don’t have too many moments of sheer chaos at the little house in the big woods. (We still have some, of course. When something doesn’t come naturally, effort will only take a person so far.)

On Sunday, we will be going north, to the University of Maine at Orono, to see our nephew Patrick in Mary Zimmerman’s play Metamorphoses, adapted from Ovid’s poem of the same name. The set will include a giant pool where much of the action takes place, and I am looking forward to seeing this play. As Patrick is our favorite nephew as well as our only nephew, we would go see him in anything, even something as humdrum as Arsenic and Old Lace. What a bonus when the play that he’s in turns out to be really interesting.

In between cooking, cleaning, and entertaining, there will be walks to the Narrows Pond with the dog. I’ll bring my camera. Sometimes I get good pictures, sometimes I don’t, but I never get tired of the view of all that water, gray on a day like today with a slight fizzle of snow coming down. As I’ve mentioned before, Monet had his water lilies and haystacks, and I have the Narrows.

Mid-November is here. The ground is hard underfoot but not slippery or messy, a winning combination as far as I’m concerned. The weather is crisp but not unbearably cold, and today I’ll even be riding my bike to the food pantry. I’ll bundle up. I have a headband that will fit under my helmet. I have warm gloves. Still, I expect my cheeks will be very rosy by the time I get to the pantry, about a mile and a half away from my house.

Next week is Thanksgiving, and this year we will be celebrating it at the little house in the big woods. Oh, the flurry of cooking and cleaning that must be done! I am happy to report that the gravy is made and in the freezer. A few years ago, I came across Julia Moskin’s make-ahead gravy recipe in the New York Times, and I decided to give it a try. For me, one of the most stressful parts of the Thanksgiving meal is the gravy. It’s always rushed, done at the last minute while all the other food is cooling and languishing on the sideboard. My gravy was almost always bland, with the fat oozing to the top. I’m probably making it sound worse than it was, but I was never happy with the results.

The first year I made Julia Moskin’s gravy, a week or so before Thanksgiving, I knew my life had changed for the better. The gravy was utterly delicious, there was no fat swimming at the top, and it took so much stress out of Thanksgiving Day. Best of all, the gravy froze and thawed beautifully. It does take a long time to make—I stretch it out over two days—but very little of it is hands-on time. For those who work outside the home, a weekend would be the perfect time to make this gravy. Go on. Do it. There is still time. You can thank me afterwards.

A couple of points about the gravy, where I diverge from the recipe: I like it thicker than Moskin recommends, and so I add the stock gradually to the roux until I get a thickness I want. If there is any leftover stock, well, leftover chicken and gravy here we come. (There is a fair amount of leftover meat after making the stock, and I use this meat for stir-fries, wraps, and with gravy, if there is leftover stock.)  Also, I use chicken legs rather than turkey legs. They’re usually cheaper, and on Thanksgiving Day, nobody complains that the gravy tastes like chicken rather than turkey.

As Rhonda from the blog Down to Earth has noted, the key to a successful holiday dinner is planning and delegating. I have already delegated dessert to my friends Alice and Jill. My daughter Shannon will be making the sweet potato casserole and the cranberry sauce. Next Monday, I’ll bake a bunch of Farmer Kev’s squash. Some will go into soup, and some will go into squash bread, to be made on Wednesday. The green bean casserole will be made ahead of time, and I’m thinking of making some rolls on Wednesday. We’ve stocked up on soft drinks, wine, and salted nuts.

Are we ready for the holidays, or what?

This week, I have a big writing project to work on, and I will be taking a break from A Good Eater until it is finished. Busy, busy, but pleasantly so. When I return, I will have a Crock-Pot white bean stew recipe to share as well as musings about November, Thanksgiving, and a food drive at the Winthrop Food Pantry. Maybe even something about chocolate fudge, which I have never made but am thinking of doing for Thanksgiving this year.

Until next week…

On Saturday morning, I made egg-salad finger rolls, and then it was off to southern Maine to get ready for Andrea’s baby shower. Her mother, Debbie, picked me up, and we collected my daughter Shannon on the way. The car was loaded with food, decorations, and presents, and when we reached our destination—Andrea’s cousin’s house—we entered in a flurry to begin decorating and getting things ready. Somebody—one of Debbie’s cousins, I think—compared us to busy elves, and I’m happy to report that when the shower was over, the house looked much the way it did before we started.

The decorating theme of the shower was children’s literature, and with the help of my husband, Clif, we made a banner of book covers from some beloved children’s stories, including Toby Runs Away, which was one of Andrea’s favorites. And her father’s, too. Apparently he liked the brevity of the book.

I always love giving children’s books for presents at a baby shower, and even before the decorating theme had been decided on, I was planning to buy some children books for Andrea’s baby. We have a nifty little bookstore—Apple Valley Books—in Winthrop, and I just happen to have a talented cousin—Lynn Plourde—who has written many children’s books. Lynn also lives in Winthrop, which meant that I was able to buy two of her books—Wild Child and Pigs in the Mud in the Middle of the Rud—and have her sign them. I also picked up the beautiful Grandfather Twilight by Barbara Helen Berger. And at Clif’s urging, we included Dorothy Kunhardt’s Pat the Bunny in the bundle of books. How well Clif and I remember little fingers patting the bunny and trying on the ring. There are so many wonderful books for children, and what a treat to be able to buy some of them for Andrea’s baby.

Debbie, Shannon, and I, with the help of some of the other guests, provided the food, and I know I’m bragging a bit, but to borrow from my Yankee husband, the spread was pretty darned good. Along with the egg-salad finger rolls there were chicken-salad finger rolls, a Mexican dip, hummus, vegetables, crostini, white bean spread, veggies, and many other tasty tidbits. Especially delectable were Shari’s Berries chocolate-covered strawberries that Andrea’s mother-in-law brought. The strawberries were incredibly ripe and sweet, and how Shari’s Berries accomplishes this in November is a mystery to me. They are a bit pricey, but as a special gift for someone, those chocolate-covered strawberries would be just the thing. Unfortunately, I did not get a good close-up photo of the strawberries.

Thanks to modern technology, Andrea knows she is going to have a baby girl, and she and her husband, Ben, have chosen the lovely name Imogen for their child. Shakespeare buffs will recognize the name as the heroine in the play Cymbeline. “Wouldn’t it be cool,” I said to Andrea. “to have a bevy of daughters and name them after Shakespeare’s great heroines? Imogen, Juliet, Viola, and Rosalind, to name a few.” Andrea allowed as to how this would be very cool indeed but that perhaps she and Ben didn’t want to have that many children. Of course they don’t. Still, it’s fun to think about.

Andrea received lots and lots of baby things, including little outfits, irresistible in their cuteness. However, perhaps one of the nicest presents came from Andrea’s mother, Debbie. It was a handmade quilt made by her neighbor, and the quilt has a 1950’s vintage look with hand-embroidered animals. Little Imogen is bound to have sweet dreams wrapped in that quilt.

By late afternoon, as it was getting dark, the presents were unwrapped, and it was time for Shannon, Debbie, and I to reprise our roles as elves and pack away what remained of what we had brought. As I was picking things up, I glanced into the living room and saw that Andrea was surrounded by a few of the remaining guests, mothers who were sharing their birthing stories. As Andrea listened intently, I was struck by how this rite of passage is one of the few we have left in our modern world—experienced mothers coming together to help a new mother. It made me a little teary eyed to listen to the stories and the advice.

No matter how advanced the technology, which has certainly saved the lives of countless women and babies, we still need the support of other women, their stories and advice.

This will be a bright, busy November weekend. The russet leaves of the oak still cling stubbornly to the trees, but most of the other leaves have fallen, and Clif and I are making good progress with yard work. There is more wood to stack, raking to do, and one last flower bed to cut back, but in a couple of weeks all will be snug and ready for winter at the little house in the big woods.

In between yard work, writing, and other chores, I am also helping my friend Debbie with a baby shower for her daughter Andrea, one of Shannon’s dearest friends. Andrea and Shannon have been friends since they were very young, and in so many ways, Andrea feels like a third daughter to me.

What a pleasure to help with this shower! I’ll be making egg salad finger rolls, that oh-so-delicious staple of afternoon parties. Another friend will be bringing chicken salad finger rolls. Shannon will be making several appetizers, which will include a white bean dip and hummus. Debbie has ordered cupcakes, and the shower will be held at Andrea’s cousin’s house. The theme of the shower is going to be children’s books, and I’ll write more about this after the shower.

While there is certainly a time and a place for catered events, I must say that I especially love homegrown parties where many people come together to make it all work for the one (or ones!) being honored and celebrated. Not everything old-timey is good—there is no point in wallowing in nostalgia—but homegrown events, with lots of homemade food, truly represent the best of the good old days when people knew how to get together to throw an old-fashioned party with simple food and simple pleasures.

When I was child growing up in Maine in the 1960s and 1970s, I was aware of only a few varieties of apples—the ubiquitous McIntosh, Cortland, golden delicious, and the beautiful but bland red delicious. But sometime between then and now there has been an explosion of varieties to dazzle the apple lover—gala, honey crisp, Paula red, pink lady, to name just few. Some of the varieties now available are in fact very old and have made a comeback. Others are newer varieties, bred to appeal to the love people have for crunchiness, juiciness, tartness, and sweetness—all in one apple. I’ve tried a variety of apples, but when it comes to Maine apples, somehow I always seem to return to Cortlands for eating and McIntoshes for cooking.

But then fate intervened. A week or so ago, Ben, a friend of Shannon and Mike’s, posted on Facebook how much he loved Macoun apples. Since they were a variety I have never tasted, I took note, but I really didn’t think too much about them. However, last Sunday, at the Peace Pole celebration for Tom Sturtevant, Theresa Kerchner and her husband, Jim Perkins, provided apples for the reception. In a big bowl, there were a couple of varieties, some of them whole while others were cut up. Along with some cheese and crackers, I grabbed a few apples slices, the skins of which were bright red.

At first bite, I was smitten. This apple was crunchy, juicy, tart, and sweet. In short, everything an apple should be. I discovered that this apple was—you guessed it—a Macoun. Better yet, I discovered it was purchased at Lakeside Orchards in Manchester, just down the road from where I live.

On Monday, while doing errands, I bought my very own bag of Macoun apples, and I have been gorging on them ever since. I figure if an apple a day keeps the doctor away, then two apples a day must really keep that doctor at bay.

Macouns are not a very old variety, but neither are they brand new. Introduced in 1923, Macouns are a cross between a McIntosh and a Jersey black, and they were named after the Canadian fruit grower W.T. Macoun.

From now on, Macouns will be my apple of choice, and I’ll be buying them for as long as they are available. I am constantly amazed at how many new tricks this old dog can learn, and I thank Ben, Theresa, and Jim for introducing me to this little red beauty, my new love.