On Apple Picking and Generosity

img_4155Yesterday, I picked apples with my friend Debbie and her friend Dot. We went to a lovely, private orchard that belongs to Chuck Acker, also a friend of Debbie’s. Because of the rainy summer—annoying to humans but great for apples—Chuck has an abundance of apples and invited us to come and take as many as we wanted. We picked for ourselves, we picked for friends, and we picked for the Winthrop Food Pantry, which received 35 pounds of Chuck’s apples.

Chuck’s orchard is a green avenue lined with apple and pear trees bearing red and green and yellow fruit. The avenue was spotless. There wasn’t one drop, not one rotten apple on the ground. “The deer and the turkeys take care of the drops,” Chuck said. As we picked, he told us about the varieties—-Cortlands, Empires, Wolf River, to name the few that I remember. He brought us proper bags for picking, the kind that you sling across the front of your chest. Slim and calm and unhurried, Chuck gave the impression that he had nothing better to do with his time than herd 3 women around his orchard while encouraging them to pick as many apples as they wanted. While it’s true that Chuck is retired, it’s also true that along with tending his orchards and gardens, he teaches courses at the Senior College in Augusta, and he is taking an advanced Spanish course. He is not an idle man.

Chuck reminded me that there are different kinds of generosity. There’s the kind of generosity where an actual thing is given—in this case apples, which will feed many people besides Chuck and his family. But there is also the generosity of patience, time, and attention, which Chuck gave to us in his orchard. In our hurried world, this second type of generosity seems rare and somewhat precious, and I must admit that I am sometimes stingy when it comes to being patient and to giving time and attention.

This weekend, I will be making apple pies with Chuck’s apples, and his generosity will continue to ripple forth. There will be pie for me and Clif, and I’m also going to make a pie for Farmer Kev and his family as well as for our friends Dawna and Jim.

Ah, apple time!

Scenes from an orchard:

The avenue of fruit trees
The avenue of fruit trees
Debbie picking apples
Debbie picking apples
What a turkey left behind
What a turkey left behind
Chuck on the ladder
Chuck on the ladder
Lovely pears
Lovely pears
On the edge of the orchard
On the edge of the orchard

Harvest Time—All Good Gifts

img_4137Last night’s supper could be called a mostly Maine meal. To narrow it down even further, it could be called a mostly Farmer Kev meal. I made a green bean casserole with his beans and with it I served a baked potato and delicata squash, again both from Farmer Kev. There is nothing like eating a meal of fresh, local vegetables, and the crops that come in the fall are so good and so abundant. I love root vegetables—potatoes and carrots—and those that grow on a vine—all the varieties of squash. They are such good keepers that I order them in bulk from Farmer Kev and store them in baskets in my basement.

I’ve already posted the recipe for the green bean casserole, which has a homemade white sauce spiffed up with either yogurt or sour cream—no cream of mushroom soup, if you please. I’m sure I don’t need to give instructions on how to bake a potato. The delicata squash is so easy to prepare that it doesn’t even need a formal recipe. I cut the squash in half, lengthwise, and scoop out the seeds. Usually, one half is good for one person. I brush a pan with vegetable oil and set the squash halves in the pan. I brush more vegetable oil on the squash, sprinkle some brown sugar, and then season it with salt and pepper. I bake them until very soft in a hot oven—400 or 425 degrees—for about 45 minutes.

Last night, as I ate this harvest meal, even though I am neither religious nor spiritual, I was reminded of the lyrics of “All Good Gifts” from Godspell: “We thank thee then, O Father, for all things bright and good, The seedtime and the harvest, our life our health our food, No gifts have we to offer for all thy love imparts But that which thou desirest, our humble thankful hearts!”

Religious or not, spiritual or not, it is only fitting to give thanks “for all things bright and good, the seed time and the harvest, our life, our health, our food.” And to have a humble, thankful heart.

Good food should never be taken for granted, and yearly, at harvest time, I am reminded of this.

 

Clif at 62

The birthday guy
The birthday guy

On Saturday, we celebrated Clif’s birthday, and as the title of this post indicates, he is now 62. As is the birthday tradition in our house, Clif chose the activity of the day—a bike ride—and what he wanted to eat—pizza at Mia Lina’s and then a supper of pulled pork tacos at Shannon and Mike’s home in SoPo. For his birthday cake, a homemade spice cake with a butter cream frosting.

In addition, I gave him the gift of time. This sounds like a funny kind of gift to give a person, and a little explanation is in order. Normally, our weekends are filled with things to do, both inside and outside. Clif is quite handy—lucky me!—and there is no end to the things that need to be tended or fixed—from replacing a door sill to unclogging the tub drain to fixing a leaky hose. There is wood to be stacked. Peppers to be chopped and frozen. Lawns to be mowed. On Saturday, I told him not to worry about any of those things, that this was a day to do exactly as he pleased. I would take care of the trash and the other errands. Clif didn’t argue, and he spent part of the day doing what he loves best, working on his computer. (Clif, Clif, the computer guy.)

After I did the errands, we had pizza at Mia Lina’s and went on a windy bike ride along Marancook Lake. The day was sunny and fine, but we had our work cut out for us as we rode into the wind. After the ride, we sat on a bench at the public beach and watched the gulls, who seemed to have forgetten they were sea gulls and were instead spending time at the lake. Perhaps they were on vacation, needing a rest from all the summer tourists?

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As we looked at the water and the birds, Clif ruminated about being 62, which in our country is a hallmark age, the official start of retirement age.

“Since I was 16, I’ve had to think about working,” Clif said. “But at 62, society tells you that you can stop thinking about it so much.”

Clif plans to work until he is 66, so his benefits will be better, but I understood what he meant. Clif is entering another stage of life, and such transitions always make a person stop and reflect about what he has done and what he would like to do with whatever time is left.

“True enough,” I replied. “And you have every reason to feel good about turning 62. You can bike 20 miles and still get on a bike the next day.”

Clif nodded. The wind rippled the dark blue lake and ruffled the feathers of the gulls. Undeterred by the breeze—they are used to much stronger winds at the coast—the gulls sat serenely on the float. Before them, the small beach was empty, and there were no swimmers in the water. There were just two people sitting on a bench in the grass, two people talking about time and age and birthdays.

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September 20, 2013:Bits and Bobs from the Internet

Another birthday to celebrate—this time it’s Clif’s. We will be going to Shannon and Mike’s home on Saturday evening for dinner, which will center on either pulled pork or pulled beef. When I asked Clif what he might like to do during the day if it is nice out—as the forecast suggests—he didn’t hesitate: “Go for a long bike ride.” So that is exactly what we will do.

From the New York Times: Frank Bruni writes about obesity and how our super-size culture is part of the problem.

From the Good Shepherd Food Bank’s blog: Think you can do better than most SNAP (food stamp) recipients? Think again. Kristin Miale, the president of the Good Shepherd Food Bank in Auburn, Maine, took the challenge and found it wasn’t easy.

Again, from the New York Times: Vegan recipes from Mark Bittman. My, they look tasty.

From the Portland Press Herald: Apple recipes!

From the blog Ben Hewett: A terrific piece about stocking up for the winter. Ben and his family live on 40 acres in Vermont, and much of what they eat they raise, grow, or gather.

Scarcity

Today was fine and warm, and this afternoon, I biked to the Winthrop Food Pantry to take people around as they chose the food from what we have to offer. The selection can vary, but we usually have cereal, pancake mix, pasta, macaroni and cheese, tuna fish, peanut butter, eggs, some meat, and canned soups and vegetables. Depending on what’s available at the Good Shepherd Food Bank, we also have fresh vegetables and fruit. People leave with their boxes overflowing with food, and for a few days, at least, their cupboards will be full. There will be no scarcity of food.

How appropriate, then, that this morning I should read Cass R. Sunstein’s excellent essay in the New York Review of Books about the effect that scarcity has on people, how it alters the way they think and how they plan. In his piece, Sunstein reviews Scarcity: Why Having Too Little Means So Much by Sendhil Mullainathan and Eldar Shafir.

In Scarcity, the authors contend that having too little—money, food, time, companionship—concentrates the mind in ways that might be good for the short term—surviving from day to day or accomplishing a certain task—but is not good for the long term. The narrow focus that scarcity fosters is bad in all kinds of ways, from planning ahead to self-control to solving problems.

Sunstein writes, “[The authors’] striking claim, based on careful empirical research, is that across all of those categories, the feeling of scarcity has quite similar effects. It puts people in a kind of cognitive tunnel, limiting what they are able to see. It depletes their self-control. It makes them more impulsive and sometimes a bit dumb…”

As Anne of Green Gables might have put it, when there is scarcity, there isn’t much scope for the imagination. The irony, of course, is that when resources are scarce, imagination and creativity are exactly what you need. But it’s very difficult to be creative and imaginative when you are wondering how in the world you are going to pay the bills and have enough left over for food.

When I tell people I volunteer at the food pantry, I sometimes get the following questions: Why don’t food pantry recipients budget better? Why do so many of them smoke? Why don’t they get a better job? Why do their families allow them to come to the pantry? In my more uncharitable moments, I sometimes wonder the same things.

But then I look at the worn, tired faces of the people who come in. Scarcity has taken its toll, and it shows in the way they move as well as on their faces. Many of the recipients look older than they are, worn done by years of worrying about money, among other things. A bit ashamed of myself, I remember my own family’s years of just getting by and how hard it was.

So here is my answer: Considering their circumstances—old age, disability, low-paying jobs—food pantry recipients are doing the best they can with what they have. And if they didn’t live with such scarcity, they would do a lot better.

 

A Damned Fool?

img_4122Yesterday, when I was in the grocery store, I passed a display of organic milk—Horizon, I think—and on the cooler there was a sign that advertized the price—$3.79 for a half gallon. An old man was looking at the milk and the price, and as I passed, he shook his head and said, “$3.79 for a half gallon of milk.”

It just so happened that I was carrying a half gallon of Moo Milk. I held it up and said, “$3.99 a half gallon.”

The old man’s expression suggested that he thought I was a damned fool to pay so much for milk, but he didn’t say anything. He just shook his head again and walked away.

Sometimes I wonder if he is right. Am I a damned fool to pay so much for milk and other organic food, especially when we live on such a modest budget and must be very careful with our money? Even Clif wonders, from time to time, if organic food is worth it.

But then I think of the land and the water and all the poison that is dumped on food when crops are grown the conventional way. I think of the genetically modified crops that will tolerate ever more poison and the insects that continue to become resistant to the ongoing onslaught of pesticides. I think of that poison coursing through our bodies, affecting us in ways that might not be apparent until we reach middle age or older. I think of our children and how vulnerable their growing bodies are. As someone who has had cancer—3 years this August—I am not idly asking these questions. Cancer might be natural—there is indication that even dinosaurs had cancer—but it is also true that there are substances that promote cancer. Tobacco and smoking readily come to mind, but there are many other things as well.

I realize that food is only one piece of the puzzle—smoke and refuse from our factories also play their part. But food is something we can control, and indeed it is something we should control. I certainly understand that not everyone can afford organic food all the time. (I put myself in this category.) It is expensive, and I wish the government would be as generous with organic farmers as it is with the mega farms that produce food grown with pesticides and herbicides. But they are not, and organic farmers must struggle to make a profit. Hence the high prices.

Nevertheless, despite our modest budget, I will continue to buy as much organic food as I can, and that includes Moo-Milk. I might be a damned fool, but I just can’t stand the thought of all those harmful chemicals going into my body.

My 56th Birthday in Pictures (With a Few Words, Too)

Yesterday was my 56th birthday, and it was filled with all things good. First, I met my Franco friends Joan Vermette and Susan Poulin for lunch at the terrific restaurant Petite Jacqueline in Portland. (A very appropriate place for Franco-Americans to meet.) Franco-Americans are a chatty bunch, and Joan, Susan, and I talked well past the closing time. Yikes! I felt a little foolish when I realized the restaurant had closed, and we were still there talking, but the tolerant staff remained pleasant.

After lunch, it was off to SoPo to join Clif and Liam at Shannon and Mike’s home. After cake and presents, we went for a walk on the beach at Pine Point in Scarborough. It was dusk, and the sky and the ocean were silver gray. The dogs frolicked, and I found a piece of sea glass to add to my collection. While there were people on the beach, it was far from crowded. As I mentioned to Shannon, given it’s not too cold, off season is my favorite time to walk on the beach. Lucky Mike and Shannon to live so close to the ocean.

After the walk, it was back to Shannon and Mike’s home for a dinner of appetizers—chicken wings, chocolate hazelnut spread on bread, cheese straws, brie, and crackers.

What a great way to celebrate the start of my 56th year. If only Dee could have joined us…

My birthday in pictures:

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Photo taken by Joan Vermette
Photo taken by Joan Vermette
Pain Perdu (French toast by another name and utterly delicious)
Pain Perdu (French toast by another name and utterly delicious)
At the beach
At the beach

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September 13, 2012: Bits and Bobs from the Internet

This weekend is a special weekend for me. My birthday is on Sunday, and both days of the weekend are filled with all things good—-dinner at some friends’ house; brunch with two other friends at Petite Jacqueline in Portland; a walk on the beach; and a meal at my daughter Shannon’s house. I am a firm believer in celebrations. Not big expensive bashes, of course, but instead simple pleasures—good food and spending time with family and friends.

 

From Maine Organic Farmers and Gardeners Association: A program to encourage farmers in Washington County to sell food to schools.

From the Portland Press Herald: A new food co-op is coming to Portland, and the emphasis will be on locally grown and produced food. (Shannon and Mike, take note.)

From NPR’s The Salt: Sometimes it is all right to play with your food, especially if the results are as snappy as Christopher Boffoli’s photographs, which are vignettes using food and plastic toys.

From Travel & Leisure: Standard Baking Company in Portland makes the list for one of the best bakeries in the U.S.

From the New York Times: A story about Michael Pollan, James Taylor, and a pig named Kosher.

From the blog Letters from a Hill Farm: Nan writes about Meals-on-Wheels, old age, and Bailey White’s short story—surprise!—“Meals on Wheels.”

A Tempest and an Impromptu Sauce

In yesterday’s post, I complained, a little, about the cool weather we’ve had in the past week or so. Perhaps the weather gods heard me because yesterday was a sizzler, too hot even for me, and by 4:00 in the afternoon, all I could do was lounge on the patio and read North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell. In between reading about Margaret Hale, the snooty young woman from the south of England who goes to live in the dirty, industrial north, I watched for hummingbirds at the feeders. There were none, and it is possible that they have begun their long migration south. No more whizzing of fast-beating wings, no more zipping of iridescent bodies until next summer, and I am always sorry when these ethereal birds are gone.

Luckily, given my propensity for lounging and reading, I had made dinner earlier in the afternoon. My tomato plants—Juliette—did not do as well this year as they have in the past. Too gray and rainy for too long. But I have gotten some to eat with my lunch, and yesterday, I even had enough to make a very small batch of sauce. I washed the tomatoes, dried them, and cut them in half. I tossed them into a bowl with some olive oil and some salt and pepper. Then, I spread them in a 9 x 12 and sprinkled oregano on them. I roasted them at 350 degrees for about 45 minutes, until they were very soft and a little brown around the edges. When they had cooled, I blended them in the food processor.

Vegetables for the sauce (I ended up not using the red and green pepper because I didn't have many tomatoes.)
Vegetables for the sauce (I ended up not using the red and green peppers because I didn’t have many tomatoes.)

In my vegetable bin, I had lots of good things from Farmer Kev to use in the sauce. Item: one small summer squash. Item: one large clove of garlic. Item: one small yellow pepper. I chopped the pepper and the squash and sautéed them with a tablespoon or so of oil in a small skillet. When they were done, I added the garlic and sautéed this for about 30 seconds. Then I poured the sauce over the vegetables. The sauce seemed a little thick, so I thinned it with a bit of water. I tasted the sauce, and it was certainly good as it was—to me, nothing beats the taste of sauce made with roasted tomatoes—but I had a couple of leftover hamburg patties, and I crumbled them into the skillet. I covered the skillet, and let the sauce simmer for about 45 minutes. Another taste, and I seasoned with salt and pepper.

Simmering sauce
Simmering sauce

Clif and I had the sauce over penne, and we had just finished when lightening began to flash and thunder began to boom. As the rain started to pelt down, I called for the black and white cat, and compact and purposeful, she bolted into the house. Just in time. Hail pelted against the windows, and our power went out, not to come on until 5:30 the next morning. But cats, the dog, and people were snug inside as the rain poured down.

I thought of the people repairing the lines in this fierce storm, and I felt thankful for their steadfastness and hardiness. The power seldom goes out when the weather is good. For us, the loss of power is inconvenient. For those who work on the lines, it is a test of stamina and even bravery. (Would you want to be out in a storm messing around with power lines?)

Anyway, just figured it was time to give credit and thanks to where it was due.

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