Well, it’s been quite a month. I had surgery last week, and the tumor from my breast was removed. Then came the waiting, which is never fun. Exactly how big was the cancer? Was it as unaggressive as previous tests indicated? Would the margins be clear, or would I have to go in for more surgery? 

I am happy to report that given I have cancer, the news was far better than I had hoped. The cancer was even smaller and less aggressive than earlier tests indicated—which means radiation and hormone therapy but no chemo—and the margins were clear. No more surgery! 

As to be expected, I have been tired and sore, but I have the good cheer and kind concern of family and friends to buoy my spirits. Cards, emails, phone calls, flowers, and gifts have all come my way, and, yes, they do make a big difference. I’ve always known this intellectually and have done my best to be supportive when family and friends have been ill. But there is nothing like going through it yourself to really understand how important such support is. 

On the day of my surgery, my daughter Shannon took the day off and came to our house so that she could take care of our dog, Liam, as well as make some chicken soup for me. She followed a Martha Stewart recipe, which involved taking a small chicken, with the skin removed, and simmering it with some vegetables for an hour or so to make a fragrant broth. Then, the broth was strained, more vegetables were added, and when they were cooked, the meat from the chicken went into the soup. 

Oh, how lovely it tasted! I hadn’t eaten anything except toast since the day before, and my throat was sore from the respirator. That chicken soup lived up to its chicken soup reputation. It was warm, soothing, nourishing, and just plain good. So readers, if someone in your circle of family or friends needs tending, do not hesitate to make them chicken soup. (As long, of course, as they aren’t vegetarians.) It will be very much appreciated. 

Then, on the weekend after my surgery, my friend Kate Johnson called and asked, “How about if Bob [her husband] and I come for a visit this Saturday, and we’ll bring the meal—beef Bolognese, wine, homemade bread, and peach shortbread?” Naturally, I said, “Yes, please!” as soon as she had finished asking the question. 

So on a warm, sunny day, Bob and Kate came bearing food, a present (the book Reckless by Cornelia Funke), and cards. We sat on the patio and had cheese, crackers, and wine while our dog Liam cavorted with their dog Jamie—a yellow Lab. Finches, chickadees, and nuthatches fluttered at the bird feeders at the edge of the patio. Crickets sang their fall song. When it became too cool and damp to stay on the patio, we went inside for a wonderful meal of smooth yet tangy beef Bolognese on pasta, bread as good as only homemade bread can be, and peach shortbread with the right amount of crumble. 

These are two meals I won’t forget.

Last Saturday, to celebrate my upcoming birthday, my husband, Clif, and I decided to go on a bike trek, from Farmingdale to Richmond and then back to Hallowell, where we would go to a pub called the Liberal Cup for fish and chips. Our daughter Shannon, her husband, Mike, and our friends Jill, Claire, and Sybil planned to meet us at the Cup for a celebratory meal. We would leave Farmingdale around 1:30 and be in Hallowell by 5:00.

All summer long, we have been preparing for a trek such as this. As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, to mitigate the effects of being such a good eater, I have resolved to become a good biker as well. My husband, Clif, is also working to become a good biker. At the beginning of the summer, we started out gradually, first going four or five miles, then working up to ten miles, and finally going sixteen or seventeen miles, on a route with challenging hills. By the end of the summer, we were both comfortable with a seventeen-mile trek, and we were eager to try a longer one.

Our friend Jim Leavitt had recommended the ride from Hallowell to Richmond. It goes along the Kennebec River, and it is reasonably flat. Jim also told us of two side roads to take that would bypass some major hills. As it happened, those side routes dipped by the river and were two of the loveliest parts of the ride.

On Saturday morning, we woke up to a day that bikers dream about—warm, about 73, zero humidity, and with a deep blue sky dotted with friendly white clouds. It couldn’t have been more perfect. We drove to Farmingdale, parked the car, and after Shannon took pictures of us, we began our trek. We pedaled through Gardiner, past a stone library, and up two fair-sized hills. After those hills, we hit a stretch so flat, between Gardiner and South Gardiner, that we dubbed it “Indiana.” How we zipped on that stretch.

To the right, the Kennebec River sparkled and shimmered under the bright September sun. Asters, some dark purple and some almost white, grew so close to the road that they nearly brushed my arm. Crickets sang, and we passed neglected apple trees with small, red apples, a sweet, fleeting smell that was soon gone.

Over the Richmond line we rolled, and it was on to Richmond proper. The road became hillier, but there was nothing to intimidate us until we biked into town and encountered “the hill.” Well, going down was fun, and my hair flapped wildly under my helmet. But the fun was mitigated by the knowledge that soon we would be going back up that hill.

Trying to push that thought aside, we bought some iced tea and a peanut butter Moon Pie, and we sat at a riverside park as we ate and drank. We admired the narrow Kennebec River up close, and Swan Island, which seemed only a swim away.

But, there was no time to dawdle at a riverside park. We had to be back in Hallowell by 5:00, and there was that hill.

Now, I’ve been ridden up some challenging hills in Winthrop and Monmouth, but this is the hardest hill I’ve encountered yet. So steep that I nearly came to a standstill. So steep that it actually made me laugh. So steep that I had to rest in the little valley of the hill before the road dipped up again.

But we both got to the top of that hill, and back we went the way we came, through Richmond, South Gardiner, Gardiner, Farmingdale, and finally to Hallowell. We were only fifteen minutes late when we made our triumphant entry into the Cup. Shannon, Mike, Jill, Claire, and Sybil were waiting for us inside, sitting around a long table, and they cheered when we came into the room. I’m sure we had cheesy grins on our faces. I really can’t remember the last time anyone cheered for us.

The fish and chips that night tasted better than they ever have. Somehow, the chips were crisper and the fish extra flaky and moist. I suppose having pedaled twenty-eight miles had something to do with the deliciousness of the food.

Nevertheless, it was one of the best birthday celebrations I have ever had. It was especially meaningful because a few weeks ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I’ll be going in for surgery the day before my birthday. My prospects are very good—tests indicate that the cancer is slow growing and nonaggressive—but it is still a scary thing to face.

“How odd to have such a wonderful birthday,” I mused, “when I’ll be having surgery soon.”

My daughter Shannon perfectly summed it up. “It was a life-affirming day.”

Yes, it was.

I know. Readers are probably thinking, “What in the world is it with this woman and cupcakes? And vegan as well? Hold the icing!” The truth of the matter is, even though I’ve written quite a bit about cupcakes, primarily for Wolf Moon Journal, they are not my favorite dessert. Donuts, pies, and cookies have a much greater pull on me than cupcakes ever could. But last summer, at a Taste of Brunswick event in, of course, Brunswick, Maine, I became smitten by 111 Maine’s cupcakes—moist chocolate topped by a whipped butter cream icing that hovered impossibly between firm and melted. But still, as a rule, I would choose cheesecake over cupcakes anytime. 

However, cupcakes seem to be constantly insinuating their way into my awareness. This time, it was via an article in the New York Times about how Chloe Coscarelli, a twenty-two-year-old vegan chef, won the final round of the Food Network’s show Cupcake Wars. Those tempted to sneer should know that Coscarelli won “a $10,000 prize and the chance to supply the cupcakes for an OK! magazine celebrity event.” 

Even though I am not a cupcake fanatic, I would be interested in trying Coscarelli’s cupcakes and would even consider making them. But for me, the larger issue is cooking vegan, and Coscarelli has a website and blog that feature recipes that go beyond cupcakes. There is every indication that a vegan diet, one based on plants, is healthier for the planet and for its people. Raising animals for meat and dairy uses a lot of energy, and many of the diseases we associate with developed countries—heart attacks, diabetes, and some kinds of cancer—can be linked to a high-fat, high cholesterol diet. Michael Pollan advocates eating mostly plants, as does Mark Bittman, and it seems to me that they are on the right track. 

Now, I am not going to renounce butter and eggs. I will continue to eat fish and chicken in moderation. Occasionally, I will eat beef. But I am going to check out Coscarelli’s website and try some of her vegan techniques. It’s good for old cooks to learn new tricks, especially if those tricks are healthy and delicious.

Because of the early season and the heat, my flower gardens are looking a little shabby. However, as consolation, we have the beautiful colors of late summer vegetables. Since I live in the woods, I can’t grow many of my own. However, Winthrop has a thriving little Farmers’ Market, where Farmer Kev and other vendors sell their fruit and vegetables, and I am able to get most of my fresh food, including meat, at this market. I also go to Stevenson’s, a small stand in Winthrop open seven days a week, and between the market and the stand, this time of year I buy very little produce from the grocery store.

Along with the wonderful, fresh tastes are the wonderful colors. I was so taken with the different colors of the various vegetables that I arranged them in a basket so that my husband, Clif, could take a picture. Except for the red peppers, which I bought at Stevenson’s, all the vegetables came from Farmer Kev’s stand.

Yesterday, from the Bowdoin Daily Sun, I received a link to an excellent guide to eating seafood from Food & Water Watch. We all know that seafood can and should be part of a healthy diet. (The excellent health of Japanese women can be partly tied to their love of seafood.) However, because of pollution and overfishing, some seafood is better than others. 

Food & Water Watch have compiled a list that addresses specific seafood and its impact on both human health and the environment. A pocket guide can be downloaded, and there is also a quick, handy guide on the website for different kinds of seafood. I was very happy to discover that three of my favorites—haddock, wild salmon, and lobster—get a check of approval for human and environmental health. 

This means I can eat lobster rolls and haddock with a clear conscience. Delicious, good for you, and not bad for the environment. A triple run!

Long, long ago, Maine used to be the breadbasket of New England. I kid you not. This was in the 1800s, before people headed west for greener pastures. However, there is a grain-growing, bread-making renaissance in Maine, culminating with a Kneading Conference in none other than Skowhegan, the mill town where my parents grew up. 

I had hoped to make it to this year’s Kneading Conference, but my schedule just didn’t allow for this to happen. When I read Marian Burros’s recent piece in the New York Times about the conference and the resurgence of grain growing and bread making in Maine, I was doubly sorry that I wasn’t able to go. 

Next year, I hope. In the meantime, I’ll be making bread.

Doomsday prophecies are nothing new. The end of our world has been predicted many times, yet onward it spins, with an ever-growing human population. Sea levels are rising, Earth’s temperature is rising, and, in response, animals and plants are slowly migrating north. (Oh, the changes I have seen since I was a child in central Maine. Believe it or not, there was nary a Japanese beetle to plague us.) But so far, at least, our little lives go on much as they always have. We work, we play, we raise our families. And we consume. Boy, do we Americans consume. 

Now, environmentalists can be a gloomy lot, and end-of-the-world, doomer predictions play right into their pessimism. It is hardly surprising that people with sunnier, more optimistic natures tend to dismiss these predictions, especially when we haven’t had any great, worldwide catastrophes in recent times. 

No one, of course, can say for certain what the future will bring, and we humans are endlessly inventive. However, just because we haven’t had a recent worldwide catastrophe, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be concerned about the way people—especially those of us in rich countries—are depleting resources. Earth has a finite supply of water, land, and resources. The more people there are, the less there is to go around. This is only common sense, a homely virtue that often seems to be in short supply. Those of us who are concerned about food—and shouldn’t we all be?—often wonder how in the world everyone is going to eat if the human population goes ever upward. 

In yesterday’s New York Times, Mark Bittman reviewed Julian Cribb’s book The Coming Famine: The Global Food Crisis and What We Can Do to Avoid It.  Since I haven’t read the book, I can’t make direct comments on it, but here is a short excerpt from Bittman’s review: “Much of ‘The Coming Famine’ builds an argument that we’ve jumped off a cliff and that global chaos — a tidal wave of people fleeing their own countries for wherever they can find food — is all but guaranteed. The rest of the book concentrates on catching an outcropping of rock with a finger and scrambling back up. The writing is neither personality-filled nor especially fluid, but the sheer number of terrifying facts makes the book gripping.” 

Not a fun read, by any means, but The Coming Famine will be going on my to-be-read pile. And, there are things as individuals that we can do. Bittman writes “Dietary change is primary, and can be as simple as eating a salad instead of a cheeseburger and an apple instead of a bag of chips. Waste less food. Compost. Garden, even if (or especially if) you live in a city. Choose sustainable food, including fish. And so on.” 

I’m preaching to the choir, I know, but let’s face it—this mindful path toward food is not always an easy path to follow. It is often more expensive and more work, and most of us like to eat fat, salt, and meat. Restraint is not always easy, but our own health and the health of our planet could very well hinge on restraint.

This is not a food picture, but I couldn’t resist sharing it. Besides, a little digression now and then adds interest not only to blogs but also to life.

I took this picture of my daughter Shannon and her bridesmaid, Andrea Maddi, just before the wedding. They were both a little jittery, and I thought that maybe some prewedding meditation and breathing would calm them down and lighten the mood as well.

“Put your hands together,” I instructed. “Close your eyes. Breathe in, breathe out.”

They did as they were instructed, and I snapped a picture of them.

And by gum, I think it had the desired effect. Afterward, we all laughed, and Shannon and Andrea weren’t quite as jittery.

August 14^th, the day of our daughter Shannon’s wedding, was one of those lovely, clear days that tourists who vacation in Maine dream about. The day was warm, but not too hot, there was hardly a cloud in the bright blue sky, and the humidity was low. All summer brides (and grooms!) wish for such weather for their weddings. 

The actual ceremony was held outside (another reason to be thankful for nice weather) under a large pavilion. Shannon’s boss, who is a justice of the peace, performed the ceremony, and everything was as splendid as the weather. Andrea Maddi, one of the bridesmaids, read an Apache prayer. Claire Hersom, the groom’s aunt, read one of her poems. Then, there was a receiving line, pictures, the meal, and dancing. Lots of dancing. 

In fact, like the preceding week, it all seems a blur—a bit like Christmas where a lot of preparation goes into one day that seems to pass in a flash. Many of the guests have commented on how “glowing” both Shannon and Mike were. How true! They both looked so happy to be getting married. As I have told many of my friends, Mike and Shannon are very devoted to each other, and while it may be old-fashioned and not terribly romantic, I believe it is this devotion that will help them through the hard times that inevitably come into all people’s lives. 

Anyway, a beautiful day for our family and for the many dear friends who came to celebrate it with us. And I am now a mother-in-law. 

However, as a foodie, it would be remiss of me not to relate a conversation I had the following day with a young man named Chris, one of the guests. A small group of us, including Mike and Shannon, went to Riverside Farm Market & Café in Oakland for brunch the day after the wedding. Riverside Market sits on the edge of fields, gardens, and, yes, a vineyard. Beyond the fields, gardens, and vineyard, the Messalonskee river flashes and glitters as it flows by Riverside Market. In an area of Maine known for its pastoral prospects (as well as its mills), it would be hard to find a more pleasing view. 

Along with growing grapes, which is made into wine, Riverside Market grows much of what they serve, and all the food is fresh and well prepared. I love going there for brunch and am especially keen on their eggs Benedict. The poached eggs are plump and perfect, and the hollandaise sauce is smooth and rich. My husband, Clif, sat on one side of me, and Chris, the aforementioned guest, sat on the other. 

Chris now lives in Washington, D.C., but he is originally from Louisiana, where his parents run an organic farm that features grass-fed cattle. Chris is a foodie, and as he had never been to Maine, he was eager to try lobster rolls and real maple syrup, both for the first time. (When our server heard this, she shook her head in surprise. For Mainers, real maple syrup is almost a birthright.) 

On the way to Shannon’s wedding, Chris had stopped in Freeport to have a lobster roll. “But I didn’t get a good one,” he said. 

“Oh, no?” I replied, wondering what was wrong with it. “Tell me about the lobster roll.” 

“Well, it was stuffed full of lobster meat, but there was no sauce, nothing to go on top of it.” 

Spoken like a true son of Louisiana, where most things, even the seafood, are served with some kind of hot, spicy sauce. Laughing, I told Chris that in all likelihood he had had a perfectly fine lobster roll, that we “Yankees” tended to like our seafood straight up and plain, and indeed there is some virtue in this. Too many spices can easily overcome the delicate flavor of seafood, especially when it comes to lobster. Enlightened, Chris vowed to give lobster rolls another try, keeping in mind there would be no spicy sauce on top. 

With maple syrup, which Chris had for the first time with his blueberry pancakes at Riverside Market, it was quite another matter—love at first taste. And a triumph for Maine. A maple-syrup convert. 

So the wedding is now over, and a happy day it was. I hope to have a few pictures, not all of them food related, to post sometime soon.