Running in the Backwoods

Yesterday afternoon when I looked out my kitchen window, I saw a deer running in the backwoods. I waited for the sound of gunshots, for the flash of orange as a hunter chased the deer. Neither came.

“Good,” I thought.  My sympathies are always with the hunted, with animals that are often coldly referred to as prey. How terrible to have to run for your life, to know that death is not far behind.

We are halfway through hunting season. For me, and especially for the deer, the end of this season can’t come soon enough. Then, I can work in the backyard without fear of accidentally being shot. (This doesn’t happen often in Maine, but it has happened, most notably to a young mother with twins. She was shot dead in her own backyard as she tried to warn a hunter he was too close to her house.)

When hunting season ends, Clif, Liam, and I can walk in the cold woods—my favorite time of year to walk in them. I’ll bring my camera and take pictures of all the little things that catch my eye.

Fifteen more days to go.

Our backwoods, with no running deer
Our backwoods, with no running deer

First Bread

Yesterday, I baked our first loaves of bread in the new oven. My fears— or concerns, if you will—turned out to be completely justified. In my old oven, it took thirty-three minutes to bake the bread to golden perfection. I decided to see if the same was true for my new oven. It was not.

The bread, although not burnt, came out a little too dark, a little overbaked, and thus a little dry.  As Clif and I mostly think of bread as toast—oh, how we love toast—this dry bread is not as bad as it sounds. However, next time I make bread, I will bake it for thirty minutes and go from there.

First bread, a little too dark
First bread, a little too dark

The next challenge will be gingersnaps, which I’ll be making on Monday to bring to my friend Esther when I go for a visit on Tuesday.  In my old oven, eleven minutes gave you a perfect cookie that had a little snap and a little chew all at the same time. I’ve decided to try nine minutes.

All this fussing about time reminds me that my old oven and I were quite the team. I knew just how long it took to bake family favorites. Now, I will have to recalculate the times for many of the things I bake.

No wonder the old stove seemed like a friend. People and their tools, their equipment, and their appliances can form quite a bond.

Dogs in the Yard

Last Saturday, Clif and I took care of the granddogs while Mike and Shannon visited with relatives. The day was dry and warm, perfect for yard work, perfect for dogs to frolic in the yard.

Holly and Somara are both young dogs, and how fun it was to watch them race and chase each other. Liam, who at nearly eleven is, ahem, a senior dog, mostly just watched. However, once in a while Liam would rouse himself to join in on the fun. All too often, when I should have been raking, I would just stand and watch the dogs as they played.

I wasn’t able to take pictures of the dogs as they raced—too fast for my little camera—but I was able to get a few shots between frolics.

Liam, the senior dog
Liam, the senior dog

 

Somara, surveying the yard and the unraked leaves
Somara, surveying the yard and the unraked leaves

 

Holly, alert and always ready to have her picture taken
Holly, alert and always ready to have her picture taken

 

Dogs, leaves, a fire in the fire pit at night, S’mores. November, too, has its delights.

Farewell, Old Friend. Hello, New Friend.

Yesterday was quite the day at the little house in the big woods. Two men from Dave’s Appliance delivered our new stove. It was also a bittersweet day. As I noted in a previous post, we bought that stove—a basic electric—in the mid-1990s, and I have literally cooked thousands of meals on it. I’ve fed family and friends. Really, for the past twenty years, there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t use the stove.

But the time had come—there were just too many things that were broken—and it was with a lump in my throat that I watched the two delivery men take out the old stove. Out they wheeled it to the big truck, and back in they came with the new stove, another basic electric. Within thirty minutes, the job was done. Farewell, farewell old friend.

Clif and I eschewed the electric stoves with the flat, glass tops. We were told we could not use cast iron or any other pot with a texture on the bottom as they would scratch the top. We asked ourselves, how in the world could we make home fries without using a cast-iron frying pan?  Clearly, we couldn’t. The cast-iron frying pan make those home fries so crispy, so right. Therefore, we went with the traditional coil burners.

After the delivery men left, it didn’t take us long to make inaugural cups of tea. As the water heated, I marveled at how the front burner actual worked and how the oven door stayed open all by itself. I  didn’t have to rest it against my knees to peek into the oven. I didn’t have to lock the door for it to remain shut.

Welcome, new friend! I hope you stay at the little house in the big woods for many years.

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Tumbling Leaves, Warm Weather, and S’mores

Such a mild November we are having. For this whole first week it has been so warm that we’ve needed no heat during the day. Around 6:00 p.m., Clif has started a fire in our wood furnace in the basement, and that has been enough to keep us warm until the next evening.

I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, it is great that we haven’t had to use any type of heat during the day. (As Mainers, we are prepared for the cold and have three sources of heat—electric, propane, and wood. At various times during the year, we use all three.) But this warm November weather is, well, just plain weird and is no doubt the result of climate change.

However, even though I take climate change very seriously, and Clif and I have worked hard to reduce our carbon footprint, I figure I might as well enjoy this warm weather while it is here.  Because paradoxically, climate change has also seemed to bring colder weather in the winter and lots and lots of snow.

In the yard, most of the gardens have been cut back, but a few valiant dwarf snap dragons are still in bloom. I can’t bring myself to pull the plants, and I’ll probably leave them until next spring.

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I have begun bringing in the various garden ornaments, but this little creature is still guarding the yard. Soon he will be down cellar with the others.

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While many of the trees are bare, and the yard is full of leaves just waiting to be raked, the leaves continue to fall. I was lucky enough to catch this oak leaf before it hit the ground.

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While oak leaves do not have the brilliant color of maple leaves, they have their own quiet beauty, especially when they are against a deep blue sky.

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Today, if the weather allows—the sky is overcast right now—I’ll rake the lawn around our firepit so that we can have a fire this weekend. On Saturday, Shannon,  Mike,and the dogs will be coming for a visit.

Who knows? We might even gather around the fire and have S’mores.

Tilapia Fish Casserole for an Autumn Supper

IMG_0399Nowadays, in central Maine, it is dark by 5 p.m., and the days of barbecues and drinks on the patio are over for another year. I must admit that I miss those lovely warm evenings where we could sit outside and listen to the loons, owls, and other night noises.

Still, autumn has its consolations, and one of them is that the nights are now cool enough to enjoy warm, bubbly casseroles for supper. Over the years, I have developed several sauces for casseroles that don’t involve canned cream of anything. (In the past, I’ve written about my aversion to casseroles with canned cream of mushroom soup. Enough said.) The results, as my Yankee husband Clif might put it, are not too bad.

Chicken and vegetables are my usual choice of fillings for casseroles, but recently I started wondering how a fish casserole would taste. What would be the components?

First, of course, the fish, and here I am going to be somewhat of a noodge and urge readers to stay away from wild fish, which we humans are eating at such an alarming rate that the fish populations are seriously depleted. According to the marine biologist Sylvia Earle, “The few fish that really are good choices, I think, are catfish, tilapia and the variations on the theme of carp, the plant-eating creatures that…grow fast. They taste good.”

Accordingly, I chose tilapia, plant-eating fish that are grown in a closed system. The fish is mild but tasty and perfect for a casserole. (The leftovers are also mighty good as fish tacos. Thanks, Mary Jane, for showing me how to make them!)

Along with the fish there would be rice and petite peas. (Mushrooms, carrots, and/or celery would also be delicious, but for my first venture with this recipe, I decided to keep it simple.)

The sauce I would use for a binder would be a simple white sauce with the addition of garlic, dill, and cheese. I guess you could call it a cheesy dill sauce. For the starch, I used rice, which somehow just seems to go with fish.

A tip I learned from the chef Mario Batali was to heat the milk ahead of time before making a white sauce. This is an excellent tip and really cuts down on the time spent stirring the sauce.

As fish cooks quickly, I did not cook the fish ahead of time, the way I would with, say, chicken. The raw fish was cut into bite-sized chunks and laid on top of the rice. Next came the peas, some salt and pepper, more rice, and the white sauce. What about the top? Bread crumbs, of course, with gives a pleasing crunch to the casserole.

The results? “Pretty darned good,” Clif said.

Good enough for company?

“Yes.”

So there you have it—a fish casserole made with sustainable tilapia and a cheesy dill sauce that is not only a good supper for the family but is also good enough for company.

Pretty darned good, indeed.

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Fish Casserole with a Cheesy Dill Sauce
Serves 4 or 5

Ingredients

For the white sauce

  • 4 tablespoons of butter
  • 4 tablespoons of flour
  • 1 clove of garlic, minced
  • 2 cups of hot milk
  • 1 cup of grated cheese (I used cheddar, my go-to cheese)
  • 1 teaspoon of dried dill
  • Salt and pepper to taste

For the rest of the casserole

  • 1/2 pound of tilapia, cut in chunks
  • 1 (1/2) cups cooked petite peas (As noted above, many other vegetables could be added or substituted, as you like it.)
  • 3 cups of cooked rice
  • Salt and pepper, to taste
  • 2 slices of bread, torn into crumbs

Directions

For the white sauce

  1. Melt the butter and add the garlic, letting it sizzle for about 30 seconds. Add the flour and wisk for a minute or two until the roux is bubbly.
  2. Wisk in the hot milk then stir with a spoon until a line forms on the back of the spoon.
  3. Stir in the dill.
  4. Add the grated cheese and stir until melted.
  5. Taste and add salt and pepper, as desired.

For the casserole

  1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
  2. Butter a large casserole dish.
  3. Put half the rice in the dish.
  4. Arrange all the tilapia chunks on the rice.
  5. Sprinkle the peas or whatever vegetables you are using on top of the fish.
  6. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.
  7. Spread the rest of the rice on top of the fish and peas.
  8. Pour the cheesy dill sauce on top of the rice.
  9. Top with the bread crumbs.
  10. Bake for forty minutes or until bubbly around the edges.

Wish Boxes, Friends, and Joni Mitchell

The little greeter at Beth's house
The jolly greeter at Beth’s house

On Sunday, I traveled  north to visit my friend Beth. Along with two other friends, I was invited for lunch and to work on a craft project—wish boxes. This was a gathering I had looked forward to all week long, and even though I didn’t know the two other women, I was certain that friends of Beth would soon be friends of mine.

How right I was. Within minutes we were all chatting like old friends, and the comment was made, “We are now new best friends.”

After talking for a bit, we settled around Beth’s dining room table to make wish boxes. Beth had sprayed matchboxes silver and gold. She also provided pretty paper, ribbons, glitter, stars, hearts, little flowers, and various other little decorations for our wish boxes. The chatting ebbed as we focused on making our wish boxes.

When we were done, we put them together for a group picture.

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We were all pleased with our small creations, and I’ll be thinking of what little messages to put in my two boxes—the ones with hearts and stars in the upper left corner.

After we cleared up the craft materials, we had a lovely lunch that Beth had made for us—squash soup; zucchini bread; a carrot, coconut, and cashew salad; and various spreads. I brought an apple crisp, which we popped in the oven just before we sat down to eat our lunch.

John, Beth’s husband joined us, and there was more talk. When five kindred spirits get together, the conversation just flows.

The day had started rainy and gray, but as I headed home, the weather began to clear. The clouds skudded across the sky to reveal a deep blue. I listened to Joni Mitchell’s Court and Spark and was transported to my senior year in high school when I was in the throes of unrequited love. So much time has passed—over forty years—that the pain has been replaced by a pleasant melancholy as I remembered the longing.

The teenage years are such a tumultuous time. Every emotion is felt so deeply, so intensely. Then there is the awkwardness.  I remember saying what I shouldn’t have and not saying what I should have.  Literature, writing, and love swirled through me in a rough mix, and I am now old enough to look back with sympathy on the foolish girl I was. (The line from an R.E.M. song comes to mind: “I’ve said too much. I haven’t said enough.”)

All in all, Sunday was a special kind of day. Old friends, new friends, good food, good talk, a craft project, and a trip back in time on the way home as I listened to Joni Mitchell.

Who could ask for anything more?

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A bird in Beth’s garden

Of Ghosties and Ghoulies and…Halloween Frogs!

Tomorrow is Halloween. Once upon a time at the little house in the big woods, we had lots of small ghosties and ghoulies come trick-or-treating. What fun it was! Clif often dressed in a long, black wizard’s robe as he passed out the candy, which filled a large wooden bowl that we set on the buffet by the side door. (In Maine, nobody uses the front door, and we are no exception.)

One year on a fine Halloween, Clif rigged up speakers that blared spooky music in the woods.  He also hung up “ghosts” in the trees, and they swayed back and forth in the breezy night. This was certainly a big hit with the trick-or-treaters.

But as our children grew,  and our friends’ children, too, the stream of trick-or-treaters slowed to a trickle and then dried up entirely. Every year, we turn on the porch light and have a bowl of candy ready, but no one comes. It makes us sad, but we understand. We do not live in a neighborhood, and nowadays, we don’t know many families with small children. (This, ahem, forces us to eat a lot of candy.)

As a child, I absolutely adored Halloween. Few parents made their children costumes, at least in the country village I lived in. We mostly had off-the-rack costumes that came with those plastics masks that made a child’s face sweaty even on the chilliest night.

Never mind! It was still a magical night. Off we would go with our little plastic pumpkins—the more ambitious trick-or-treaters carried pillow cases.  Our  village was so safe that we were allowed to go alone, with younger brothers and sisters and tow. We prowled the dark streets, stopping at every lighted house, and indeed nearly every house was lighted for us. Once in a while we would get the dreaded box of raisins, but mostly the adults understood that what we wanted was candy, and candy is what they gave us.

At home, my brother and I would empty our candy on the floor so that we could examine our loot. Usually we got the snack-size packages of Pom-Poms, Butter Fingers, and other goodies. But every once in a while some generous adult would give a full-size candy bar, and that was always a cause for celebration.  Then the bargaining would begin as my brother and I would trade the candy that we didn’t like. (Candy I didn’t like? Was that possible? When did I ever encounter candy I didn’t like? I suspect the trading was mostly instigated by my brother, who doesn’t have a sweet tooth and thus received candy that he wasn’t fond of.)

After the trading, I would have a glorious stash of candy, which I kept in my bedroom, where I could dip into it whenever I wanted without having to ask permission.  Such delicious freedom, and it only came once a year.

Well, no more trick-or-treating, no more trick-or-treaters. But we do have a few Halloween frogs to cheer us up. I’ve collected them from my gardens and have arrayed them on the porch along with leaves and little pumpkins.

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A happy halloween to all! If you are lucky enough to have little ghosties and ghoulies in your life, then I hope they receive many sweet treats.

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