Yesterday, in the blog Henboggle, Ali posted a link to an article in the Waterville Morning Sentinel about a farmer in Troy, Maine, who uses horses rather than a tractor to plow his gardens. It is such a delightful piece that I thought I would also provide a link for Good Eater readers. So here it is: “Going Green with Horse Power”. 

Although I am a dog lover, horses are high on my list, too. Their beauty, intelligence, and spirit make them irresistible. In addition, nothing makes my heart leap more than pastures and gardens. I just love a pastoral view, which to me is as lovely as the coast for which Maine is so famous. I suppose it’s because I grew up in central Maine, where along with factories there are fields, orchards, and hills, deep green and verdant in the summer. Now, I know that forests are an important part of the Maine landscape and ecosystem, but it seems to me that there is room for both forests and open land in Maine. With good management, we can grow crops and have healthy forests as well. 

As oil becomes more expensive, I wonder if more Maine farmers will turn to horses for plowing. Along with the hard work of plowing, horses also provide petroleum-free fertilizers for fields and gardens. A nearly perfect system. When the Soviet Union fell apart and stopped supporting Cuba, that small island turned back to animals—oxen in their case—for farming. 

How wonderful it would be to regularly see big horses in a pasture or at the plow. To hear the swish of their tails, their whinnies, and the sound they make as they eat grass. To watch the young horses run for the sheer joy of running.

When I was much younger, say, in my twenties or even in my thirties, I never envisioned that my husband, Clif, and I would be living the way we do now. In truth, I didn’t dwell too much on our elder years, but if pressed, I would have guessed that by the time we had reached the ages we are now—early and late fifties—we would be living in a happy little world of travel, meals out, movies, and plays. Maybe not world travel. Maybe not even cross-country travel. But I thought we’d at least be zooming around the Northeast some of the time and hitting the road in Maine a lot of the time, stopping here and there to sample fish and chips, donuts, lobster rolls, and various other Maine delicacies. 

But what a difference twenty or thirty years make. Who would have thought that gas would be nearly $3 a gallon? Or that lunch at most restaurants would be well over $10 a person? Lunch! Or that in 2010, we would spend nearly as much on groceries for two people as we did for five people in 1995? And the final important piece, that salaries would not rise accordingly? 

Directly related to all of this, of course, are the big problems that were simmering in the 1970s and 1980s, which have, if you’ll pardon the expression, come to a boil. Overpopulation, peak oil, and climate change are a trio that can no longer be ignored. The melting of the glaciers and the ice in the Arctic and Greenland is happening much faster than anyone anticipated. To the unhappy trio above, we can add loss of habitat, mass extinctions, droughts, and extreme water shortages. Truly, at times it makes me sick at heart to think of the world we are leaving future generations. 

So, how has this affected two ordinary, aging boomers living in Winthrop, Maine? While we realize that policy changes are desperately needed, that change must happen on a global and national level, we also believe that we should do what we can in our personal lives, however small the impact. First of all, we are deeply committed to only having one car. We can do this because I work at home and live within walking and biking distance of our small town. Second, we question every nonessential trip we make, which means that most of our spare time is pretty much spent in Winthrop. Gone are the days when we flit here and there just for fun. (We make exceptions for family and friends, whom we consider absolutely essential.) Fortunately, Winthrop is a lovely town filled with lakes and ponds. Unfortunately, there are not many cultural events. But, the older we get, the less it takes to entertain us, so most of the time this isn’t an issue. Nevertheless, thank God for Netflix and the public library. I could go on about other changes—not using heat unless the house is colder than 62°F; only using the clothes dryer in emergencies; weaning ourselves from paper towels—but I’m sure you get the idea. We are certainly not the perfect “green team”—there is plenty more we should do—such as adding more insulation to the attic—but we sure are trying to live an environmentally responsible life. 

With all these losses, it would be tempting to focus on how narrow our lives have become. Yet Clif and I are not doing this. (At least not most of the time.) Instead, to borrow from Rocky, a character in the Britcom As Time Goes By, we focus on what we can do. We can ride our bikes along Memorial Drive, a relatively flat road that goes along lovely Marancook Lake. We can go to the fish chowder luncheon held once a month at the Congregational Church in town. In the summer, we can sit on the patio and be surrounded by flowers and birds and whirring insects. We can host potluck lunches and movie nights and have family and friends over for brunch and dinner. I can make bread and crackers. Clif can make waffles and pancakes. We can go to the farmers’ market and buy wonderful food. 

A narrow life, yes, but a strangely rich one, too. It really is funny the way things have turned out.

Mother’s Day at Narrows Pond Road was fairly low-key. Our eldest daughter, Dee, lives in New York City, which is too far for a quick weekend visit. As I’m fond of reminding her, “If you only lived in Boston…” Our youngest daughter, Shannon, and her fiancé, Mike, live about twenty minutes away, but Mike had to work on Sunday, so it turned out to be Shannon, Clif, and me for Mother’s Day. A small gathering but  good nonetheless.

Clif and Shannon made brunch for me, and we had blueberry pancakes, home fries, strawberries with cream, bacon, and sausage. We were so stuffed after this feast that we spent a good deal of the afternoon drowsing on the big sofa in our living room.  There were presents, including a gift certificate to a local nursery; a bird book and matching notecards, sent by Dee; and a picture of a rooster, drawn by Mike. Birds and plants. Along with food, they surely are two of my favorite things.

The day was very cool, but Clif started a fire in our wood furnace, and our “little house in the big woods” was cozy. However, since we are true Mainers, the cool weather did not deter us from going to Wayne to get ice cream at Tubby’s. (For more about Tubby’s, see my post Tubby’s is Coming to Town.)

Tubby’s really is quite the place. In honor of Mother’s Day, all woman eighteen years or older were treated to a free cone, Sundae, or milkshake. Tubby’s homemade ice cream is rich and flavorful, and the flavors have silly names such as “Peppermint Schtick” or “Honey Bee Mine” or “Wum Waisin.” I had a peppermint sundae with hot fudge sauce, which, like the ice cream, was homemade. The portion was ridiculously large, but I, of course, ate every bit. Another nice touch is that all the food is served in paper bowls and baskets, which means they will compost over time. Kudos to Tubby’s for not using plastic serving dishes! We took ours home and burnt them in our wood furnace. Eventually, the ashes will be spread in the garden.

Tubby’s also sells light meals, and since Clif is a chili fiend, and the weather was—as we say in Maine—a little brisk, he decided to have chili rather than an ice cream. For a little over $3, Clif got a generous serving of chili, nicely spiced, as far as I was concerned. Clif likes his chili to singe the roof of his mouth and sear his tongue, so it wasn’t quite hot enough for him. However, I expect most people would agree with my assessment and think it was perfectly fine. And although Clif would have liked a little more heat, he enjoyed the chili. We took note of the price of the other meals—hot dogs and sandwiches—and the general price seemed to be $5 or under. The exceptions, of course, were the lobster rolls, which were more like $10. But who expects to get lobster rolls for $5? Not even in central Maine, far away from the quaint coast, would you find such a price.

Well, Tubby’s will soon be coming to Winthrop, and Clif and I are looking forward to this new addition to our town. As I mentioned in my previous Tubby’s post, Clif and I don’t often go out for ice cream, and we don’t eat out  much, either. However, when we do, we’ll be supporting Tubby’s, which not only serves  tasty food, but will also be within walking distance of our house.

On our way to old Tubby’s, we drove by the new Tubby’s, and construction seems to be underway. It looks as though they are putting new siding on the building, and if they are on schedule, their ice cream window will open the end of May. Clif and I will be there for an ice cream as soon as they open.

Recently, our friends Bob and Kate Johnson went to North Carolina to visit their daughter, Erin. Bob, Kate, and Erin are all foodies, and while they were together, they did what all good foodies like to do—go to farmers’ markets and cook. Bob took some pictures of Erin and Kate as they went to market, planted herbs, and made dinner. It seemed to me these pictures would make a wonderful post for Mother’s Day, and they graciously agreed to let me use them.

Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers!

On the first Wednesday of each month, a group of friends comes over to my house for a potluck lunch. The group usually includes Claire Hersom, Alice Rohman, Sybil Baker, and me, of course. Other friends join as their schedules allow, and we have been trying, in vain, to get Roger Carpentter, Alice’s husband, to join us. It seems that Roger is one popular guy, and he always has lunch dates with other friends and colleagues on first Wednesdays. Someday, perhaps, his busy social life will allow him to have lunch with us. 

I made a quiche with smoked Monterrey Jack, apple muffins, and cinnamon knots for dessert. Alice brought a rice salad, Claire brought a green salad, and Sybil brought a fruit salad. When all the food was placed on the round table in the dining room, there was a lovely abundance, a real feast of simple food prepared in four different kitchens and then shared among friends. Really, I can’t think of a better way to spend lunch, dinner, or anytime.   

We talked about poetry, and I showed everyone a copy of Marcia Brown’s new book, What on Earth, which Marcia recently sent to me. In a state with many fine poets, Marcia is one of the best, and her poems are wise, shrewd, and sympathetic. Mother’s Day is coming right up, and what a great gift this book would be for mother’s who love poetry. What on Earth would be a wonderful gift on any occasion for poetry lovers, and copies can be ordered from Moon Pie Press, the publisher. 

Alice Rohman, an artist as well as a poet, brought some tiny books she has been making. I’m not sure words can do justice to these exquisite yet snappy creations that either fold shut or slip into a little homemade box. The books are a combination of collage and Alice’s artwork, and Sybil summed them up with one word: “Marvelous!” Marvelous they are, and one of my favorites is called Good for You. Two putti, painted by Alice, adorn the cover. The book, accordionlike, folds out to reveal various fruit and vegetables, again done by Alice. Food that is “good for you.” But in the background, she has listed various things that are good for the soul, such as dream and play. A reminder that the spirit as well as the body must be fed. At either end of the book is a cutout of Uncle Sam, shaking his finger, exhorting us to pay attention to things that are good for us. 

Good for us—poetry, tiny art books, potluck lunches with friends. I could certainly add to the list, and in era when so many things are not good for us, it might not be a bad idea to do this. But I will stop here with the promise of returning to this subject in future posts.

Recently, I wrote a post about Bowdoin College students organizing a food drive with the goal of collecting 1,200 cans of food and then delivering that food—via a human chain—from the Bowdoin College campus to Mid Coast Hunger Prevention Program in Brunswick. The two are roughly a half-mile apart. 

Well, they did it. Here is a link to the Bowdoin Dailey Sun, an online newsletter, where there is a brief article as well as a video clip of the event. When I watched the video, I truly was moved to see all those cans moving from hand to hand, young and old.  A song came to mind—a pun, really—but appropriate nonetheless: “Yes We Can Can.” Especially the two lines “We got to make this land a better land / Than the world in which we live”. 

If I lived in Brunswick, then I would have been there to help pass along the food.

Yes, we can can.

On Monday in the New York Times there was a piece about the weedkiller Roundup and how its overuse has spawned “superweeds” that have developed a resistance to this herbicide. When it comes to pesticides and herbicides, it seems that both insects and plants have evolved to outsmart us. The question is, when will we learn? Here is a link to the article.

As I’m sure readers of this blog have gathered, I am a huge fan of local food, and by extension, of farmers’ markets, vegetable stands, and restaurants that aren’t chains. My reasons are varied. The food is fresher and usually tastes better; the food travels fewer miles and thus doesn’t use as much fossil fuel; the local economy is supported; and perhaps most important, when an area—state, town, or region—can largely feed itself, it has a wonderful security that bolsters it in good times and buffers it in bad times. 

I eat a lot of local food, especially in the summer, but Pat Ranzoni, a friend and a terrific Maine poet, makes me look like a piker when it comes to local eating. Recently, in response to an Earth Day email I sent, Pat wrote and described the various local foods she and her husband, Ed, eat. “Ed just came through the field with his first ever wild Tom turkey and has gone to tag it! Our son called it in which is quite a skill, plus wild turkeys are keenly alert, hard to hunt, so father and son are accepting congratulations. I’m so thankful for their hunting and fishing skills. Between the wild game and fish, and our gardens and foraging, we buy as little as possible at the market. I’m just now finishing up our winter’s supply of sumac wands I boil for Indian lemonade. Sour plant they called it. And we’re eating our best from the dandelions and other new greens—violets, clover and so forth. I read that the Natives in the mid-west used to have clover festivals in celebration of their return in spring—who’d’ve thunk it? Anyway, back to work!” 

Back to work, indeed. What an inspiration Pat and her family are!

Last Friday, I met my friend Kate Johnson and my daughter Shannon in Portland—Maine’s largest city—for lunch. This was a big outing for me. Most of my days, and thus my lunches, are spent on Narrows Pond Road, where I live, so going out to lunch is a special treat, especially when it’s over an hour away. The occasion for this lunch was Shannon’s birthday, and Kate and I treated Shannon to a meal and gave her some presents as well.

We had lunch at David’s, which is in Monument Square. The lunches were good enough, but the desserts were outstanding. So delicious, in fact, that it would be worth stopping at David’s just for dessert and tea. We each ordered something different so that we could share, and all of the desserts were equally worth getting—chocolate raspberry torte, pecan and white chocolate torte, and crème brulèe. Being a good eater, I not only ate all the dessert I ordered—the crème brulèe—but I also helped Kate and Shannon finish theirs. What can I say? When I indulge, I indulge.

Not far from where Kate lives in New Hampshire is a Lindt factory where the chocolate is actually made, and accordingly, Kate gave Shannon several bars of chocolate. She also gave her a dessert cookbook. (I think the focus was on pie.) I gave Shannon a pair of earrings I made—with my husband, Clif’s help—that had fresh-water pearls.

Shannon wasn’t the only one who received presents. Kate brought some chocolate for me as well as some peach butter she got on recent trip to North Carolina to visit her daughter, Erin. Now, I might be a northern woman, but I have a love for peaches that borders on obsession. I get them at the grocery store as soon as they come in season, and each summer I badger my friend Judy to bring me back some peaches when she visits family in Connecticut. One of the biggest thrills in my life was when we took our eldest daughter, Dee, to Bard College in New York, and I saw peach orchards for the very first time. All those peach trees! Unfortunately, except for a few microclimates, peach trees do not grow in Maine, and as much as I love this state, there are times when I think I live a little too far north.

In fact, I was very much aware of this peach butter. When visiting her daughter, Kate had sent me an email and had told me about the peach butter. She had also mentioned how she made my mother’s biscuits to go with the peach butter, and I was so moved that I wrote about it for this blog. Therefore, I was thrilled—no, that’s not too strong a word—to be handed a little gift bag with bars of chocolate and a jar of peach butter.

As we lingered over lunch, dessert, and pots of tea, we chatted about this and that and had a wonderful afternoon. But all the while, thoughts of peach butter ran like an undercurrent in the back of my mind, and that night for supper I had poached eggs, toast with homemade bread, and, of course, peach butter—smooth, a little dark, and sweet with a slight tang of cinnamon, even though it’s not listed as one of the ingredients. It reminded me of summers long ago, when my family shopped at a little market in Waterville, a small city in central Maine. On the sidewalk in front of the market, Lee, the owner, set out mellons and peaches in wooden crates, and when it rained, their sweet smell mingled with the hot warmth of the pavement.

Summer time, summer time.

Next to Winthrop, the town where I live, is a village called Wayne. That’s right, we have a Wayne, Maine, and there is even a T-shirt that pokes fun of this rhyming duo. The front reads: Where the hell is Wayne, Maine? Where indeed? The town’s website tells us that Wayne is 15 miles west of Augusta; that Wayne’s population, according to the 2000 census, is 1,112; and that the town is tucked among “seven lakes and ponds.” This area—Winthrop as well as Wayne—is in one of Maine’s lake districts, where it seems as though there is just as much water as there is land.

With its main street lined with lovely old homes, mostly white, its general store, its “two libraries and two churches,” Wayne is a New England village with a vengeance. (By contrast, Winthrop, with its mishmash of new, old, and abandoned, is its shabby cousin.) Quaint certainly is an apt description of Wayne, and its residents have so much pride in their little village that they have come up with a “Seven Wonders of Wayne” list, which includes a desert (I’m not kidding), the village itself, and the Wing Family Cemetery. But for those who like to eat, what is particularly interesting on that list is a place called Tubby’s Ice Cream.

Now, it must be said that even though Maine is cold from October through May, Mainers love their ice cream. All through the state are various Mom & Pop stands, open only during the few warm months that we call summer, and quite often they make their own ice cream. The quality varies from good enough to so outstandingly fine that ice cream lovers dream of certain stands during the long, cold of winter and count the months until they open. Tubby’s, owned by Skip Strong, is one of those stands that Mainers dream of, where the ice cream is so rich and flavorful that most other ice cream is disappointing in comparison. The ice cream is handmade, and Tubby’s website boasts “All of our ice cream, toppings, and food are made right here in our kitchen from scratch. To make our ice cream we use only the finest cream, sugar, eggs, and natural ingredients.” Well, as the saying goes, it isn’t bragging if it’s true, and Wayne residents are quite right to consider Tubby’s one of its wonders.

Of course, with excellence comes a price, and Tubby’s ice cream is not cheap. I must admit that I remember the taste of the ice cream better than I remember the price, but it seems to me that a small cone will set you back at least $3. However, I soon will have ample opportunity to find out just how expensive a Tubby’s ice cream cone is. It seems that Skip Strong is expanding his Tubby’s empire, and Tubby’s is coming to Winthrop, in a building on its not-so-quaint main street.

There’s a lot I don’t know. I don’t know if Skip Strong will be closing his Wayne branch. (My guess is that he won’t.) I don’t know when Tubby’s in Winthrop will be opening. (On a recent walk, my husband, Clif, and I peeked in the windows, and it still seems as though there is quite a bit of work to do.) I don’t know if Tubby’s will be solely takeout, the way it is in Wayne, or if there will be inside seating. So much to discover! So stay tuned for updates, including some of the silly names that Skip Strong has come up with for his flavors. Like the prices, the names, too, are gone from my memory. Only the remembrance of taste remains.

Clif and I don’t go out for ice cream very often, but when we do, it will be at Tubby’s. It is local, it soon will be within walking distance of where we live, and the ice cream is utterly delicious. I can’t wait.

Update: April 29th, 2010—As Mother’s Day is coming right up, I just called Tubby’s in Wayne to find out if they were open. They are and have been since the end of March. I also asked the young woman I spoke to about the shop in Winthrop. The ice cream window is slated to open the end of May, and the indoor secition will open in a couple of months. Sounds like the Winthrop store will be a year-round operation and that the shop in Wayne will continue to be a seasonal business. As I learn more information, I’ll provide additonal updates.