stop sign farm

Changing of the guard, passing the baton, one door closes...

2012-01-26T13:04:00.000-08:00

The sentiment comes dressed up in many of our favorite cliches - the shift of dominance from elder to younger, the inevitable march of time. Most of the time, its just the days passing - or, in our house, the flipping of the hourglass.

But every now and then the moment sneaks up and bonks you on the head.

Earlier this week, after dropping Dylan off at his off-island school and running some errands, I found myself on the ferry back home later than is my norm. It had turned into a beautiful afternoon, sunny and golden, with puffy clouds on the horizon and seabirds swirling in azure skies. I had an enviable spot at the front of the dear, beloved ferryboat Rhododendron. This little vessel is from a by-gone era, with her brass fittings, teak benches, and lanes too narrow for modern day Navigators. She is much loved.

She also breaks down a lot.

But, we cherish her and awaited her imminent replacement with dread and loathing. That afternoon, I found out that Fate had given me a small but precious gift - a spot on the Rhodie's very last voyage across our waters. After learning this, I looked around. There were a fair few people there, a little teary, like me, having walked on board just for the chance to say a proper good-bye.

The 15 minutes went by too fast. We chatted and took lots of photos. I tried to capture some of her magic in images of fittings and details I knew the new boat wouldn't have. I wanted to remember that there was a time when boats like this were built, that they criss-crossed Puget Sound with grace and dignity. That their crews polished their railings every morning and toddlers ran along their teak benches into the arms of young parents and indulging grandparents. She was the last of her kind in our fleet and she would be missed.

And then it was over, and I was driving off the Rhododendron, watching her replacement slip quietly into the far-away dock for the next run. I drove home, choked up and grateful for the events of the day that had put me on that voyage.

But, being late, I was only home for a short while before it was time to turn around and head back to the boat - the new boat - and pick Dylan up from his school day.

And there it/he was. A bright, shiny, new, state-of-the-art ferry with my son and his pal front and center, waving wildly from the impossibly high passenger deck. The next generation, setting sail and ready for the next 20 years. By an accident of Fate, Dylan had stepped into the maiden voyage of our new vessel. I said good-bye and he said hello.

"Guess what, Mom?" he said when he stepped onto the dock, "I was Passenger Number SIX!"

I smiled.

Here, bud, grab this stick.

.

Time in

2012-01-16T11:35:00.000-08:00

I recently purchased the first Object d'Art I've shelled money out for in a long, long time. Nothing fancy, basically something that caught my eye that I could actually afford while killing a few minutes in Pottery Barn. (Wow - It's been quite a while since I've ventured into that store and a couple years since they finally gave up on sending me their beautiful catalogs - has it always been this precious or has my life just changed that much?)

Simple, elegant, and decidedly low-tech, it's a real, live, surprisingly accurate hourglass. I thought of the absence of clutter currently gracing my living room/kitchen divider, inbetween the holiday decorations being packed away and our regular doo-dads coming back. I liked that smooth, clear plane. I decided that, for the time being, the doo-dads could stay safe and warm in their tub up in the attic and this simple machine could take their place.

Funny thing is, it's quite a thing of beauty, both literally and metaphorically. My whole family is fairly obsessed with turning it. There's something quite different about marking the next hour with falling sand. Most obviously, it's visual - watching it is an act unlike staring at a clock. It's also beautiful, simple.

But what's maybe most compelling is that each time the glass is turned, the sand falls in a way that is not quite like the time before. Or the time after. Every hour is unique. Special. Worth a look.

Every hour slips away like...sands in the hourglass.

Time out

2012-01-16T11:18:00.000-08:00

If I've been really good and get to go to Heaven, it will be a cozy living room with my family and a snow storm outside.

Happy New Year

2012-01-03T06:47:00.000-08:00

Light.

December is all about light in the darkness, especially here on the 47th parallel where the month of December can feel like prison. Twinkle lights save the night, candle wicks begin flickering around 4PM. Everyone seeks ways to light up the long, soggy evenings.

And then January arrives like the light at the end of the holiday tunnel, promising ever-lengthening days and maybe even the possibility of spring in the not-too-distant future. I always welcome January, more than a little ready to pack the snowmen, nutcrackers, and Santas away for another 11 months.

And so here we are, Day 1 of the post-holiday season. January, 2012. Does it feel like a new beginning? Like renewal? I think so. We are beginning or have started quite a number of new adventures, our family, and 2012 feels like it holds real promise. Even as I sit here, at 7AM, in total darkness save for the twinkle of the Christmas Tree and the laptop screen, I know the light will be coming soon - sooner and sooner every day - and I'm ready.

From Stop Sign Farm to you and yours - here's hoping 2012 brings hope, opportunity, and harmony.

20/20 hindsight

2011-10-11T09:43:00.000-07:00

A quick departure from farm chat.

Our son, who possesses a unique and engaging intellect and sometimes surprising empathy but has been fiercely frustrated in school, was recently diagnosed with a vision disorder called Convergence Insufficiency. The condition is just what it sounds like - the two eyes do not work together well enough.

Convergence Insufficiency can have dramatic repercussions. Headaches, dizziness, blurred vision. In Dylan's case, believe it or not, he has seen pretty much everything closer than 4 feet in double-vision his whole life. Reading, writing, computing, conversation - if he relaxes, everything within arm's length and a bit beyond all goes double.

He thought everyone saw this way.

The good news is, it's treatable and curable. He started eye therapy with an opthamologist yesterday and with daily exercises, he should be able to train his eyes within a year. But when I think back to the myriad "talks" about his distractability, his disengagement, his daydreaming, to the frustration his teachers expressed at his "lack of interest"...tears inevitably well up.

But, I'm looking forward, not back.

Convergence insufficiency is a largely undiagnosed phenomenon. School screenings and sometimes even regular eye exams don't catch it. As much as 20% of the population is suffering from it to some degree and most of them don't know it.

If you experience any of the symptoms, ask for a test. Most importantly, have your children tested when they're in elementary school. School's hard enough, they shouldn't have to spend all their energy just to see.

And now for something completely different.

2011-10-08T00:36:00.000-07:00

It wasn't that long ago that I last posted (now, seriously, in dinosaur years). Just a few weeks, but oh what a difference a few weeks can make sometimes.

Actually, the Grace-Wells family has watched our life somersault in just about 6 weeks. We're still a little breathless and playing more than a little catch-up.

We all know Life happens in threes, so here's ours, and they're wing-dingers.

Dylan, through some divine intervention, was accepted out-of-cycle and a year early, into a science and math high school that is literally at the other end of the ferry dock. He's off the island and in an entirely new, and wonderfully diverse and interesting, gene pool and loving it. BTW, funny what happens when you treat a kid like a success instead of a failure. Just saying.

I started working. From home. Contract. We'll see.

We wrestled our retirement funds out of the hands of hedge-fund managers, happily (happily? hmm. willingly) paid Uncle Sam, and are now the proud owners of a Belltown condo, (where yours truly is currently balcony sitting while attending to her blog).

Just like that, our life has been transformed. We haven't even quite caught up with our own decisions yet.

But, for the first time, in a long time, we are all very, very happy. We live on the island, but our lives have expanded. And that, I think, just might be the Key to Happiness.

Tonight we enjoyed our traditional Friday night Pizza/popcorn/movie night "in the city" - the first time we have all been together overnight in the apartment - and it was ridiculous fun. Between a school that recognizes and celebrates unique intellect and quirkiness and a city get-away that feels like vacation is just a key turn away, Dylan is approaching the most joyous person I know. Mark gets to work long hours and discard the commute.

I get to sit on a wrought-iron half-moon balcony, wishing it weren't too late for the monorail to zoom by and watching ALL MANNER of drama unfold beneath me. I have to insert that it really is fascinating, even now, how unbelievably rarely people look up - even when the glow of a laptop is involved.

A firetruck has come and gone. I think someone might have expired essentially right in front of me but I hadn't understood what was happening. Police cars have driven off. Couples have quarreled and wheels have squealed. Many have trod below.

Would I live here every day? No way. But what an escape hatch/laboratory/retreat. Ever so much better than reacting to a statement in the mail every 3 months.

Yuck.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we have 2 pigs now and Tiffany has managed, after several disheartening tries, to build a pen that will hold them. So, that's good.

Living on a bucolic, verdant island, raising meat and produce, with a tiny escape hatch in the one of greatest cities on the planet? Yup, we are the lucky people.

Fall descends

2011-09-19T10:40:00.000-07:00

I guess it's time for the annual "wow, suddenly it's fall" post. This time it seemed to happen faster than ever. Summer was brief, very brief, but sweet. And the weather gods were kind to our annual picnic - 9 days ago, the day of our event - it was 85'. This past Saturday, the mercury struggled to reach the low 60s. September is nothing if not unpredictable 'round here.

But, fall means bounty and this year we have it. Our greenhouse is struggling to get hot enough to ripen all the tomatoes, but the space is brimming with plants at least. The garden is thigh-high with pumpkins and beautiful yellow zephyr zuccs, and bushels of greens happy in the cooler weather.

We've harvested lamb, and run raccoons off from the henhouse. Time to start Middy on milking so we can venture into cheesemaking. Later today, our first piglets arrive.

Yup, it's fall.

Sunrise over Quartermaster Harbor, early Sept.

The best friends, the brightest blooms

2011-09-15T17:38:00.000-07:00

Just a short note, post annual Stop Sign Picnic, to say that I can't imagine anyone on the planet has more beautiful, more lovely, more colorful, and more vibrant friends than I do.

One day each year almost all of them come together on my little patch of paradise to celebrate love, abundance, life.

There are all sorts of beautiful flowers out there, all manner of deeply valued friends.

I'm so glad mine are dahlias, every one.

The best age

2011-09-02T08:33:00.000-07:00

When I was a new mom, people used to ask me all the time "what's the best age so far?" When my son was an infant, I'd answer that even with all the sleep deprivation, the diapers, the crying, I couldn't imagine a sweeter, more miraculous time than being the brand-new mom of a brand-new person.

Then he started crawling, walking, and talking and I was forced to amend. No, I'd say, the infant year was amazing, but nothing beats watching this little blob turn into a person, a person with bright wide eyes and an insatiable curiosity. Who feels, and listens, and watches, laughs from the belly and cries like he means it.

But, then my person started reading and counting and putting this and that together, in his mind or in 3D. Well, I'd say, when people asked, the infant years - they're miraculous, and those toddler years, they're amazing. But, I have to say that these school-age years - wow. Letting go each morning as he walks through the big blue doors, watching him in action in the classroom when I volunteer, hearing the day through his stories...nothing beats that. These years are the best.

A funny thing happens when your kid starts middle school, though. People stop asking you what years are the best. I guess the assumption is that they're obviouly behind you. That parenting a middle schooler is just plain hard, something you just have to get through and the best you can hope for is to come out the other side, both of you relatively unscathed.

Parenting a middle schooler is hard. Hard in ways that no one really tells you. Hard in ways that keep your stomach in knots at 2AM, hard in ways that make you doubt every choice you ever made, hard in ways that make you doubt the future you thought you wanted.

But, parenting is not supposed to be easy. Nothing that's worth anything is easy, and what's worth more than this life you've created, this gift you have given the world? What deserves more doubt and more risk and more sacrifice than the human being that once lived inside you, breathing your air, feasting on your body, growing from your cells?

This summer, I had the privilege of watching my son unzip his cocoon and gently, ever so gracefully, unimaginably bravely unfold his most spectacular butterfly wings. Physically, socially, emotionally stretching, fluttering, and soaring to new heights, as his father and I took a silent, humble step backward.

And now he embarks on a whole new journey, an enviable adventure of his very own. A wonderful new school, a whole new grade, an entirely new population of friends and colleagues, a new paradigm in learning. Best of all, a brand new, radiant smile.

Parenting a middle schooler is hard.

But, what else can I say? These are the best years.

Food security

2011-08-11T08:29:00.000-07:00

Yay for the foodsaver - what a fabulous little device! There is something primal about saving food for the winter. Putting summer's output away for leaner times. And coming in from the garden like Miss America with a giant bouquet of nutritious greens sure gives me a luxurious feeling of abundance.

But not everyone is so lucky. Most people don't have the ability to grow and store their own food, and many people don't even get enough to eat, period. According to the USDA, an estimated 50 million people, 17 million of which are children, live in food-insecure households in America. In fact, nearly 15% of American households are food insecure. Fifteen percent.

That's...well, I was going to say "amazing" because the statistic is so stunning. But, it's not amazing. It's horrible. It's inexcusable. How is it possible that nearly one-sixth of our citizens do not have access to enough food?

Just across the border in Canada, food insecurity drops to 9%. Still too high, but only about 60% of what we tolerate here.

I'm so fortunate to live on 5 fertile acres in a mild climate, where I can raise my own meat and vegetables and help feed the people around me. This time of year, my grocery bill plunges and my family eats what's available outside. Part of how I say thank you to the universe is to share our bounty - this year, we're donating some of our produce to a girls camp that called yesterday. Two nights ago, Mark played a benefit to raise money for our local farmers market's food assistance program.

Next time you're at the farmers market or in your favorite grocery store, consider picking up a few items for your local food bank. Better yet, take a cue from my step-mom who has been feeding breakfast to those in need once a week since I've known her - and I've known her a long, long time.

No one should go hungry in a nation with so much.

First real harvest day of 2011

2011-08-09T12:10:00.000-07:00

Of course, we've been eating out of the garden for over a month now - lots of kale, chard, salad mix, peas, and carrots (if you need 101 ways to use kale, I am your gal). But, with the arrival of a UPS truck bearing a Foodsaver imminent this afternoon, today is the day when a whole row of kale and a whole row of chard get harvested, blanched, and frozen for meals for the rest of the year, and the ground they leave behind gets prepped for Round 2.

Two kinds of crunchy carrots are yummy as snacks and will liven up our soups and sauces for months to come.

Even though the battle with the weeds is never-ending, this August feels like success, not failure. We are by-passing the produce section of Thriftway, selling a little goodness to our neighbors, and looking forward to successional harvests as spring and summer crops give way to fall and winter.

When we transplanted these tiny needles of onions from the greenhouse into the garden 2 months ago, I was sure we were wasting our time. They were microscopic and immediately flopped over into a death pose. Today - they sure stir-fry up great!

It does really take a village - at least a husband who weeds, a son who weed-whacks, and Tiffany the awesome farmhand, shown here pausing among the pumpkin plants to check in with the outside world.

Ode to the egg

2011-08-07T10:18:00.000-07:00

It's worth returning to the egg for another examination. The marketers got it quite right when they proclaimed it not just edible but incredible so many years ago. But, recent research and the rise of both small family farms and even backyard poultry show us that the egg's place in our diet is on the rise.

The egg is the backbone of most of the tiny operations here on our island, mirroring, I suspect, the context in the surrounding Puget Sound region, although certainly not the larger breadbasket of the state, where monoculture still dominates. It is the egg, usually brown or a rainbow collection, that brings folks to the farm stands, the egg that sells out first at the farmers market. For us, it is the egg that brings people up our driveway when the stand's cooler is empty, inquiring with hope and hesitation, whether perhaps by chance are there any just boxed or lying in wait in their collection basket?

And for good reason. It's almost safe to say that there's not really any such thing as "the egg" anymore. There's growing awareness out there that the factory eggs sitting on the supercolossalwonderstore shelf are simply not the same food as the hand-washed beauties resting in a cooler at the end of your neighbor's lane. My son refuses to eat eggs in restaurants now. They are pale shadows of what he gets at home and Dylan claims they are simply taste free.

Eggs are high in protein and contain every major nutrient except vitamin C. Farm fresh eggs from free-range pastured hens not only look and taste a world away from factory eggs, they are dramatically lower in both cholesterol and fat. All this makes them just about the perfect food, and we haven't even touched on their versatility yet!

What else can you fry up for breakfast, slice onto your just-picked greens for a terrific lunch salad, whip up and bake in a crust with veggies and a little ham for dinner, then fold into flour and chocolate chips and a little (OK, a lot) sugar to munch on for a treat?

To celebrate, I think it's time for another quiche recipe, especially since the Fried Green Tomato Quiche gets so much traffic. Quiche is perfect for any meal of the day and also reheats well - so make 2!

Enjoy this one with a chilled crisp rose or Cote du Rhone and some mixed greens drizzled in herbed olive oil and a splash of red wine vinegar. The perfect meal to highlight the bounty of August ~

SSF sauteed greens and bacon quiche

Preheat the oven to 425.

Prepare your favorite pie crust or roll out a store-bought one and smooth it over a lightly oiled pie pan, crimping the edges. Bake until just lightly golden, 5-7 minutes. Remove and set aside.

Wash and cut the spine out of 1 bunch of chard or kale. Don't dry. Chop roughly and saute with 2 cloves chopped garlic in about 1-2 TBS olive oil until wilted, about 5 minutes.

Meanwhile whisk 3 large eggs with 1/3 C whole milk or half and half - or some combination thereof.

Chop 1/2 pound crispy-cooked bacon into bits.

Crumble about 1/3-1/2 C of feta cheese over the bottom of your pie crust. Sprinkle the bacon bits next. Spread the wilted greens over both, then pour in the egg mixture.

Bake for 15 minutes, then turn the oven down to 350 and bake for another 10-15. Allow to cool for 10 minutes before cutting and serving.

From our flock to yours - enjoy!

Backyard geology

2011-08-06T08:07:00.000-07:00

We had all manner of fun while Grandpa visited, bringing in friends old and new to share the fruits of a very local food chain and enjoy the perks of island living in the summertime. But perhaps the highlight of the trip was a 36-hour detour to the Scablands of Washington. We figured a geologically-focused jaunt was in order to take advantage of my dad's expertise and throw in some home-grown science for Dylan.

What I don't think we were quite prepared for was just how stunningly beautiful it all was. Like my reaction to the 12-hour drive to Yellowstone, I couldn't help feeling frustrated with myself for letting such a close and easy destination go unexplored for so long - especially one that offers a breathtaking number of recreational options and decidedly different weather than our side of the state.

The Scablands are an area in north central Washington, roughly south of Grand Coulee Dam, that was formed during a massive flooding event, so exhibits some fascinating - and beautiful - geology. The result of this ancient event is an area covered almost entirely in basalt, with giant boulders and ribbons of granite that sort of got dropped in. The practical result for us non-scientists or rock-hounds is a vast area covered in what must be hundreds of lakes.

Deep azure lakes surrounded by golden grasses and rugged, striped canyons and cliffs - a stark departure from the lush tanglewood of our misty isle.

We made lots of roadside stops, including to the Petrified Forest state park we've zoomed by a hundred times as we cross the Columbia. Turned out to be just off the road (a fact you'd never gleen from the highway sign) and offered up vast vistas, very cool geology, and a little kitsch to boot.

We drank in sight after sight, marveling at the lack of population and sheer volume of parks and other publicly-owned lands, and finally decided to make it an overnighter, ending the day at quaintly-named Electric City near Grand Coulee and scoring a jaw-dropping motel room for the night.

Perfect. Scablands - you'll see more of us when the clouds come back to Vashon in the fall.

Summer scenes from SSF

2011-08-03T12:45:00.000-07:00

Although it may appear that I never tire of blabbing on about the weather, I have, in fact, run out of things to say about the dismal grayness of this most miserable of years.

Which works out just great, because due to the magical powers of my father, summer arrived on an Air Canada flight from Toronto last week and all is well! True to his promise, Grandpa brought temperatures in the 80s and a bright yellow orb to accompany them - and you have never seen so many smiling faces as on our little island of Vashon. The magician has returned to his native land, but left behind a precious gift indeed.

Thanks Dad!

To celebrate, fewer words and more photos of the bounty of summer. Happy animals, new babies, and the moments that help remind us why we do this.

Middy had twins in July! Yay Middy! Here they are about 2 hours old, a boy and a girl. Way to go, Mama ~

After our Great American Road Trip and before Grandpa visited, Dylan taught his pal Zach and Tiffany the Awesome Farmhand how to form, press, and grill tortillas.

Ta-da! Next cooking lesson: ravioli!

What's more promising than baby lettuces in June?

Animals enjoy a well-earned reward on Wrangling Day.

Road Trip - the final leg

2011-07-03T15:42:00.000-07:00

After a lovely drive from Yosemite, we were delighted to arrive at our San Francisco hostel in the middle of beautiful, leafy Fort Mason a little before nightfall. The hostel is one of many stucco and red-tiled low-slung buildings surrounded by beautiful gardens and perched on the Bay just a block from Ghirardelli Square. We had dinner at some tourist trap nearby and collapsed after a full day that started with hiking, included a lot of walking around exploring, and ended with the drive from Yosemite to the City by the Bay.

The next morning we said our good-byes to cousin Jackson. Mark drove him to his hotel and Dylan and I headed to the Square, which we enjoyed immensely until the skies opened up and dumped the entire Pacific Ocean on our heads. We don't get this kind of rain on Vashon - this was all-out assault. We waited it out in a series of doorways and finally made it back to the room drenched anyway.

Mark and I wanted to show Dylan a little of San Francisco before heading north into wine country for a couple of low-key days, but we had an errand to run first. Mark's laptop cord had bit the dust and we needed another. So, our first destination was the Apple store in the center of downtown SF. Here, it turns out, was my first real chance to kill another human being!

And I came pretty close. Not really the highlight of the trip, but with the high stakes of honking traffic all around us, a giant Apple store that my GPS insisted was right in front of me but I simply could not locate with my eyes, and the nano-second opportunity to leap out of the passenger seat at a red light - I lept. I lept without doing what I always, always, always do - check my mirror for cyclists. Always except this one time, and - Voila!

I shoved my door open at the light and BAM! She must have been going 20 miles an hour when she slammed straight into it. She fell to the sidewalk and I practically fell out of the car onto my hands and knees to beg forgiveness, just a puddle of relief that she was OK enough to leap up onto the curb and start yelling me the riot act.

I just kept nodding and apologizing until the decibel levels came down out of the range where only dogs can hear it properly and eventually, as Mark and Dylan slinked the car slowly out of the intersection, it was just her and me (and a small gathered crowd) and the understanding that I was a class A jerk but with some hint of possibility of joining the human race, so with a final nod and apology, I shakily made my way to the front door of the Apple store that had somehow appeared in my sightline and she climbed back on her bike to triumphant applause from our audience and peddled off.

Hopefully we will never meet again under any circumstance. I suppose I could have performed a more humiliating act in an even more public venue, but how, exactly, escapes me.

My family got the hint immediately upon my return to the car that this was not an incident open for either humor or advice.

And, I did my best to enjoy the scenes of the great San Fran until we tore ourselves away and headed to Sonoma County.

Ah, Sonoma - if ever there was a place to help you forget you'd almost broken somebody's neck, it's Sonoma County, California. We'd reserved a room in tiny Guernsville, a real jewel that's sort of on the edge of the actual wine country, a short drive from the action, but less expensive and heavily forested. I explored a little of the area while Dylan rested in the suite and Mark stopped off at a local doc to have something checked out. We spent the next day leisurely meandering through the countryside, with a spectacle of a lunch at the over the top Coppola Winery.

Wow.

I'm not normally a Disneyesque type of gal, but I could not help being impressed with just about every aspect of this place. The grounds are Hard Rock Cafe meets Mondavi, complete with bruisers who greet you at the door and the desk from The Godfather next to Francis's trophy case filled with gleaming Oscars.

All in all, it was a great way to round out our trip. We headed out the next day to drive along Highway 1 - something I've wanted to do all my life - lunching in lovely Mendocino, a town very proud of its water towers, driving through Redwoods National Park, and finally crawling into Crescent City.

One more long day of highway miles and we were home sweet home - what a fabulous tour of The American West!

Road Trip Part IV: Yosemite - the awesome and the annoying

2011-06-29T07:38:00.000-07:00

We escaped Nevada, crossing into California at Reno, and then winding through a tiny, snow-packed pass on our way to the western entrance of Yosemite, which Mark and I agreed was probably the most beautiful stretch of road either of us had ever seen, and then proceeded to have our one and only bitter disagreement of the trip. Which is absolutely the way I would recommend enjoying the most beautiful stretch of road you've ever seen.

First lesson: a trip to Yosemite is a commitment, no matter where you are starting out from. There are no major highways anywhere close to the park and the surrounding area is hilly and twisted, so travel is slow at best and at times, tortuous.

And although the park is vast, the area most people visit - the valley floor - is constricted and filled with other people. So a 1-nighter is not really the way to see Yosemite.

Having said that, however, John Muir's lifelong love is nothing if not majestic and breathtaking. We finally left the entrance behind and made our way down to the valley floor around 7:30PM. The light played on El Capitan and the gushing waterfalls everywhere.

Like the other places we'd visited, Yosemite is experiencing an abundance of moisture so the main waterfalls were twice their normal size and spontaneous waterfalls had sprouted up all over.

We hit Camp Curry, a well-run National Park machine, only to discover at 8:30PM that all the food we'd packed in our cooler and bags would earn us a $5000 fine if left in our car.

Bears. Bears bears bears. If there's a theme to Yosemite it's bears and fines. Staying at Yosemite is a little like joining the army, with frequent and helpful reminders of the severe penalties for going AWOL.

So, before collapsing into our wall tent after 13 hours of driving, or eating dinner, or throwing back a shot of tequila, we had to pack up two weeks' worth of provisions and lug it to the Bear Box outside our tent. To say that Mom was a little crabby at this point would be somewhat of a wee understatement.

But the next day was magic. We all slept great, got up early, and headed out to the trail. After an awesome hike and about 1000 photos, we explored the Valley Floor by shuttle, taking our time and stopping off in lots of places and finally re-packing up the car to head out for San Francisco in late afternoon.

With only 4 hours of driving scheduled, we settled in and enjoyed the twisting, turning 2-lane blacktop through beautiful, sun-drenched country and even found Mark Twain's mostly-overlooked cabin. It's a humble little thing, sitting at the end of long shared driveway with some houses, but it's where Twain lived when his writing finally caught folks' attention - with a little frog story he heard down at the local tavern.

And then it was westward ho! once more, for a night in San Francisco and a good-bye to our Aussie cousin.

We interrupt this travelogue with a brief diversion into yummy

2011-06-12T16:11:00.001-07:00

Another fun pizza combination to add to your next Friday night ritual or casual sup with pals:

Crispy egglplant and proscuitto pizza

We started with a "base" pizza of tomato/basil sauce and cheese, a new one from Costco that is very clean and has a wonderful breadcrumb crust.

We sliced the eggplant very thin, dredged it in flour and shook off the excess, then pan-fried until crispy. Let the eggplant drain on paper towels and then laid it on the pizza, tore paper thin slices of prosciutto and placed them on top. Baked it on a pizza stone in a 500' oven for about 12 minutes, then finished with a little grated parmesan and some chopped green onion.

Delicious and different! And oh so easy ~

Road Trip, Part III - the west under water

2011-06-12T11:58:00.000-07:00

Our trip focused on the American west's iconic national parks, and while Utah certainly boasts some beauties, they were too far south for this adventure. We packed up our gear on the last day at our Jackson Village ski resort hostel and trotted down to say good-bye to our gracious host. Only to discover that the road west out of town, shut over two weeks earlier due to a massive slide, had not opened on schedule.

We blinked, blank-faced, as he pulled out his iPad and started giving us our options. They all involved near-blizzard conditions and mandatory chains. We thanked him and sighed before heading out to rearrange the car and pull the chains to where they would be easily accessed.

But, before embarking on the dreaded climb over the pass, we headed into town for a quick breakfast snack and on a whim decided to check the state hiway's website - miracle of miracles, the road had finally been re-opened, just 2 hours earlier.

We flew out of Wyoming across the southwest corner of Idaho and into the eastern farmland of Utah. Like Montana and Wyoming before them, these states had river and lakes looking ready to crest everywhere we looked. Many floodplains were already flooded and we knew from talking to folks in Jackson, where the unseasonably cold, snowy spring was about to break into 80' weather days after we left, that managing unprecedented quantities of water was the topic on everyone's lips. Everywhere we stopped, the conversation centered on the level of the dams, the swelling of the rivers. Moving people and livestock and hoping for the best.

We were looking forward to our second exciting food stop of the trip (the first, 2nd Street Bistro in Livingston, having fallen through with us arriving on a Monday, when they're closed) - Utah State University's famous Aggie Ice Cream shop, only to realize when we were mere miles from the school that it was Sunday and this being Utah, ice cream was unlikely to be available commercially.

Dejected, we gassed up and whipped through Salt Lake City to emerge on its western edge to seemingly endless water. Water so deep and widespread our little ribbon of highway seemed to be the only thing left unsubmerged and that just barely.

Even the median between the freeway's two directions seemed a long, straight navigable river.

A lot of very little for a very long time, and at last we hit our night's goal. Elko, Nevada. I'll just say...Nevada was everything I expected. And leave it at that.

After checking in at the Thunderbird Motel, I headed over to Albertson's for dinner stuff. Had to txt Mark and let him know that the one-armed bandits in the grocery store had me in their clutches and I'd be pulling a line of credit out of the house before heading back with a loaf of bread.

But, by making it to Elko, we'd chewed up a signficant part of Nevada, after exiting out of Wyoming, cutting across Idaho, and dissecting Utah all in a single day. We slept soundly and headed to California and John Muir's Yosemite the next morning.

Part IV: Yosemite - how badly do you want to see it? And San Francisco!

Road Trip, Part II - Wyoming beyond Yellowstone

2011-06-07T14:09:00.000-07:00

My only other exposure to Wyoming was driving the largest UHaul made, with a car attached to the back, filled with my mother's belongings when I flew down to New Mexico 5 years ago and moved her up to Vashon. That Wyoming, the Wyoming found along I-25, the Wyoming where the wind howls incessantly and one is forced to wonder Where Art Thou, Wind Turbines? The Wyoming of miles and miles of absolute nothingness and white knuckle grips on a seemingly possessed steering wheel - and this coming from a native New Mexican, so I can throw that stone. That Wyoming I can live the rest of my life without seeing again.

This was not that Wyoming.

Western Wyoming is a different animal entirely. Thank goodness. It greeted us savagely - the photo above features Mark taking a photo of me taking a photo of him taking a photo in the snowstorm that marked our journey from Old Faithful into Grand Teton territory. Once Mark gets the camera bug, mere blizzard conditions are no match for his determination.

A couple hours later, this was all of the Tetons that greeted us. Our Aussie companion, conveniently named Jackson, dutifully captured the majestic range's feet.

But we had fun that night anyway. Here's Jackson having pizza and Coke in Jackson, and wearing some of Dylan's napkin handiwork.

We fell in love with Jackson Hole - the whole thing. Jackson the Town, Jackson Village the ski resort we were staying in, at a dirt cheap hostel, the amazing beauty everywhere, and the wildlife.

From sitting in a bear's lap.

To enjoying happy hour while a stuffed moose sheds on your appetizers.

To coming home after a day of exploring only to find a fox (a FOX!) in the parking lot.

We were instructed to go see Wyoming's most photograhed barn, which lies in front of the Grand Tetons and miraculously on the day we ventured off with our cameras, the clouds parted and we were treated to a most iconic vista.

I spent about 20 minutes shooting pix of this beautiful old barn with the mountains behind it until I realized that the REAL beautiful old barn with the mountains behind it was across the road.

Jackson is simply amazing. You can see why all the celebs have their 2nd homes here. I didn't want to leave. I've never been anywhere where the ski resort is 12 miles straight off the town - no altitude climb required. We took North America's longest tram up to the top of the ski slopes for a good look around.

And every night you get to watch a real live old west shoot out in the town square!

Next up, Part III - Utah under water and slot machines in Albertsons!

Road Trip! A 12 day odessy across the American West, Part I

2011-06-05T14:25:00.000-07:00

Just got back from a tour of American West National Parks. Fantastic! Here's Mark and Dylan in front of Old Faithful just before the blizzard starts and quite a while before the geyser blows. Yes, a snow blizzard just days before June.

We welcomed our 19 year old Aussie cousin Jackson at Sea-Tac airport on Saturday, May 21st and set off on our adventure as dawn broke Monday morning. I'll have to break this post up into 3 or 4 sections - manipulating more than a handful of photos through one entry proves very frustrating.

But, first things first. We covered something like 3,000 miles in our 12 days. I was tracking it on the odometer, but Mark kept resetting the odometer in Yellowstone, so we're estimating here, using the power of the internets. A lot, a lot, of miles in a pretty darn short time, but we still managed to dawdle for a couple days in Yellowstone, a couple more in Jackson and the Grand Tetons, and another couple in the wine country - but that meant making sure the rest of the west really flew by our car windows...

We made Livingston, MT at 8PM the first day, just ahead of a bruising storm, the latest of many that were causing flooding in southwestern Montana and the straw that broke the back of I-90, forcing authorities to close our ribbon to freedom just hours behind us.

We thanked the weather gods for sparing us and passed under the northern gate to Yellowstone the next morning.

The first thing that greets you just inside the Mammoth entrance and near the visitor center is Mammoth Springs.

The whole Mammoth area is ethereal and amazing. Feels like you're on a different planet.

We camped Day 2 by Tower Fall. Late May is a dicey time to head to Yellowstone, weatherwise, but the risk paid off with lots of great wildlife spotting and minimal crowds.

Bison were just everywhere, trotting along with their babies and generally creating traffic jams wherever they could.

I'm including this last photo to document that we actually did camp in one of the 18 slots available in the only open campground in all of Yellowstone's 2.2 million acres. Even if this was the only time we camped the whole trip...

Part II - Grand Teton and fabulous Jackson!

Mother's Day

2011-05-09T16:06:00.000-07:00

As weekends go, this past one was just about perfect. On Sunday, after Nana and I enjoyed quite the brunch prepared by Mark and Dylan, we took a little digestion break, and then my boys and I plus a pal went for a classic Vashon hike.

Completed only recently, the Fern Cove hike takes you from Vashon Winery through ancient farmland, a deep forested canyon, and a gurgling creekside before depositing you onto a vast and rocky cove that faces the Olympic Peninsula.

Fern Cove and the creek that feeds it - the gurgling creek you walk next to, the creek that formed that shockingly deep canyon - turns out to be an important salmon spawning spot. So, a lot of effort has gone into buying up the watershed, protecting the water, and building a trail that helps people appreciate salmon and the world they live in.

The boys found thousands of eggs tucked into little eddies.

More of this please!

Sign of the times

2011-05-07T07:43:00.000-07:00

Is everything falling apart, or am I just imagining it?

God bless the Antique Sandwich

2011-05-02T12:59:00.000-07:00

I'm sure I'm not alone when I disclose that the older I get, the more I lament the shuttering of a favorite restaurant, the demolition of a deco brick building, the overall constant barrage of faster and faster change. Years slip by and the places that built memories become, one by one, memories themselves.

And that's why we pilgrimage to the Antique Sandwich.

Objectively, there is nothing really stand-out about the Sandwich. They do make everything from scratch, including the world's best egg salad, which I cannot stray from no matter how solid my resolve, and their doughy whole wheat bagels, which would send any east coast native out of the place screaming. The service is pretty slow and occasionally even brusque. The carpet is worn and more than a little grimy. And the giant toy bin is an excellent place to build up your kid's immune system.

But, the menu hasn't changed in 20 years. At least 20 years - that's how long I've been coming here. And neither has anything else. Nothing. Same big old oak tables, same dusty fair trade items for sale on the walls and in cases. Same collection of audio equipment waiting for Tuesday nights when Victory Music holds the open mic and broadcasts it live. Same creaky stairs that lead up, eventually, to the only bathrooms. I swear when the baker emerges from the back hallway she still wears the same apron I first glimpsed nearly 2 decades ago.

Same. All same. Walking into the darkened room, where a new generation of toddlers play over by that toy bin and their moms share one of the Sandwich's enormous slices of pie, where old men sit across a table from each other and read the morning paper, where your money goes into an actual cash register that clunks and the operator of said antique is forced to figure your change - walking in here is just exactly like coming home.

I've learned not to burst in here starving - that only leads to irritation - and if there's a line, I know the best course of action is to get to know the person in front of me b/c we'll be spending some time together. But, once we're settled in at one of those big round tables, sipping our lemon water and knowing that lunch, when it arrives, will be just like every other lunch we've ever had at the Sandwich, yummy and handmade, a settled calm descends. My shoulders relax just a little and my eyes drift over the wooden carvings and woven scarves, hand-made earrings from Central America and beaded bracelets from Africa. Muted conversation wafts all around me and I'm a little less interested in catching the next ferry.

And it doesn't hurt that they make a mean milkshake.

Appliance karma continues

2011-04-28T14:18:00.000-07:00

With a much appreciated exception in the vaccuum department, it's good to know that all is still right with my universe. In the brief months we call 2011, I've had brand-new-dishwasher woes, tossed into the garbage the coffee maker Santa brought us for Christmas, and am currently enjoying our new toaster.

Tough day to be a chicken

2011-04-25T10:41:00.000-07:00

Back to our regularly-scheduled PNW spring weather after a truly glorious weekend. With a sick kid lying in the next room, I watch our poor hens scurry out from under one shelter or another for a quick bite before diving under cover once again.

Some days it's especially good to be a human with a refrigerator.

Snax with friends

2011-04-22T22:04:00.000-07:00

What is it about a sunny day and the end of the week that just screams "share this moment with friends!"? Dunno.

But we did, and we're glad. Today was a triple, maybe quadruple wammy, with Earth Day, Good Friday, the first truly brilliantly sunny day we can remember, and of course, the surprise appearance of our newest addition. (Mama and young one doing great so far, by the way)

Bliss.

So how to improve on perfection? Make sure you spread the day far and wide across those you know and love. Luckily, our pals Judith and Terry were game to nibble our weekly pedestrian Friday Pizza and Movie night fare of clumsy sort of homemade pizza and admittedly yummy Cioppino concocted last night - so no one went hungry and all got to bask in the warmth of a true spring day while our boys attempted to stump the grown-ups on riddles (easily accomplished) and outdo each other on the silliness scale (no comment).

But, most of all we shared stories of the day, the week, and the times. And celebrated our friendship with a little wine and a fair amount of mediocre but at least honest and handmade food.

The perfect ending to the perfect day. I thank the universe for friends that are willing to drop by and settle in when the moment calls.

You're the best.

Happy Earth Day, Happy Easter

2011-04-22T13:13:00.000-07:00

Death, birth, renewal. Where there is sadness, joy. Where there is grief, life.

A surprise lamb, come what seems a whole month early - but healthy and beautiful.

Just this moment, right now. It's all perfect.

On this Earth Day, this Good Friday, this prelude to Easter, we are blessed.

Good-bye, Blackberry

2011-04-13T14:18:00.001-07:00

Our whole family knows better than to get attached to the livestock - especially after the losses of the past couple years. But, discovering our "leader" sheep - matriarch of the flock and hand-tamed - had died yesterday afternoon came as a blow to us all. She was fine, and then she was gone.

Pictured above almost a year ago to the day, Blackberry feasting after giving birth to her last lamb.

Good-bye mama.

Thanks.

Still talking about the weather

2011-04-13T13:40:00.000-07:00

I can't seem to bring myself to rein in the weather blabber. Dylan and I are hunkered down in our respective cozy places this afternoon while the gray skies cry.

But, yesterday. Yesterday! O blessed yellow orb - we basked in your glow for a second straight uninterrupted day in a row! I think I even got a little sunburned. Felt great.

Just a couple days of Vitamin D and happiness shining down on us and ours, and the spring blues crawl back under the couch to join the dust bunnies again for a while. Plus, after a day in the garden, I can gaze from the warmth of my couch and see today's showers as the life-giving force they are, envisioning my little starts drinking in their first sips from nature's hose.

Grow little guy, grow!

The daring heroism of...Kraft?

2011-04-09T07:35:00.000-07:00

A couple of years ago, the US Supreme Court decided that corporations could in many respects enjoy the same legal privileges as United States citizens. The most important part of that decision was that it opened the door for corporations to funnel essentially unlimited money into our elections...anonymously.

It took but a single election cycle to illustrate what unlimited corporate money in the political process would wrought. Completely unqualified candidates, plucked out of nowhere, to run on radical agendas with corporate-financed and polished messages, while career public servants who've served the interests of the American people on both sides of the aisle found themselves underfunded and out of luck.

And just hours ago, the US government shutdown held hostage by these newly-elected extremists was narrowly averted. For now.

But the other day, I discovered perhaps a less disheartening but more curious consequence of the Court's Citizen's United ruling: The rise of the corporate biography.

Now, maybe this exciting genre of literary journalism has always been around and it's just never caught my eye before. But, within the span of a few days, I was confronted with 2 thrilling tales of the little companies that could - and did - against all odds. I am preparing my heart to be warmed.

Last week, my son filmed a project at Seattle's Museum of Flight. We decided to join and as a part of membership packet were handed Character and Characters: The Spirit of Alaska Airlines.

Yesterday, I stopped in at my favorite Starbucks only to discover that our homegrown coffee monolith, too, has a poignant tale of rags to riches to share with us. CEO Howard Shultz offers us Onward: How Starbucks Fought for Its Life Without Losing Its Soul.

Huh.

Don't get me wrong - I'm sure both AA and Starbucks have fascinating histories - there is a pioneer spirit here in the upper left hand corner that persists even today and permeates our culture. Neither transforming a small wilderness plane operation into a successful and fiercely brand loyal airline nor convincing the entire globe that they simply are not paying enough for their morning cup of coffee are not inconsequential feats.

But I recall the day, not too far in the distant past, when we cozied up with a good book about Teddy Roosevelt, Lewis & Clark, or Amelia Earhart. Often, people did heroic - or insane - things because the commercial interests at the time paid them to do it. But, the story - the story was about the person, or people, and the funding context was secondary, at best. It's a little tough for me to get my hero worship in full swing for Starbucks. Still...

Maybe there's something in here for me after all...

Stop Sign Farm Inc: Changing The World One Egg At A Time

Hello - Random House?

Half minute of puppy zen

2011-04-08T07:27:00.000-07:00

Jasmine teaches the old man how to play. Note how Jessie has developed an energy-saving technique.

Spring break break

2011-04-08T07:06:00.000-07:00

On this Friday of spring break, the day opens with clear skies. The weather gods insist we had better enjoy it - this sunny day does not travel in packs. It's a loner, wafting briefly into our soggy lives before visiting some other, more deserving place.

But, we're going to make the most of it! Our little starts can turn their faces to the sun while the mush around them dries out a little, our greenhouse will be toasty and humid, making for happy tomato babies, and this mama is taking her boy and his bud kayaking at fabulous Dockton Park, complete with picnic blankies and snacks for the moms.

Yay!

Chase the blues away chowder

2011-04-07T07:32:00.000-07:00

It's been said that there's no use complaining about the weather because you can't do anything about it. Well, we do plenty of whining around here, but I do disagree with that basic tenet. You can do something about the weather - you can cook up something that makes you feel warm and toasty and thoroughly loved inside.

And you can share it with your friends and family and help them to feel loved inside too.

I developed this luxurious chowder earlier this year. It marries the rich satisfaction of comfort food with ingredients that signal the first glimmers of Spring, so it's a perfect choice for cold, rainy March or April nights. Because it makes a big enough batch for sharing, the cream and bacon are spread pretty thin, allowing the fresh, healthful ingredients to shine.

------------------------

Winter into Spring Tilapia Chowder with Crispy Asparagus

This satisfying chowder is perfect for those early spring weeknights when fresh local asparagus starts showing up at farmers markets but the evenings still hold a chill.

Makes 10 – 12 hearty servings

Ingredients

2 tablespoons, plus 1 tablespoon olive oil
2 medium yellow onions
½ lb thick-cut pepper bacon
10-12 sprigs fresh thyme
6-8 Cups fish or seafood stock
4-5 medium Yukon gold or other thin-skinned potatoes
2-3 Cups fresh or frozen peas
¼ Cup chopped fresh parsley
salt and pepper
I bunch asparagus
6-8 Tilapia fillets (roughly 3 lbs total)
water as needed
1.5 – 2 C heavy cream
1-2 large lemons

Preparation

Preheat broiler.

Chop onions into medium dice. In a large stockpot, heat the 2 tablespoons of oil over medium heat until warm and add the onions. While onions cook, chop the bacon and sauté it in a small pan until just cooked but not crispy, about 7 minutes. Remove from heat and add ½ the bacon and 1 tablespoon of the rendered fat into the stockpot. Return the remaining bacon to medium heat and finish cooking until crispy, about 3-4 more minutes. Drain on paper towels.

Cut potatoes into 1/3-inch slices. When onions are soft, strip thyme leaves into onion and oil mixture, stir, then add the seafood or fish stock. Turn heat up to medium-high and gently add the potatoes, peas, and parsley. Season with generous amounts of salt and pepper. Allow soup to cook at a simmer for 10-15 minutes.

Meanwhile, cut each fish fillet into halves or thirds.

Cut the tough ends of the asparagus off, leaving 3-inch spears. Spread these onto a baking sheet and drizzle with the remaining tablespoon of oil. Sprinkle a teaspoon of coarse salt over them. Zest the lemons and sprinkle 1/3 of the zest over spears, reserving the rest. Squeeze half of one lemon over the spears. While the soup is simmering, broil the asparagus until crisp-tender, about 5 minutes.

Remove the asparagus from the broiler and set aside.

Using a hand blender, roughly puree the soup until many of the potatoes have been mashed, but some pieces still remain. Add the fish pieces and cook for 5 minutes on medium-high. Turn burner off and add the cream. Stir to blend and allow to sit for 5-10 minutes.

When ready to serve, spoon chowder, with 2-3 pieces of fish, into each bowl. Top each serving with 3-4 asparagus spears, a few pieces of bacon, and a pinch of lemon zest.

Enjoy with crusty bread, a simple salad, and a New Zealand or Washington Sauvignon Blanc.

Later that same day...

2011-04-06T18:40:00.000-07:00

'Nuf said.

Jasmine tries on her first hail and gives her verdict....

Ah, Spring. We know you're out there.

On the bright side, although no photographic evidence documents the occasion, there was actually a bright burst of warm sunshine during which my pals Shelley and Judith came over and together the three of us and Tiffany busted out an hour or two of solid greenhouse work, making tomato seedlings happy, and planted out the rest of my cool weather greens - not to mention (which I must) - Judith's usual cool as a cucumber / steady as she goes clean up job. Before I know it, I look up from my spindly mustard starts to find all is organized and happy in my entropy-prone veggie patch.

Thanks gal pals! Next Hail Day it's my turn to be garden helper!

And now it's 7PM and the 3rd hail storm of the day is bringing us its April joy.

Ah, Spring.

Spring! Spring?

2011-04-06T07:07:00.000-07:00

Well, it doesn't much feel like the way we wish for Spring to feel; there's no denying that March blew in like a lion and felt no need to tiptoe quietly into April on little lamb hooves. The winds howl nightly and the rains...the rains. The rains are our constant cloying companion, the little sister who follows us everywhere and insists on being a part of everything we try to do.

But, we determined Northwesterners stomp, often sullenly, through our Spring days, peering at our 10-day forecasts to watch the temperature inch up and talking non-stop about the weather with anyone who will listen. Family. Friends. The mail carrier. Cashier. Fellow bus-stop waiter. The unsuspecting visitor searching for directions. If you visit the Northwest in a Spring like ours, don't stop in any one place for too long - not only will moss seep into your shoes, but Endless Rain Syndrome will surely pour into your ears.

Still, here on the farm, we appear to be dangerously close to getting our act together this Spring. Between the sanctuary we call the greenhouse and the godsend we call Tiffany the Amazing Farmhand, putting one foot in front of the other finally appears within our grasp. Baby plants are reaching for the soft diffused greenhouse light, our planting beds are turned, covered, and ready for that magical moment when the threat of hail passes, our ewes are growing new life, and our sturdy hens are persistently leaving us the most beautiful eggs our neighbors have ever seen. Soon the new flock that came into this world in the dead of winter will be adding to the dozens of eggs we can stack in the farm stand.

And, of course, we added a puppy.

Take that, Spring!

This year, despite the roar outside, another kind of Spring is upon us - our baby boy officially enters into adolescence (is it an omen that I had to type that word 3X before I got it right? I hope not.) When you're the parent of young children, the teenage years, I think fairly universally, cast a cloud of dread and fear across the sparkles in your new-parent eyes. But, of course, as you walk each day beside your child, the myths and blanket expectations fall away to the reality of your specific offspring, and the door that you thought would say "Teen" gives way to the path of just growing up day by day.

And so it is that we find ourselves with a newly-minted teen. Not a scowling, sullen stereotype that mumbles through the hidden blare of his iPod, but still the helpful conversationalist who insists on baking his own birthday cookies and laughs from his belly when he wrestles with his new pup. But, now, too, a person for whom creativity and imagination have the opportunity to come forward in real world applications. A person who can turn what's in his head into a YouTube video. A person whose decisions have consequences beyond a time out or a serious Family Discussion. And, yes, a person with highs and lows that sometimes leave us helpless.

A person who is leaving the child behind and turning into a full-fledged individual right before our very eyes.

While the tomatoes sprout in the greenhouse and the peas turn into shoots in the garden, while the puppy morphs from fluffball into lanky playmate and the young hens discover their own miraculous ability to produce life each day, I thank the universe for the gift of walking beside this unique and gifted teenager as he is born into his next adventure.

Spring? Spring.

Help has arrived!

2010-10-08T15:34:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, it turns out, if you just keep asking the universe, you find your pleas answered.

Meet Tiffany, the farm hand who fell from the sky in her Amazing Biodiesel Eco-bus House squarely onto Stop Sign Farm. She, her bus, her 2 cats, and her super good energy arrived a week ago today.

I have been yearning, wishing, fretting about an extra pair of hands around here, for the mundane and the colossal, but was thwarted by lack of housing for any intern. Tiffany has been stressed to the breaking point in the crush and noise of the city, yearning for some breathing space and a nice big spot to park her house.

We found each other, we met, and a beautiful friendship is beginning. Her radio producing skills are of interest to Mark; the love for children she brings to her day-job - nannying - makes her an instant friend to Dylan. I suspect she will make herself indispensable in no time flat.

My advice: Keep asking - maybe a Tiffany (or a Stop Sign Farm) is just around the corner.

Paella Fest - Looking into our own future

2010-10-04T09:10:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago, Mark and I accompanied my mom and visiting pal Phyllis to a gala event at Vashon's Senior Center. There are senior centers and there are senior centers. Here on our little rock, we are blessed to have a centrally-located building filled with volunteers and laughter, hard work and classes, fund-raisers and charity works.

It's got its politics and warts, like any small town organization filled with retirees, but for the most part, our senior center is a vibrant and integral part of our close-knit community. My sense, from 8 years of island residence and 45 years of life, is that it is one of those rare elder facilities that folks in the community just gradually find themselves more and more a part of until, before they know it, they're serving on the Board, running Monday bridge night, and giving out scholarships when graduation rolls around. The Vashon Senior Center doesn't sit quietly in the corner of our shared life until the Age 65 bell goes off and one feels obligated to shuffle over and play pinochle.

So, while Mark and I were undoubtedly the whipper-snappers at the table, it didn't feel at all out of place to be breaking bread with this gang at a recent "friend-raiser" - an all-out Paella Fest ambitiously held outdoors in the driveway-cum-patio. Ambitious, yes - but the wisdom of the organizers shone through in the form of many, many canopies.

And a good thing too. Because, as 2010 has shown us repeatedly, Mother Nature is indeed a fickle friend. The traditionally dependable September balm was rudely shoved aside by a storm of nearly gale proportions. Most of the dressed-up seniors retreated inside to enjoy their feast and the Flamenco dancers warm and dry, but a few - including us pre-seniors - sort of reveled in the sizzle of the paella pans and the sparkle of the meticulously-hung fairy lights swinging in 40 mph winds and shining through curtains of rain all around us.

We helped, we feasted, we ferried dirty dishes through the weather to the kitchen. And by the time we went home, we were happily, gloriously drenched.

Whenever Mark is feeling old, I remind him that it's better than the alternative. And, looking into the future of an old age here in this community, I know it's true.

2010-09-16T10:48:00.000-07:00

How does time fly by so so so fast?? No sooner do I commit to making sure I post 2 times a week than 3 weeks zip by. Argh!

So, here we are, deep into an early fall. Summer skipped us this year, I'm afraid, and the mood around the island is dark indeed. Folks here suffer through 9 months of rain, showers, drizzle, mist and every other variety of wet so they can pull out their shorts and flip flops in July and not unearth their wellies til October.

Not this year. 2010 brought a spring and summer so erratic in temperature and wet stuff just about everyone's garden flopped. And, since a lot of island folks move out here at least partially to indulge their love of gardening...well...like I said, there is a general air of grump about.

However! Those of us lucky enough sport a greenhouse among our possessions are somewhat buffered from the wrath of Mother Nature and feeling mighty grateful right about now. As food gardeners (including myself) rip out the bolted and rotting remnants of broccoli and peas from their soggy beds, tomatoes, peppers, and basil keep coming on in the sanctuary of hooped plastic over at our place.

And salad greens are just beginning!

I think I have found the antidote to the Northwest's ubiquitous Seasonal Affective Disorder. Lots of green inside a bubble of gray.

Folk Fest Fun for Everyone

2010-08-25T09:13:00.000-07:00

Hot on the heels of returning from Ashland, we dove into an event we'd been planning with a couple other islanders - The 3rd Annual Vashon Winery Folk Festival. Held this past Saturday and Sunday, it was a great way to celebrate music and Vashon. Folks from all around Puget Sound brought their lawn chairs and love of big bold reds and settled in for the day or weekend.

Thanks to pals Shelley and Jan for helping and to Vashon Winery proprietor Ron Irvine for a great idea and a great venue!

Jan made sure summer flowers brightened up the place.

Happy gals enjoying good music, wine, and company!

Travelogue, summer 2010

2010-08-17T23:10:00.000-07:00

It's tough, really, to convey what it takes to leave even a silly little farm like ours for a week. Lots of planning, good fortune, and the gift of a nana on board and good local people who know one end of a tomato plant and/or ewe from another. Priceless.

Here's to Nana and Camille, without whom our 1 week vacation to paradise would not have been possible in any way. Thank you for giving us the break from our daily chores, our rock, our life we dearly needed. We are restored! For now...

Photos and captions herein... More on Ashland and the need to get out of the rain later....

View from our hostel room, evening...

Dylan catches me feeling satisfied after a long climb to Garfield Peak, on the rim of Crater Lake.

According to a talk Dylan caught as we were heading back to the car, Crayola has spent 60 years trying to develop Crater Lake Blue...unsuccessfully.

The countryside surrounding Ashland is more Northern CA than Oregon.

Mark checks in with work from the front porch.

Dylan's newly-invented sushi napkin fold, developed at Kobe Sushi Bar our last night.

Our lasting take-away - Dylan's new rock collection, the result of hours in Ashland's fine mineral shops....

Proud mama moment

2010-08-04T07:20:00.000-07:00

Congrats to Dylan and 3 island pals who completed 3 weeks of commuting and study at the UW! And to the other mamas who traded 3 weeks of island life for shuffling their increasingly exhausted 12 year olds to and from the campus. Each of our kids participated in a different class, with Dylan working in the fields of physics and astronomy 5 hours a day.

He was treated to many distinguished guest speakers, plenty of hours in the UW's planetarium, and even a nighttime tour of the university's 125-year-old observatory (and his mom got to go along to that - fun!).

After a casual potluck on the "front yard" of the physics and astronomy corner of campus, the last day's final presentations were held for the parents in the beautiful, dark, and silent planetarium, with each student informing us about a particular constellation's mythic background and particular attributes - amazing!

Super proud of you, Dylan! (and thanks to Mark for holding down the SSF fort all the while!). Now, we're back to tomatoes and puzzles in our new favorite place...

August light and the beginnings of bounty

2010-08-02T21:10:00.000-07:00

It's been a long, cold spring that has stretched well into summer. But, that favored season is finally here. This fact, coupled with the existence of our beloved greenhouse, combines to bless us with sweet offerings few others on our little rock can claim.

Our pots of basil are brimming, our tomatoes are beginning to get heavy with fruit, and our peppers are developing. Meanwhile, in the open air garden, garlic, onions, and potatoes are literally bursting from the ground. The weeds bring us down, but yanking onions and garlic from the ground each night and rooting around for those stunning creamy fresh potatoes remind us that we haven't totally lost 2010.

But, yesterday was strange. The day dawned shrouded in a strange mist, a mist that stubbornly remained for the bulk of the day, eventually casting a strange glow over the farm even as it disapated. My various family members went off to their own magnets and I was left in the kitchen, prepping dinner and making bread while getting my daily Bourdain fix. I couldn't help but snap about 100 photos of that amazing light. Wow.

Beam me up Nana!

2010-07-25T08:48:00.000-07:00

I've probably not chronicled here the extremes of my mom's love for Star Trek. But, she is both a free spirit and a devoted Trekkie, even having braved a Las Vegas convention in her 70s. Her checks have images from the original series, she of course has taped every show of every Trek franchise at least once, and her TV is tuned to Spike more often than not.

The fact that her dedication has lasted well into her 80s is no doubt enough to set her apart from most of the rest of both the fan pack and the octogenarian crowd. This week, however, I dare suggest she's solidified her unique position as Most Devoted 87-Year Old Star Trek Fan. Ever.

Pictures are worth 1000 words. In this case, maybe 10,000.

You go girl!

Spicy Thai curry for hot summer nights

2010-07-14T22:46:00.001-07:00

I recently ventured into the Seattle Cash and Carry store, a restaurant supply warehouse, and must admit to a strange mixture of awe and recoil. On the one hand, much of its wares lift the veil on how most restaurant dishes really come together (don't ask). On the other, a little careful shopping with a keen eye on the ingredient list can reap some excellent finds - always cheap and sometimes just plain better than retail grocery stores can stock.

After eyeballing the fine print on a tub of Mae Ploy Red Curry Paste - 1 tenth (10th!) the cost of supermarket jars of similar paste and, it turns out, vastly fresher - I developed this very simple way to let it shine. No tricks here, just good ingredients and time.

It'll give you a good sweat on hot day - the way tropical climes work through blistering heat.

Enjoy ~

Thai Red Chicken Curry – the full-flavored, slow-food way

This isn’t something you throw together with cellophane wrapped factory produced chicken parts. Start with a whole, organic or at least free-range chicken and build a foundation for a truly rich, nuanced Thai curry. It’s not hard – it just takes patience.

This makes enough for 6-8 servings.

Ingredients

2 tbsp peanut oil, plus 1 tsp
Half of one yellow onion, minced
1 stalk lemongrass, cut into 2 inch pieces and each piece smashed with the broadside of a knife
1 whole free range or organic chicken
2 C chicken broth or homemade stock
2-3 TBS excellent quality Thai red curry paste
3 cans coconut milk
1 pound crimini mushrooms, rinsed and quartered
1 bunch cilantro
2 tsp coarse sea salt
juice of 2 limes

Rinse the chicken and place it on a cutting board back side up. Press the heel of your hand against the backbone until it cracks. Then, take shears and cut up the back until you have split the whole chicken. Cut the chicken up into 6 basic parts – don’t worry too much about it b/c you’ll be taking the meat off the bone later.

In a deep dutch oven, heat the 2 tbs peanut oil and then sauté the onion and lemongrass until the onion starts to become translucent. Push it into a bank on one side of the pan and place the chicken pieces in the pan. Pour the broth into the pan. In a 2nd small pot, pour a tsp of peanut oil in and heat it gently, then add the paste. Once soft, pour the cans of the coconut milk in and warm and mix until the paste has dissolved into the milk. When the solution is relatively uniform, pour it into the chicken pot.

Cook until the chicken is still moist but mostly cooked through, about 40 minutes – turn chicken once or twice in the process. Using tongs, take chicken pieces out and place on a large plate to cool.

While chicken is cooling, throw mushrooms, cilantro, and salt into broth and simmer. The chicken will take 15 – 20 minutes to cool; cook the broth and its additions on lowest setting while the chicken cools.

Pull chicken off bone and tear into bite-sized pieces. Squeeze the juice of one lime into the broth and divide soup into bowls. Pass quartered lime pieces at the table.

First greenhouse work day

2010-07-11T21:29:00.000-07:00

There's something about a greenhouse....

Magic?

Not sure, but it sure smells good in there - like Life - and seeing all our happy plants in their own digs, away from the weeds and grass and livestock and general overall chaos that is swirling just outside acts as a tonic on the farmer's soul somehow.

Here's how the morning went: I spent about 2 hours organizing the space, with a few trial and errors before coming up with a system for all the plants I've been nervously but optimistically babying for some weeks now in the hopes that a true greenhouse may at some point materialize.

Then my wonderful boys came out and we gave as many tomatoes as we could their final potting up into tubs that will take them through the season, courtesy of pals Judith and Terry who had such tubs to spare and share.

Then, it was back to getting everybody where they needed to be. And there they are.

A thing of beauty.

Just in time for the heat wave!

2010-07-10T14:40:00.001-07:00

But who cares???

If I don't burst into tears writing this post, it will be a miracle. Just four short months after purchasing the greenhouse, it is up.

Last night, pals arrived with work gloves in hand and appetites on hold as the day's heat was just ebbing. We got right to it and less than an hour later - voila. A bona fide, honest-to-goodness, real, live greenhouse. And shadecloth! It now being July and all.

Satisfied, if not more than a little damp and sticky, we turned our attention to those growing appetites. Bruschetta with our budding crop of basil got slathered onto olive oiled slices of baguette and quickly consumed while I mixed together just-picked fresh herbs, garlic, and olive oil to brush onto a couple of NW salmon fillets and toss with creamy, just-dug baby yukon golds.

Out of the oven and gone lickety split inbetween kids making chocolate ice cream and grown-ups talking politics.

Thank you one and all for taking us into the next phase of this little enterprise and sticking around so we could enjoy your company.

Birthday in paradise

2010-07-05T12:48:00.000-07:00

A belated thank you to Mark and Dylan all my bestest pals who spent an atypically gorgeous early June Saturday relaxing at one of my favorite places in all the world - Dockton Park. Dockton is an under-used jewel that on a fine summer day has something for any and everyone - play structure and swings for the little ones, beach, docks to walk out on and admire boats from, picnicking in the shade and sun-soaking on the lawn, even showers for rinsing off the sea salt after a kayak or some excellent hunts for teeny crabs.

We spent the day in lazy conversation and, of course, elbow deep in delicious, wondrous summer fare while the kids played and kayaked. Behold the world's most beautiful salad, courtesy of ex-pro chef Christy.

Thanks one and all for making it such a special day ~

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

2010-06-29T20:33:00.000-07:00

I guess tires get warm and a fellow feels cozy underneath the chassis.....

Trooper update

2010-06-28T15:45:00.000-07:00

World's cutest goat at 6 days. Mama and boy doing great. Today was the first time we let them out in the "free range" pasture - Trooper especially likes the hill!

He frolicked, he tasted, he rested.

Life is good.

Farm Stand - What's fresh now

2010-06-25T14:30:00.001-07:00

The rain has finally abated and suddenly it feels like time to get fresh again!

Right now at the stand we've got plenty of fantastic free-range eggs from happy (and, finally, we hope, safe) hens.

Garlic scapes! These delicacies are only available a couple weeks each year - and now's the time! Chop 'em up and throw them into stir-fries. Jan likes hers poached gently in a little white wine and butter - then you could spoon them over a silky pasta with a little olive oil and parm. Guests? Mince them fine (the scapes, not the guests) and fork-mash them into plain or herbed goat cheese. Don't let the season pass you by!

Oregano - use in place of dry to give your pasta sauces, salads, soups, and stews a little zing. Rub, then crumble over salmon before baking or grilling. Make oregano butter and place a dollop on pork chops when you pull them from the oven.

Rosemary - Ah, rosemary. Is there anything this beautiful shrub can't do? Dot the landscape, perfume the outdoors - and then take you from apps to dessert like nobody's business. Make a dipping oil from your best olive oil, a splash of balsamic, a tiny pinch of coarse sea salt, and a fistful of minced rosemary. Then fold some more into a paste with some garlic and butter and rub it over a chicken before roasting. Throw a sprig into your ice cold lemonade or chilled sauvignon blanc and, finally, pair just a pinch with minced lavender and make the perfect summer sorbet.

Bay - anywhere stale, jarred storebought bay can go, a fresh bay leaf will do it one better. Sauces, soups, stews, casseroles. Don't forget to remove before serving.

And, lastly - mint. Whether your cool one is tea or mojito, a couple sprigs of crushed mint announce to your palette: It's summer!

If you're out and about, you can find all this at our farm stand this week.

Buono gusto ~

Mama love

2010-06-23T08:57:00.001-07:00

Life & Death (with a happy ending - I think)

2010-06-22T20:58:00.001-07:00

It is amazing how this simple liquid is the elixer of Life. And a critical ingredient in our Story of the Day.

We have ventured into Goats. Or, goat - specifically, one Kinder goat we bought in February scheduled to kid in June. May or June. So, we've been watching her rather beadily these past couple weeks because she is waddling around with an udder the size of Manhattan but no indication otherwise of Anything Imminent.

This morning she presented a little mucus and immediately thwarted all attempts to catch her as she is the world's only goat completely and thoroughly uninterested in humans. Or grain. She is The Goat That Walks Alone, apologies to Rudyard.

Well, we went about our day and I came home alongside my pal Judith to discover our Middy grazing grass with what looked to be a dead kid hanging out of her. I sprinted for surgical gloves and we tried to figure out what was going on. We called Mark to come home and our pal Tammy who knows goats and then the vet. The baby was blue and wet and cold and not budging. I tried to figure out what how things were stacked up in there but couldn't make heads nor tails of it. At some point Mark got home from my frantic call, attempted the same, and we decided the baby was done and now it was time to save Middy. She was frothing at the mouth, screaming, her tongue lolling to one side and her eyes beginning to roll back. It was a long, long (and bloody) ride to the vet's.

Judith heroically put my groceries away and spirited the boys up to her house and fed them. (hugs, Judith).

But, a funny thing happens in the hands of a pro: we lifted the hatchback of the - thank god, OLD - subaru and our pal the on-call vet Dana reached in and pulled a baby goat right out without so much as a ble from the mama. She did some minor karate chops on the little wet noodle and low and behold, he breathed.

And here he is. Bottle fed and warm-towel warmed, he's here to tell the tale. Welcome, Trooper.

Behold!

2010-06-22T09:41:00.000-07:00

The phoenix of order arises from the ashes of total porch chaos.

Our pals Jan and Rich rented a power washer this past weekend and I had mentioned that we'd like to get in on the action. Saturday was crummy - yet one more day in this dismal June of temperatures in the 40s and 50s (yes, I said 40s) and rain, rain, rain so I assumed that the deal was off - wrongly.

Suddenly Saturday afternoon I discovered that Jan and Rich had been hard at work on their place and pretty soon now we'd be in possession of said machine. I had switched gears and merrily had winter comfort foods like bolognese and stock burbling on the stove while my son and his pal enjoyed a Voyager marathon in the den. Power washing the porch seemed but a distant dream.

Now, you have to appreciate the state of my porch to understand why coming into a time-limited power washer induced no small amount of panic among my insides. My pals on the island are smiling knowingly now. As of Saturday, our front porch had pretty much evolved into an outdoor closet, with every manner of useful and not-so-much items littering one's entry. There was a tiny path from driveway to door that welcomed both inhabitant and guest alike into our home.

It was ridiculous. And humiliating. It had taken us many months to grow it into such a state.

But, enter power washer. And a 10AM deadline.

We fell out of bed around 7:30, half and hour behind schedule already according to my precise timetable laid out on the kitchen counter the night before, and got to serious work.

And by golly, it just wasn't that bad. Not the way most guys would choose to spend the wee hours of Fathers Day, but hey - by 9:30 we were done, I spirited the machine back to its rightful owners, and now we have this back. A real, live outdoor room that is once again a joy to spend time in and no longer an embarrassment to stand behind when a car pulls up.

It's the little things, I guess.

Water!

2010-06-17T07:59:00.000-07:00

It may not look like much, but this little beauty represents a giant leap for SSF. For the last 4 years, the only outdoor water for our 5 acres has been from house or the wellhouse - so it was long hoses and hauling for most H2O-related tasks.

But now! Behold the indescribably beautiful "frost-free"! This one lives in the small space between the almost-greenhouse and the chicken coop, handily supplying future plant starts and thirsty hens with this singular life force.

It's twin is installed in the garden (of course). Ready to attach to the equally-wondrous drip irrigation system Mark designed and ordered and is currently installing - with timers!!!

20th Century technology finally arrives at Stop Sign Farm. Yay!

Warm breezes and progress

2010-06-07T08:25:00.000-07:00

This morning is the first of 2010 that I can do this on the steps of my front porch. I won't pretend it's balmy - I'm sitting on a towel to keep the damp away and I'm wearing my trusty, ever-present blue vest - but it's downright pleasant out here and a relief to take my morning coffee outdoors...finally.

Crisis has its silver lining, namely moving the projects that are hovering near the bottom of the pile right smack up to #1. Thus, finishing the large chicken run so we can finally plant landscape plants again and say good-bye to the perennial bird poop on the porch suddenly found itself Urgency #1 when eagles and raccoons made Stop Sign Farm their favorite neighborhood bistro. So: done. Done! With electrical tape top and bottom to give the raccoon his appropriate welcome and bird netting above to give pause to hungry national symbols. And while I miss the sweet peckings of curious hens, moving ever closer to one's feet in hopes of spare treat, I can't pretend this long overdue separation of Human area and Animal area isn't welcome.

Mark got lots done on getting water to the almost-greenhouse - the almost-greenhouse whose plastic skin won't...quite...stretch...to...meet in the cold weather (argh!). He was knee-deep in standing trench water laying pipe yesterday and by week's end, I do believe we will have irrigation to both garden and almost-greenhouse. Plus, it's almost worth the trials just to get to see him in Mucks and Carhart overalls. Who'd ah thunk it? I'll sneak a photo later today and slip it into my next post...

Progress.

When nature becomes the enemy

2010-06-02T20:44:00.000-07:00

Sigh.

It's turning into a tough spring here at SSF. We have practically wrestled our majestic national symbol into letting go of a half-eaten - and still alive - hen, been on high alert for a couple of neighborhood dogs that enjoy prowling the area, and once again find ourselves facing at least one raccoon that's missed the memo on his or her nocturnal-ness.

The last two weeks, we've become the cafe du jour of a local bald eagle and his mate. I would be lying if I didn't admit that they are indeed majestic close up - but their sheer size on close inspection - especially when you're fighting over a living part of your farm - is daunting and, frankly, infuriating. These birds are mammoth and completely unafraid. Bald eagles are actually supposed to be "opportunistic eaters" - AKA scavengers, only hunting when necessary. But a free-range chicken farm a mere 500 yards from the nest is too convenient to ignore, I guess.

So, a week spent readying a nice spacious area, complete with 8-foot fence and a couple of swaths of bird netting overhead to deter predatory avian swooping, and we were feeling a little better yesterday - even if we could count at least 6 missing hens lost to who knows what these past couple weeks.

And then today, washing vegetables at the kitchen sink, what do I see but of course a raccoon, taking advantage of the contained birds and somehow finding a weakness in our fencing.

This is now the 4th or 5th time in just the last few days I've been and acutely felt my helplessless in the face of a predator just doing its job at the expense of our farm. It's too much.

I never thought I'd find myself - a lifelong advocate of gun control and a sworn non-gun-owner, feeling I have little choice but to give up what I do or buy some kind of gun. In my own defense, I have always believed that guns have a place - just not a place where there are kids (which includes my farm) or close proximities, like urban areas. One visit to Montana and I knew immediately I would never live there without a firearm at the ready. In that wild state, full-scale predators can literally - and do - show up on your doorstep.

So, I guess in some small way, I'm experiencing Montana on a micro scale. But the reality is, I have animals I'm responsible for, animals I've placed in a certain environment - and to ignore their safety is irresponsible not to mention horrific.

So, pellet gun, .22, or??? Ugh. Would that I ever thought I'd be facing this dilemma. But, it has to be done. I can't stand the prospect of continually looking up - as I have so many times this past month - to see a killer in my midst and have no way to protect those in my charge. Mark has gallently rushed out with bow and arrow, but that's a one-shot-deal at best. It's not the answer.

And, no. I won't be shooting any bald eagles. My plan is just to put my girls away where the eagle can't get to them, then deal with the raccoon - a cute cartoon character to city kids, but a true villain out here - more aggressively.

The less bloodshed the better. But my poor girls deserve to be safe in their own house.

The less fun side of farming.

Meet your meat, part 3

2010-05-21T07:46:00.000-07:00

Lately I have reading and thinking about and cooking meat. I am re-reading Bill Buford's HEAT, an amazingly engaging and thoughtful book about food, cooking, and, well, meat. Just before that I whizzed through a small memoir by a chef who cooks for Italian billionaires on their $8M yacht for a summer. Both these books have strong connections with Italy so I am thinking about food and farming through something of an Italian lens.

It's common that I become reflective about meat in the Spring because that is when lambs are born, and most of those lambs are destined for the freezer. It is the time of year when people stop by the farm and light up at the sight of babies frolicking, only to drop their eyes and murmur some question about the sadness of it all.

It is the time of year when I contemplate what it means to eat and what it means to eat honorably.

Here is what I think is sad: I think it's sad that we've come to - actually been in for a quite a while - a time in our culture when it's rare we even think to purchase animals as the sum of their parts to use as food. Most of us rarely even roast a whole chicken. For us, in North America, our recipes call for ridiculous collections of breasts and thighs. We're used to it - it's how we cook, how we shop. "6-8 skinless, boneless thighs" the magazine says. "2 breasts, bone-in, skin removed."

What happened to buying a chicken, flattening it against your cutting board, and using all of its parts to make dinner? Did folks develop specific preferences for thighs and breasts and then supermarkets began supplying our dinners that way? Or did processors and groceries predict that they could make more money from "specialty cuts" priced as such and these specialty cuts evolved into the way we thought about chicken?

I don't know. But, a while back I volunteered in my son's Humanities class to help replicate the mummification process used by the Egyptians. My son's teacher is a gleefully creative man who looks forward to this process of decay each Spring. It helps to have a few grown-up types around to make sure the teams of 6th graders don't out-gross each other too much.

But, the first day revealed something surprising to me. We had a straightforward task: take a packaged supermarket guinea hen out of its shrinkwrap, rinse it, then pour salt in and over it, and seal it in a ziplock bag. Nothing to it.

Except these kids - these country kids, who live or have been on a farm of some type - were absolutely beside themselves at the thought of touching a raw supermarket hen. I mean, this is about as sanitized a piece of meat you're ever going to come in contact with, and keeping the squeals of both girls and boys down to a dull roar was by far the toughest part of the day.

These are 11 and 12 year olds. What do they think they've been eating? And where have they been while mom or dad has been frying up dinner? How can kids out here on this island of groovy little farms be so totally disconnected from the food they eat?

It's a little discouraging. There may be a food revolution out there, with micro farms like ours popping up across the land and an explosion in the vendors at farmers markets...but most kids still think their hamburger arrives in its bun essentially by magic.

This year, we expanded our non-supermarket food acquisition by purchasing both a quarter-side of beef and an entire pig with a couple other families. The challenge? Well, you have to cook a lot of different things - not just steaks and chops, because cows and pigs are not composed of steaks and chops. And when that delicious bacon is all used up, it's time to make sausage out of the ground.

But, this cow and this pig were raised by hand, in the open air, on pasture. They didn't get sick, because they didn't stand around in what we'll euphemistically call "muck," and they died quickly and well.

And all who went in on this deal agree: The best tasting beef and pork - ever. Ever. Somehow, too, it does feel more...honest. That our meat is all of one animal, rather than the choicest cuts of many combined. It somehow says, this is what nourishes us, all of you, we thank you. We do not pick the chops and turn the rest into dog food. Outside of North America, with the exception of Great Britain and Down Under, this is still the way many people approach their dinner. It is most definitely the way Italians and French, although the results are quite different, buy and cook just about everything. Buy or grow it whole, break it down, treat each piece with respect, and enjoy it.

Small food counts when its fresh green and luscious tomatoes. Definitely. But I think it counts - in every way you can imagine - even more if you eat meat.

Buono gusto.

What happened to Spring?

2010-05-20T15:28:00.000-07:00

It whizzed right by and suddenly summer is afoot although today it feels a lot more like January than June. It has been a rollercoaster of a couple of months, with new animals arriving and new challenges arising at every turn.

Describing the current state of Stop Sign Farm the other day, I paused and finally said, well, it looks a bit like someone's garage threw up all over us.

That pretty much sums it up.

After a year or more of feeling like progress was progressing along, we've gone back into a kind of construction mode, trying to take the farm to the next level. Just as our chicks were hatching out of the incubator, we were faced with the sudden opportunity to acquire 23 young laying hens - a real time and effort saver. That necessitated a little heavy lifting and rearranging of coops but hey that was just fine because at the very same time we'd also scored a commercial greenhouse from an island farmer who was moving and selling it all.

The greenhouse, in addition to needing to be dismantled (how come we dismantle, but don't mantle?) also required 240 electrical to run its heating and venting systems. Which required a long, deep trench. Which required a tractor.

Enter our pal Jake, who putt-putted over on his big blue rig and made all manner of wondrous things occur - the long, deep trench, the new hen area, wood waste to the rescue of the exceedingly disgusting sheep pen, and even a little pot-hole filling to boot.

Whew.

So, All hands on deck to take down, transport, and ... not quite put up the greenhouse. Yet. But, it's getting there. New lambs upon new lambs came into being throughout April until 6 fuzzy babes were frolicking about.

Greenhouse, greenhouse, greenhouse. Not that trench-hopping doesn't deserve to be an Olympic sport - I mean, it sure is fun, but ... greenhouse greenhouse greenhouse.

And, oh yea, that garden. Where is it? Well, it's hard to see under the 3-foot tall pasture grass that takes over the second you turn your back. Luckily, it appears that garlic, onions, and potatoes are hardy souls indeed. We took a couple hours away from greenhouse fretting and shaking our fist at the weather - always too windy, rainy, or sunny to actually work on the greenhouse - to fight back nature and reassure our baby crops that mama and papa have not run off to the city and abandoned them forever. Although...

Lest we feel that the greenhouse might be in danger of completion and our farming selves facing some possibility of success, we simultaneously discovered that our new hens have taught our old hens - now all totalling over 50 - a wondrous trick: how to eat eggs! Turns out, eggs are quite delicious and full of protein and are, well, right there! No need to tire oneself out with all this endless foraging - no ma'am!

Setting aside the sort of grim yuckiness of the act, one can understand the attraction of such an easy and healthy meal. As a long-term evolutionary strategy, however, it does appear to have some vulnerabilities.

So, that's been an interesting challenge to face: observing and identifying the worst offenders, putting them in the brigg, and hoping for the best, along with very frequest egg collection. So far, our fingers are crossed and we're cautiously optimistic.

Onward. More soon.

Wrangling sheep and peeping eggs - life begins its cycle anew

2010-03-17T17:21:00.000-07:00

After a long, bleak, if mild, winter and several posts heralding an early spring, we kicked off the season in earnest Sunday with our biggest sheep wrangling day to date. Friends came from all across the island and of course our steadfast urban pals made the trek across the water - this is really their day, after all. I conveniently injured my back on Friday so was relegated to kitchen and party duty, but Mark and Michael and Jan and Judith rolled up their sleeves and jumped into the muck to make sure our gals got their vitamins, had their feet de-yuckified, received their worming meds, and got sheared in preparation for (hopefully) babies on the way. Ellen and I got caught up up in the "big house" while making sure the hungry and thirsty hordes would not be disappointed at day's end.

By the time friends of friends had arrived, it was 20 was dinner, with kids running amok and grown-ups feeling pretty darn smug about a good day's work and the feast to come. We supped on simple snacks and fresh, hot crab cakes, bread and pita just out of the oven, Mark's now truly famous hummus, and locally raised beef over mostly homegrown and local greens. Good company, hard work, cheap wine, and excellent vittles.

Hard to complain.

Many of guests commented on the project going on simultaneously in the little downstairs shower - yes, those really are eggs we're hoping turn magically into chickens and by the way it's any day now.

Well, today is the day. At least for the first round. Having no idea how spunky our lone rooster has been of late, we agreed to be thrilled with any and all live beings to emerge within the ridiculous looking styrofoam contraption in the bathroom, and lo and behold we have four already pecking their way out. Randy rooster indeed.

We are new at this. We know what failure feels like in the baby animal department. Anything could happen, but with ewes shorn and ready and deafening cheeps resonating from behind the plastic curtain, it's hard not to feel reborn myself.

The sun helps.

Budding out

2010-02-15T10:08:00.000-08:00

No matter how sad we humans may become, the world keeps spinning and the seasons march on. After a mild winter, spring crept in on tiny cat paws before any of us could believe it. Here at SSF, all the trees are already bursting into bud, throwing caution to the wind and declaring it officially the growing season.

Let's hope March plays no cruel tricks.

Happy early Spring world.

Swirling in sadness

2010-02-13T21:44:00.000-08:00

About a year ago, I wrote a post called the Age of Grief. It was a downer - not my usual "here's what's up on the farm and what I'm grateful for" post. Some folks were quick to point out that they found it depressing. Yup. It was about how in your 40s, dreams die. And so do people.

Well. Hold onto your hats.

It's February 2010. I'm a few months from being truly mid 40s. And here's what I know.

I have a husband who has battled cancer twice.
I know personally 8 women who have battled breast cancer.
I have a friend who is destitute and hopeless.
I have a friend who tonight lost her partner to suicide.
I have a neighbor who committed suicide 3 years ago on the eve of his young son's birthday.

Guess what? We're all exhausted. We're all emotionally spent. Somehow, in our 40s, it all comes to a head. Either we survive it or, I guess, we don't.

So, make no mistake. Our 40s/50s are a battleground for nothing less than our lives. And if you don't think that's true, I don't think you're paying attention. It's life or death out there.

Please. Make today the day you turn to your wife, or your daughter, or son, or you best friend, and you hug them tight and thank them for being on this planet.

Because, people, you are blessed to have them in your life.

Robbie I ne'er knew ye

2010-02-13T16:00:00.000-08:00

One of the fun things about living on Vashon is the seemingly astonishing number of quirky traditions that have built themselves up over time in this small community. One that I stumbled into in a rather backwards fashion is the annual Burns Society supper.

All over the world, groups of Scots and Scot lovers, and poets and poetry lovers gather on a Saturday night near the end of January to raise a glass and pierce a stuffed sheep's stomach in honor of Robert Burns, the ploughman poet.

Now, I happen to actually be of Scotch decent, but I only came to find myself a guest at this table through the back door of Mark's musical abilities. Although unfortunately descended from the scurrilous British, Mark was nevertheless invited to sing at the lauded Vashon Burns Supper some five years ago now - and was instantly hooked. I heard about it for two years from him, then a third from both him and my mom who accompanied Mark his third year.

Finally, in 2009, I gave in to my curiousity and joined in the fun. And, I don't think I'm breaking any secret order rules by sharing a little about what goes on and encouraging any Scots or Scot lovers, or poets or poetry lovers to find or start a Burns Supper of their own. Kudos and thanks to Dan Brown for sharing his great photographs of a tough-to-photograph event!

The evening begins with a cocktail hour - 100 folks show up in either evening wear or some level of Scottish dress - we probably have 6 or 8 folks in full Scottish attire. A veritable army of volunteers have transformed our local hunting lodge into a fairyland of tartans, flowers, linen tableclothes, and candlelight. Other volunteers have prepared homemade appetizers traditional to Scotland, including delectable smoked salmon and Scotch eggs. Still more volunteers, musicians, provide instrumental sounds that float softly around the chatter and laughter. Wine and beer flow freely and conversation pauses momentarily at one point while we are treated to an exhibition of the Highland dance.

Then the gong sounds and it's time to find your name on a - beautifully decorated, of course! - plate down one of the four long tables. As the evening evolves, we diners are treated to one sensational song or poem after another, performed entirely by people eating alongside us. (It should be interjected here that the sheer volume of talent on this tiny rock is staggering). Hours pass and courses are served and cleared.

After the soup, it is time for the Entrance of the Haggis. Now, this is where I'm liable to lose a few of you, but I just have to state up front that before my first Burns Supper, I had managed to live a long and happy life 100% void of any meals involving sheep stomach. But. But, it's my duty to say honestly that it's not completely vile. Served alongside neeps and taties (that's just Scottish humor for turnips and potatoes), a variety of other goodies (including, this year, a nod to the vegetarians in the room!) and then the grand finale, culinarily, for me - for me, a non-sweets-lover at that - sticky toffee pudding. Bliss in a dish.

Nearing midnight, we stand, a single shot of scotch whiskey in our hand, and toast the life and loves of the man who brought poetry down from the mountain of weath and titles and gave it simply so that the simple man could own it too.

A treasured evening, inspired by an inspring if deeply flawed human, and brought about year after year by many, many people dedicated to his ideals of living life to the very fullest, in the very best of company.

Thank you Vashon Burns Society. See you next year.

We interrupt our regularly scheduled farm blog...

2010-02-10T11:41:00.000-08:00

Almost 19 years after stepping, blinking, into the unlikely Seattle June sun (not realizing he would meet his bride to be in less than 24 hours), Mark became a U.S. citizen.

Nana, Dylan, and I watched as his name, 9th out of 112, was called and he strode across the stage to receive his official paper yesterday afternoon. We almost missed it - he went in Tuesday morning for his final interview and they shook his hand and told him to show up in the auditorium at 2pm!

112 people from 36 nations joined our nation in that auditorium. They took an oath, they beamed, their families cried and took lots of photos. Babies cried and children fidgeted.

It was really something.

Congratulations, Mark. Welcome home.

Post-Groundhog Day signs of Spring

2010-02-08T12:55:00.000-08:00

It's been such a wacky weather year all over the globe, one hardly knows what to think when it comes to the planting calendar. We had fine days last week, culminating in an absolutely balmy Saturday and could no longer resist the urge to play in the dirt. We mapped out the new beds we want to dig out in the veggie garden, then Mark rolled out nearly a 100 feet of black plastic to kill the existing grass and prepare the area for its new life as a food factory.

And, turning a blind eye to the date, I greedily thumbed through my seed packets, searching searching for anything that might weather a nasty late winter frost. We planted spinach and bok choi and swiss chard and broccoli in a bed that can support a cloche, so with a little luck we might be eating out of the garden as early as the beginning of March this year. Last fall's garlic has pushed up after its hibernation and is already 3 inches high!

Garden planning remains a challenge for both Mark and me - I still can't tell if we over-analyze it or just don't have our veggie legs yet. Maybe both.

But, it sure was fun to break up the dirt and get the beginnings of dinner in the ground. The chickens did their best to help and Middy informed us that nibbling blackberry bushes at the end of a leash is not her bag.

Let me know what you think of my little re-design! I figured it might just be time to shake things up a bit.

February 2 2010 - the end of a long, bleak winter?

2010-02-02T23:17:00.000-08:00

It's Groundhog Day all over the nation and here in our little spot in the upper left hand corner of the country, we finished the day in our traditional manner - moving heaven and earth and even homework to ensure that we squeezed in our annual Groundhog Day screening before collapsing into bed.

But, before that happy event, we spent a truly spring-like day mostly outdoors. It was positively balmy and our decrepit, ancient, and horribly neglected apple tree stood begging us to come hither with pruners, loppers, and saws. So, we obliged. 2 short hours later, we could stand back and admire the 20% of the job we had managed to tackle. Oh well - it's a start!

And it felt good, stripping away dead wood under the bright light of a benevolent sun. It felt like this year, Mr. Punxsutawney Phil might be prescient in his prediction of a desperately wished for early spring. Maybe, just maybe today is a harbinger of the good, new growth to come. Here, and elsewhere.

Middy gets a pal

2010-01-31T13:29:00.000-08:00

As soon as we unloaded Middy in the dark and carefully kept her separate from the sheep for her first night at Stop Sign Farm, it was immediately apparent that one should never be the lone goat in a flock of sheep.

So, we called our Rent-a-Ruminant pal Tammy to see if she had any four-legged mouths to feed that she might not mind letting us borrow during this, her slow season. Voila, 2 days later, Middy was introduced to her new companion Megan.

Megan is an angora goat who's missed a shearing and has been low goat in the Rent-a-Ruminant pecking order for almost a year so she looks a little worse for wear right now. But, she seems to be finding her way among this motley crew. She looks so much like our Icelandics that they were at first quite confused - she knew they weren't goats, but they were not at all sure she wasn't a new ewe. Middy found her right away, however, so all in all, mission accomplished.

I'm off to same pal Tammy's place down the road to purchase her old stanchion - ewes, lambs, goats, kids, and a milking stand. I guess we're almost ready to start making cheese!

Soon, soon...

Welcome Middy!

2010-01-28T21:21:00.000-08:00

Onward and upward here on Stop Sign Farm. It's a new year and time to embark on a long-discussed but as-yet-untried adventure: goats. The addition of goats is a fairly natural extension of our sheep efforts. We chose the sheep breed Icelandics partially for their excellent milk; goats offer even better dairy prospects.

Thus, Middy. Middy, short for Midnight, is a Kinder goat, a new breed developed here in Washington state. Kinders are a cross between a Nubian goat (prolific milk producers) and pygmy goats, smaller in size and with great, gentle personalities.

MIddy comes to us from the mainland, a suburb of Seattle, and is two years old and due to kid in May. It's common for goats to have twins or even triplets, so we're looking forward to a couple of sweet kids frolicking among our lambs and at long last making some fantastic goat and sheep cheese this Spring!

Middy photo courtesy of Dylan Grace-Wells!

The Other PNW City

2010-01-18T19:45:00.000-08:00

As the new year dawned cold and grey, we met up with our Seattle pals in the museum district of Tacoma. Tacoma alost never makes the Top Ten lists in the glossy magazines, it never sees the boom times that rocket its neighbor and send home values and salaries soaring. It's not America's Greenest City or the setting for romantic comedies.

But, quietly, slowly, steadily, Tacoma has grown up into a true urban jewel. It's not flashy and brilliant in the ways that Seattle is, but its homes are still affordable, its parks are breathtaking and well used, its shoreline is easily accessed by its residents, and its downtown is quirky, a little sleepy, and increasingly filled with museums and other public spaces that are simply world class.

Who can fail to adore a pedestrian bridge filled with Dale Chihuly glass? What's not to love about an entire swath of bricked downtown redeveloped by the University of Washington into an integrated urban campus? And our plan to drop in at the history museum to see the annual model train show turned into an entire awe-filled afternoon, learning about Washington's past and present.

Mostly I just feel incredibly lucky to live on a small farm in a rural paradise so close to not just one, but two, vibrant and lively Puget Sound cities. But more and more, when I feel the need for a little civilization and faces I don't see every day, I head south instead of east and enjoy the mellow urbanness of the Other PNW city.

It's January!

2010-01-11T11:25:00.000-08:00

It's finally Twenty-Ten and everyone I know couldn't be happier about that. Our regular Vashon winter weather has finally arrived along with my personal January tradition of starting out the year with a weird injury. This time, I woke up with a swollen achilles tendon and heard cries of warning from friends and family. So, between staying off my tendon and nursing a persistent cold, I'm taking today off.

Five acres of soggy mess means that I have a lot of furry company up here on the second floor. Jessie, Buster, and Karona have apparently agreed on a temporary cease-fire in favor of flaking out and providing background music of kitty snores and the occasional doggy dream bark.

The rooster crows from beneath the truck and the sheep wisely spend this morning huddled in their stalls. And that wondrous wet stuff lies in ever-widening puddles as far as the eye can see.

Happy New Year.

Open doors in December

2009-12-28T16:12:00.000-08:00

December 28th and we returned from an overnighter in Seattle to a hot and stuffy house. The mist and fog of the morning had burned off completely and the pale December sun was streaming into the living room.

Too warm to keep things shut up, the front door was open the rest of the afternoon - a first for this day, this month, I'm sure. In fact, I've seen more clear dry days this December than I can ever remember for any previous winter month. We're enjoying the warmth and light but, honestly, so many days of the stuff is more than a little disconcerting for us moldy Pacific Northwesterners. Used to the pressure of making each rain-free hour count, days on end without the stuff leaves us eventually finding ourselves at loose ends.

Santa was good to our family this year, and we tried to be good to each other as well. Choosing nice over naughty for everyone's sake. 2009 has been a bit of a rollercoaster and I think most of us are ready to ring in 2010.

I hope your family's New Year dawns bright and beautiful...with maybe just a little bit of mist.

Letting go

2009-12-17T18:38:00.000-08:00

Millions of words have been written on the bittersweet emotions that mothers lug along as they watch their sons grow into young men. It's impossible to be original on this topic, I fear, but perhaps it's worth repeating from the front row.

Maybe the single thing I'm most grateful for in my life - and there's so much - is the close relationship I've been fortunate to share with my son, from day one. He's my only child, yes, but he's also such a fine and interesting person - it's a pleasure, really, to be in his company.

And, I've been doubly-blessed to have a supportive spouse and a life that has supported my spending a chunk of Dylan's childhood right at his side. The costs for such privilege can sometimes be high - in ways that are difficult to foresee at the outset - but I would do it just the same again if asked.

The good news, the great news really, is that now Mark gets the chance to really, full-on be there at Dylan's side as well. Some time out from earning a living, he's there to pick Dylan up for swimming, home to grab the band-aid when the cut starts to bleed, around the dinner table to check on homework and struggle through the tough math.

Mark deserves it. Dylan deserves it. And, as Dylan stands at the precipice of adolescence, the timing feels almost cosmically orchestrated. The joy that emanates from the two of them as they build, or ski, or strum, or solve is palpable.

So, now it's time for Mom to step back and let go the reins a bit, place the "primary caregiver" badge on the bookshelf with the Curious George books and the Wiggle DVDs from Australia that never would work in our player anyway. Time to rediscover what I loved before I loved this child. Time to awaken deeply slumbering parts of my mind and soul.

A time of renewal for all of us, a time of sharing and space and engagement and disengagement. Humbling and cherished.

And very, very hard.

Why I love Vashon #502

2009-12-12T18:59:00.001-08:00

It doesn't freeze here very often, but when it does islanders instinctively know to gravitate toward Fisher Pond. In deep shade all but the middle of the day this time of year, Fisher Pond is only a few feet deep and rewards our deepest winter yearnings with good solid ice as soon as the temperature stays below freezing for even a couple days.

Better yet, old time islander Gary Peterson and his Minnesota-born wife raised their 3 kids on skates and somehow, over time, decided to hold onto every size as the kids went through 'em. Years passed and folks came to know what to do with their old skates - send them over Peterson's way. Today, this fine and generous couple of grandparents have boxes and boxes of skates they store in their attic for occasions such as this, when they load their pickup full of boxes of skates, head down to Fisher Pond, and give them out to any and all who'd like to take a turn on the ice.

This week the Petersons have been at Fisher Pond almost every morning and every afternoon after school, fitting folks to boots and making good conversation. Gary told me yesterday that Fisher Pond used to be a cow pasture - it was an earthquake in the forties that shifted things around and raised the outlet for Shinglemill Creek just enough to create this 6-acre pond. And islanders have been showing up, hopeful and bundled up whenever the pond freezes, ever since.

Thanks to Mr. Fisher for donating his fine pond and forest to the folks of Vashon about a decade ago. And, thanks Mr. and Mrs Peterson - I think we had way more fun than the cows ever did.

What I love

2009-11-10T08:29:00.000-08:00

A November drizzle that makes everyone's hair frizzle.

Cooking by myself on a dark Saturday night while the season's first storm rages outside and a wonderful movie about food and family plays on my laptop.

That my dog refuses to go outside until I get out of bed and come downstairs.

Watching my son and husband work out Math Olympiad problems snuggled on the couch (until they start fighting).

Giant maples leaves scattered across the road to town, slowly disappearing into the landscape.

That our potatoes, squash, pumpkin, chard, and lamb still sustain us deep into fall.

Bunches of this summer's dried lavender gently perfuming the house.

Coming home to a candlelit home, a glass of wine, and a smiling husband.

Little surprises from my loving and generous friends.

Halloween on Vashon.

Dylan's teachers.

Fall, 2009.

Hunting season

2009-10-24T09:00:00.000-07:00

We're deep into fall now and here in the Pacific Northwest, that means mushrooms. Strangely, the hunting bug didn't really hit me until just last year when it was revealed to me that the coveted chanterelle, the golden queen of all things 'shroom, actually grows right here on our little rock...if you know where to look.

As Michael Pollan hilariously details in the final section of his Omnivore's Dilemma, the elusive chanterelle is a master of hiding, and those that hunt it are equally masterful at keeping its dark secrets hidden. Up against deadline for his book, he begged seasoned foragers in vain to take him - even blindfolded - on a mushroom hunt, any mushroom hunt.

As fun as foraging for the ultimate seasonal treat can be, however, more generalized hunting for interesting fungi can be great adventure as well. Armed with our trusty guide, gloves - very important because many varieties are highly toxic - and a bag for carrying any discovered golden loot, we set off into trails spongy with decaying leaves and wet from recent rains.

Few things are more fun to do with your kid. Mushroom hunting gets you out into nature, provides the thrill of a treasure hunt, and turns out to be educational for everyone in the bargain. Sleuthing for mushrooms in the recesses of a damp woods, earthy and primal, in mist or dappled sun or even pouring rain when the scents seem almost overpowering - it's the original northwest playground.

Hunt for chanterelles and other fungi in wooded areas with lots of native vegetation and some, but not much, natural light. Away from the beaten trail and just after a rain are your best bets. Bring along a good guide with lots of photographs and detailed descriptions. Don't eat anything you cannot absolutely, positively identify - this is another reason chanterelles are uniquely exciting to find. They are not only delicious, but extremely distinctive, making them a safe choice for sauteing once you get home.

If you find a chanterelle hideout, check it every autumn, and don't tell anyone. Except maybe me.

Happy hunting.

Settling in

2009-10-19T19:36:00.001-07:00

It's no secret that autumn is my favorite season. While long languid days of summer feel luxurious, and spring's eternal birth miracles always inspire, and winter's comforting rituals connect us to our past, it's autumn's color, clarity, moisture, and, yes, even entombing darkness that seems to remind us to turn inward, toward our loved ones and self-reflection, to appreciate hearth and home, and even to elevate the importance of sustenance in our lives.

This fall on our island has been virtually unprecedented in its beauty and classic autumn weather. Crisp days and chilly nights feel like precious gifts before the mists of November roll across our mornings.

The crockpot is hoisted out of the pantry more often. Tealights illuminate our family together space in the evenings. The light has gone on in the chicken coop to coax the hens to continue their egg-laying ways. Soon, mud will dominate our little landscape.

These weeks between late summer and early winter always feel a little like a breath held. This fall, I try to enjoy the leaves, turn my face toward the last rays of sun, embrace the change I know is coming, and get ready for the tasks of family, farm, livelihood, and life that this particular season brings.

Ready for the rain

2009-10-13T22:32:00.004-07:00

Well, we did it - I had my doubts (fueled by 3 previous years), but we managed to do the things we knew needed doing - before the rain set in and made us find that spot in our heart where regret lives and remorse gnaws on our best intentions. We battened down the hatches that needed it, albeit moments before the first drops started splattering the dust.

Every year we get a little more done before the farm becomes a sea of mud, and this year, we're actually truly, really ready. Sheared the sheep (Mark), built a shed for hay and bikes (also Mark) - and actually got it painted (both of us). Hooves are trimmed and tarps grace all that needs tarping. Now it's time to get working on the spartan....

Autumn roars in

2009-09-29T08:55:00.000-07:00

As if on cue, the winds swept in and the clouds descended on our little Puget Sound island a day and a half after the last of our fall events. Sunday dawned bright and beautiful for cider-pressing with our pal David and cleaning up the debris still left from the farm tour. Then Monday brought the fall weather we're more familiar with.

The rains may be upon us soon.

But, we would be grinches to complain - what a summer and early fall it's been.

In the swirl of farm-related activity, there's been a fair amount of regular life that's been taking place as well. Our journey into the worlds of both middle school and homeschooling so far have been much less dramatic than we'd anticipated. We are fortunate to count some of the best teachers anywhere among our clan.

Even though the rains and short days are just around the corner, I'd be lying if I didn't fess up that fall is actually my favorite season. I love the cool dry days and the chilly nights, the culmination of all the planting and tending, the rustle of wind through falling leaves.

Here on the farm, of course, it means more work - witness these past few weekends! Still to come is shearing, and slaughter. We're building another shed to finally provide a home for hay and bicycles, racing against time to finish it before mud season. But the work is good work, clean work, work that produces something tangible and solid at the end of the day. Same goes for cooking down that bumper crop of tomatoes into sauce - feels so satisfying to click those containers shut and line them up in the freezer.

Many folks think of fall as a time of death - the trees shed their leaves, the plants in the garden die back. But somehow it always feels like renewal to me. Summer has offered up its plenty, now's the time to shut the windows and turn inward, to reflect, to prepare for the winter ahead and plan for the spring beyond.

Happy fall-

Stop Sign Farm rocked the Harvest Celebration Tour

2009-09-27T17:48:00.000-07:00

A huge shout out to the veritable army of friends and family that all but guaranteed Stop Sign Farm's successful debut on King County's Harvest Celebration Tour! We had pals meeting and greeting, cooking up mouth-watering dishes, pressing the first real apple juice a lot of folks had ever tasted, directing and answering questions, shearing sheep, answering questions about baby chicks and even playing fiddle! Wow.

It didn't all play according to plan, but it wasn't far off and the results speak for themselves - Stop Sign Farm attracted more visitors than any other Vashon farm and I dare say many folks stayed far longer than they had anticipated. Between delicious samples of hand-raised and expertly cooked lamb, fresh apple cider, beautiful sheep to feed, and baby chicks to admire, city folks with an eye toward whole foods and simple living had a tough time tearing themselves away.

But, it definitely took a village to barn raise this baby. I am certainly blessed to live in this beautiful place, nestled in towering trees and bathed by warming sun, but I am even more blessed to have such a collection of amazing and uniquely talented and caring people just on the other end of a phone line, willing to jump in and create success out of chaos.

200 people came to our farm yesterday. Maybe a few of them will buy their food a little differently this fall. Maybe a few of the many, many children who frolicked and pet and tasted will understand what goes into the dinner on their plate. Maybe a few of those families will try a hand at food production themselves. Anything can happen.

It was a blast. Can't wait til next year.

Saturday is the big day! Come visit Stop Sign Farm

2009-09-24T22:44:00.000-07:00

SSF is on King County's 2009 Harvest Celebration Tour this Saturday, and we couldn't be more excited (or nervous). Dylan reminded me this morning on the drive to school that we've been talking about being one of "those farms" ever since we first purchased our land.

And here we are 36 hours away from becoming One of Them.

We've got an army of good friends willing to volunteer, a little bit of product to sell, lots of fun and games, and things to show and tell. It'll be a good day. If you're in the Puget Sound area and interested in the perfect way to spend a perfect fall day, grab your picnic blanket and head on over. It's all here - food, drink, livestock, fiber arts, and music.

What else is there?

For a detailed look at the whole tour (including our info and schedule on page 14), and a link to the ferry schedule, check out King County's brochure.

September Stop Sign Fall Picnic

2009-09-22T07:29:00.000-07:00

An unusually hot and absolutely beautiful early fall day provided the perfect backdrop for our 4th annual neighborhood picnic September 12. Folks from all around our neck of the woods, as well as good friends from the city, showed up with delectable dishes and good conversation to share. The music was awesome and the launching of yummy Ruind Brewing ales was well received.

With the setting of the sun, cool moved in and pal and neighbor Mark got his 2 fires roaring. Musicians played well into the night, then packed it up to come sit in the glow of the big fire pit til sometime past midnight.

A shout out to Jan and Judith and Elise for all their help before and during the annual event. Their efforts meant I got a chance to talk with folks I hadn't seen in a while. It was, as always, great to connect with everyone.

Still it's sometimes hard to know which I enjoy more - the picnic or the day after....

If you're in vicinity and you missed it this year - mark your calendar. Saturday, September 11, 2010.

Living with chaos

2009-09-08T22:15:00.000-07:00

One of the biggest life lessons, or failures, depending upon your point of view, of farming is living with near-constant chaos.

Most people complain of chaos in their lives - their inability to reconcile their iPhone calendar with their old-fashioned wall version, the weeds that take over their garden the second they turn their back, the social, academic, and athletic commitments that seem to truly dominate their lives.

But, let's take a baby step into farm life to truly appreciate life among entropy and the coping skills each family member is required to develop in order to refrain from killing any other members of the clan:

Back in a previous life, I had a house twice this size and a yard about 1/10 this size. Things had a place and I even had for a while, no kidding, a landscapey type person who showed up once a month to prune and trim with his crew b/c I was so afraid to touch the carefully choreographed landscaping gently laid down some 40 years previous.

This all seems vaguely hilarious now.

Tonight I write this with 50 baby chicks peeping atop spectacularly soiled newspapers in my 4X6 laundry room, which, as fate would have it, also holds my laundry facilities. My 2 cats and 1 Australian Shepherd keep watch, all, strangely, apparently concerned for the well-being of these chirpers.

Keeping count? That's 53 animals in my 1500 SF house - but we've forgotten the rabbit, which is perched in a cage at the bottom of the stairs and not quite in the dining space or kitchen. 54.

Outside, my lovingly built up and partitioned and peppled up front yard is assaulted daily by, we think, about 30 hens and 1 admittedly very fine and unusually genteel rooster.

Keeping count? That's 85.

Meanwhile, down in the pasture, the baaing is near incessant. We have fat and happy Icelandic sheep wondering when exactly we'll be showing up with the next bucket of grain to lure them to this evening pasture or today's Lazy Man dinner - a few flakes of platinum-priced Timothy hay. Right now, between lambing and harvest, our sheep count 14.

Keeping count? We're butting up awefully close to 100.

So. What does 100 animals or thereabouts look like? It's easy to focus on what it looks like outside - animals about, landscape under attack, the need to build and move fences.

But, that's only half the story.

100 animals looks a lot like livng with total chaotic meltdown up there in the "big house."

Can't do laundry, the house smells like chicks, the entire contents of the laundry room have been emptied into the den (the 10X12 den) and elsewhere. When you live in a small house already, moving a whole room out for a few weeks to accommodate newcomers looks like bedlam. Dog fur roams freely, it's tough to vacuum, let's not even discuss what the dust holds. And we're dumping cloudy chick water into the toilet each night. What passes for normal...not so much.

Still, turning your house inside out can be frustrating to be sure, but it can also be illustrative. Tempers run hot. Fuses are short. It's not just Mom who gets irritable when the house is upside down - although she may be the most honest about the cause. But, here's a weird thing I've learned: chaos, as much as I hate it and always will, has a place. It breaks down normalcy, it pushes limits. It forces the frustration and the grievances that a perfectly tidy house, and life, can sweep so easily under the area rug.

Don't be afraid to get messy. Sometimes chaos is the only way to sanity.

Chick Report

2009-09-07T07:51:00.000-07:00

The chicks are almost one and a half weeks old and the pin feathers are popping out. Laundry has taken something of a backseat here at SSF, and we're discovering the joys of wearing clothes a little longer and digging out long-forgotten items to don for the day. Thrilled with their progress, I remain hopeful that we'll be relocating these lovely little ladies to their insulated outdoor abode soon. Very soon.

But, check them out! Aren't they just beautiful? (OK, the heat lamp makes good photos problemmatic.) Nana and her houseguest took a quick trip to Victoria over the weekend and were just flabbergasted when they returned at how in just 3 days the chicks had really morphed from fuzzy fragile fluffballs to robust little birds. We haven't lost anyone since the 3rd day and they seem active, vocal (!), and healthy.

So far, so good. 50 again? Not sure....

Own a Vashon Dreamboat!

2009-09-06T21:58:00.000-07:00

Heck - own 12! Yes, for the single price of just $20, you get 12 stylishly nude Vashon dads - all commuters - set amidst articles of their own personal interest and against the backdrop of bucolic Vashon in summer. Shot by a spectacular photographer! Such a deal.

A lot has been written about the newly-launched Vashon Dreamboats calendar, but I have just have to pipe in with a couple observations:

First, I absolutely have to applaud the courage and sense of whimsey these guys mustered to do this, not to mention the tenacity and aplomb of the 3 gals who made it happen - especially in the face of some disappointingly predictable small-town prudishness. (Although, as I read the comments attached to the Tacoma News Tribune article, I see that small towns do not hold the copyright on prudishness.)

Second, I can't remember when something this fun and silly - and then well done to boot - last happened 'round here. We have a tendency to take ourselves a wee bit serious here on this island. We have also been known on occasion to talk virtually any interesting idea right into the grave. I'm thrilled this actually came to pass.

Third, we need the money. Our small school district was disproportionately hit in the budget-cutting process, finding itself with a funding gap equal to many districts several times larger. We are in a painful position.

Finally, and this gets a little lost in the fun and games of this great project - as inventive and creative as Dreamboats is...why do we have to get this inventive and creative to keep teachers in the classroom and supplies on the shelf? Where are our priorities? As my GGF Shelley says on her Examiner.com blog, I sure wish our legislators would demonstrate half the courage as our own island dads and make sure our kids get the education they deserve.

Thanks to all the amazing folks behind and in front of the camera for caring and sharing and baring! Stop Sign Farm was proud to be a sponsor. Order your Dreamboat from Amazon today!

Motorcycle Sunday

2009-09-02T14:31:00.000-07:00

Every August, sleepy Vashon comes alive with the rumble and roar of hundreds and hundreds of vintage and unusual motorcycles. The Vintage Motorcycle Enthusiast club, or VME, holds their annual ride here, and if you get up early you're in for quite a treat.

This year, finally, I didn't forget. I got up at 7:30, kissed my party-pooper family bye, and headed to the dock to capture the sight of a 300 foot ferry filled to the brim with hogs. The crystal clear morning down at our farm on the south end of the island became mistier and mistier as I drove north, finally socked in completely at the dock.

I wasn't disappointed as I parked my car where it didn't belong and bought a long tall coffee from Wanda. The dock was almost eery with fog and birds and near silence. I couldn't help but shudder at the cool quiet solitude I knew was preceding an imminent deafening storm.

Soon enough, the boat was unveiled between the misty curtains of Puget Sound, and there they were - hundreds of hogs lined up to invade our peaceful rock.

I took photos then, almost getting hit in the process, then headed to town to witness the traditional line-up of these beauties down both sides of our main street. Amazing. Bikes from the 50s, from the 70s, experimental contraptions that almost never see the light of day, sidecars. It's all there.

Estimates preliminarily say over 3000 bikes drove onto Vashon that day. A slam-dunk record by far. I believe it. It was hard to to capture and remains hard to describe...

It's Official! SSF home to Vashon's tastiest toms

2009-08-29T16:30:00.000-07:00

Is that a thing of beauty or what???

Well, I thought so - and pictures may be worth a 1000 words, but they still can't convey the unbelievable succulence that is the mighty Sungold. These tomatoes, apparently taking to our hot site and crowded jungle-like conditions with a vengeance, amaze me every morning I go out to harvest. Our plants are nearly 7 feet high and sprouting new tomato candy every time I turn around. I decided they had to be at least among the best on the island - how could anything taste any better than this?

So, this morning, we carted 2 lbs of tomato gold up to the Great Vashon Tomato Taste Off - and won!

You're looking at the Best Cherry Tomato on the island. YUM!

(and, yes, we still have some on the vine, so come on by!)

SSF Featured on 2009 Harvest Celebration Farm Tour

2009-08-29T16:08:00.000-07:00

Just a heads-up for those in the area that our farm will be among 26 others in King County and 6 others on Vashon to be featured on the annual King County Harvest Celebration Tour. This September 26th event spotlights local organic and sustainable farms and gives urbanites a chance to meet area farmers and check out the local foodshed. And it's just this side of Disneyland for young kids.

More as the event draws near, but suffice to say, we're launching with a bang! We have an accomplished international chef lined up to demonstrate delectable ways to incorporate SSF bounty into your meal plans, a couple of local cider pros pressing Vashon apples on our very own cider press, sheep shearing by Mark and Michael (a game urban soul if ever there was one), and soothing acoustic music in the grove to end the day. (yes, Mark has a busy day - that's what comes from being multi-talented)

The county-wide event runs from 10AM - 4:30 and is free to the public. What better way to enjoy the last crisp days of Autumn? See you there!

For more information: Visit King County's Harvest Tour website to get details on the tour. Washington State Ferries has schedule information - please note that the Fall schedule will be in effect. And, you can always email me at stopsignfarm@gmail.com with questions about our part in the whole shebang or leads on good B & Bs, etc.

Baby chicks - the good, the bad, the ugly

2009-08-29T09:27:00.000-07:00

It's the end of August, so that means one thing for sure: there are baby chicks scurrying around under a heat lamp 'round our place. They arrived yesterday. This year, we've taken the leap to 50. 50 chicks in our mud room in our 1500 SF house. 50 day-old chicks don't take up much space...but wait a week. There's a world of size between 1 day old chicks and 7 day old chicks. Needless to say, we get them out as soon as we can.

50 chicks arrive from Murray McMurray Hatchery in a 3' X 3' box. It's weird, to be sure, but that's how it's done. The post office calls about 6:15, a cacophony of your and others' fowl drowning out most of what they say, but the general instruction to come get your flippin' birds is well understood.

The good: There really can't be anything cuter than a day old chick, except maybe a bunch of day old chicks. And to watch them develop those first few days is nothing short of beholding a miracle. You could swear pin feathers pop out each time you blink. Over the course of just days, and even hours, little yellow fluffballs transform into dainty feathered birds of all colors and sizes. They also make great teaching tools, the perfect vehicle for engaging young kids in the cycle of life.

The bad: Anything one day old, much less one day old that's traveled by cargo plane from Iowa to Puget Sound, is pushing the envelope of survivability. At its basic, this practice is fundamentally inhumane, and many Vashon farmers are turning to incubators and even ye olde fashioned laying hens for the next generations of babies. We'll probably follow suit. Creating an hospitable environment for 50 day-olds is tricky business. Regardless of what the books or friends say, getting the heat lamp just right, making sure the chicks are free from drafts, ensuring that the water isn't gunky and that the cats don't investigate - all this takes effort, care, and focus. A lot of life comes to a screeching halt while we get the new additions through their first few days.

The ugly: The stakes are high. Not everyone makes it. The flip side of nothing cuter than a baby chick is that few things are more heartbreaking than burying a chick that doesn't survive the first day. So far, 24 hours into it, we've lost 4. The hatchery always throws in a few extra, so the economics work out, but the heartbreak is real and the deaths spotlight the unnaturalness of this system.

As cute and fuzzy as they are, I'm always relieved when the last of the yellow fluff falls away and shimmering little feathers cover our new girls; it means we've turned a corner and the frail babies of Day 1 have been replaced by Stop Sign Farm's next generation of fine young ladies.

Fall is in the air

2009-08-24T22:04:00.001-07:00

It was dark when I emerged from my 2nd viewing of Julie & Julia tonight (too good to wait to share it w/Mark - had to go back with him in tow. Wait, is blogging about Julie & Julia just too ironic?). 9:30 seems a respectable time for darkness, but oh such a world away from just a month ago!

Dry leaves swirled up in my headlights and crunched under my tires as I cut through the darkness on my way home.

I harvested about 20 lbs of potatoes today and maybe 5 lbs of tomatoes. Even our pumpkins are beginning to look like, well, pumpkins.

It's been a great summer, but it's still only August! Still, the chill in the night air is unmistakable - we have hot days ahead, no doubt, but fall is on its way...

Why we live here, #487

2009-08-23T22:25:00.000-07:00

Living in a small community can sometimes feel suffocating, like when you can't behave badly anywhere - cut someone off at the intersection, act rude at a party, dislike someone's child - without severe and immediate consequences.

I grew up in a small town - and vowed never to live in one. But, then, I discovered that not all small towns are created equal. No place is Oz - even Oz isn't Oz, but I can't help but think that my island comes as close as is realistic to hope for.

This morning was an honest-to-goodness typical example:

Myra, caring and dedicated pharmacist and part-owner of what must be one of the homiest pharmacies left in America by day, is a fiber art aficionado of staggering talents. She spins, she knits, she evangelizes all things yarn. To say she has been encouraging of our family's humble bid to navigate our own sheep's fleece would be an understatement of enormous proportions.

We stopped into the pharmacy (or, as we think of it on Vashon, The Pharmacy) mid-week to pick up meds and Dylan lingered to ask her if she could recommend some way for him to refresh his memory on the knitting he'd learned at lunch club last year.

The result? This photo. Taken this morning in our living room. Our beloved pharmacist spending her Sunday donating her time and her New Zealand yarn and critiquing Dylan's cast ons.

I am nothing short of blessed to live here.

Thanks, Myra.

Report from the Second Annual Vashon Winery Folk Festival

2009-08-23T11:11:00.000-07:00

Mark and his singing partner Robyn Landis played a wonderful, harmony-filled set of mostly original tunes at last night's local folk festival. What a great event! An afternoon and evening of acoustic music, resting on blankets in an ancient apple orchard, a bottle of Ron's latest white resting on our picnic duffle.

People bring their dogs (of course, this is Vashon!), kids play hide and seek through the trees, the littlest ones dancing in front of the stage, youth keeping fear completely at bay. Friends chat lazily as one musical act clears the stage for the next and the musicians become audience. Straight from the farmers market, Paul Yotomoshi brought his mouthwatering pot stickers, coconut curry rice and other delectables too fragrant to resist.

A perfect evening.

Congratulations, Mark and Robyn - another great gig!

You can check out a sampling of Mark's music here, Robyn's music here, and Ron's wines here.

Thanks to Wally for organizing the music!

Congratulations, Ron - can't wait til next year!

Thanks to Dylan for the great photos!

Fried Green Tomato Quiche

2009-08-23T09:34:00.000-07:00

I had an old friend request my favorite Fall quiche recipe on Facebook, but as a total newbie, I managed to write the whole thing and immediately lose it into the internets, so let's give this another try closer to my comfort zone.

This delectable, once-a-year treat comes courtesy of the lovely Molly Katzen and my pal Jennifer who gave me Molly's Sunlight Cafe Cookbook some years back. It's so good, I purposefully pick many of my toms early!

The perfect Sunday breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

Fried Green Tomato Quiche

Preheat oven to 375.

Use 2-3 slicing tomatoes for this. Cut into 1/2 inch slices and don't use the ends. Spread out over a cutting board or other work surface. Brush both sides with olive oil.

Pour about 1/3 - 1/2 C polenta and about 1/4 tsp salt onto a dinner plate.

Place a large saute pan over medium/medium-high heat and pour in a generous 2 TBS olive oil.

When the oil is hot, dredge the tomatoes in the polenta, pressing down to ensure coverage. Gently place the slices in the oil and cook, flipping once, until the polenta begins to brown. Remove to a wire rack to keep the tomatoes crisp.

Now, using a roll-out pastry crust or your favorite homemade recipe, line a pie pan with unbaked crust.

Sprinkle 1 C grated sharp cheddar cheese over the crust.

Cut the fried green tomatoes in half and layer over the cheese, overlapping them.

Whisk together 3 farm fresh eggs and 1 C whole or 2% milk (don't use anything leaner) with a healthy pinch of salt, a few grinds of pepper, and a dash or cayenne or tabasco sauce.

Pour the milk mixture gently over the tomatoes and bake in the oven for 35-40 minutes. Allow the quiche to rest for 10 minutes then serve. YUM!!!

What's fresh now at SSF

2009-08-21T18:20:00.000-07:00

August is high harvest time in the Pacific Northwest and we at SSF are no exception. If you're in the area and are partial to the following produce and products, stop on by the stand and indulge in fresh food from the farm!

If you live elsewhere in the upper left corner of the USA, consider this post an appetite-whetting reminder of what could very well lurk around the corner at your local farm or farmers market.

Fresh and available right now at SSF:

Fingerling potatoes - the creamiest, yummiest potatoes on earth. No kidding. The less you do to them, the better they taste.

Assorted sweet tomatoes - from the garden candy Sungolds to sauce toms, we package them in delicious 1 lb units for snacking, slicing, and canning.

Dark, green vibrant Italian parsley - not your grocer's variety! Excellent for chopping fresh now and the best variety for over-winter drying.

Zucchini - of course! And, a boutique but definitely NOT petite variety of squash known as the Blue Hubbard. Huge and ugly, these beauties weigh in at 12-15 lbs or more and are best opened by dropping them! Brilliant orange flesh bakes up beautifully into pies and soups. Butternuts are coming soon...

And, from our hands to yours - fresh baked artisan breads every M-W-F, Mark's famous hummus - a favorite of our neighbors and our most requested item - assorted color truly free range eggs, and extra-virgin Italian olive oil infused with knock-your-socks-off chile or heavenly herbes des provence and then aged. Nirvana with, well, fresh artisan bread. ;-)

Enjoy the season's luscious offerings - here or in your own backyard.

Bon Appetit!

Green company of the year

2009-08-13T23:28:00.001-07:00

About a year ago, someone unknown with a bottomless sense of humor subscribed me to Forbes Magazine. The reasons that this is incredibly ironic are many and go way back. But, I must say, that each month the cover, on its direct route to the recycle bin, provides my family with much mirth.

We also enjoy the periodic Special Advertising Sections on how to choose which personal aircraft best suits your needs. Because, really, who doesn't need help determining which Gulfstream is the right for them?

But, today is too good not to share.

Really? Wow.

Steve, I'm thinkin' it might be time to hang it up and just enjoy the dividend checks.

Not the solar and wind pioneers? Not the urban gardeners? No bone to the many, many companies developing ways to use our existing infrastructure to deliver renewable energy in a cost-effective way? Exxonmobile as Green Company of the Year...

Hmm.

This is the same Exxonmobile that spent nearly 20 years fighting the Valdez lawsuit until it finally settled for about 1/10th the amount the Feds originally directed it to pay...right? That Exxon? Just checking.

Huh.

The irony just never ends.

This even tops the cover, a few months back, of why women managers are on the rise - complete with all-pink type and the cover "exec" holding instruments normally reserved for housecleaning.

What ceiling?

More joy in the garden and on the table

2009-08-09T17:56:00.000-07:00

I have to take a minute to blather on once again about the simple but surreal satisfaction that comes from walking a few steps out the door and selecting items for dinner. It is so basic and yet so powerful, this growing of food to eat and share.

After an afternoon of leveling her majesty - I'm leaning towards "Rita", reminiscent of an elegant and big-boned beauty from the 40s and 50s like our big and bold lady here - I ventured into the caged jungle (AKA the garden). In a few minutes, I had a basket full of 3 varieties of tomatoes (if you're looking for garden candy, you cannot get better than the tiny sungolds - bright orange bursts of pure ecstasy you absolutely have to pop into your mouth while clomping around in your work boots) and 2 crisp cucumbers.

On my way back into the house, I twisted off 3 branches of oregano from my happy potted plant. A few chops with the knife, some crumbles of the feta lovingly wrapped for me at Big John's PFI, a dash of the very best olive oil on the planet, purveyed by a neighbor with ties to a little farm in Italy, matched by a dash of red wine vinegar, and we've got salad to take to some friends' house.

Fun to hook it up with bread I made earlier today and hummus Mark concocted yesterday. A bottle of the Syrah we pressed 3 years ago, and it's starting to feel like we might actually be closing in on this feeding ourselves and our friends gig. No trips to the supermarket required.

High summer salad - grow most of it yourself or purchase the ingredients from your local farmer

1 lb perfectly ripe tomatoes of varying sizes and types, cut into bite-sized pieces

2-4 cucumbers, depending upon size (about 1 lb)

1-2 TBS fresh oregano, chopped

1-2 TBS extra virgin olive oil

2 tsp red wine vinegar

1 C crumbled feta cheese

Combine the first 3 ingredients in a glass bowl and mix gently so as not to bruise the tomatoes. Sprinkle the oregano over the mixture, then pour on the olive oil and then vinegar. Crumble the feta on top and mix everything gently once more. Serve immediately or chill for up to 30 minutes.

Enjoy with something crisp, like a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc or a light red, such as a Pinot Noir or Syrah.

Welcome her Majesty!

2009-08-06T22:38:00.000-07:00

Well, it was touch and go, but we had the amazing Herb hauling Her Majesty up from Oregon.

She's going to need a lot of work - and a name, c'mon people, you're letting me down! - but wow will this be fun.

Isn't she grand????

How fun will this be??? Stay tuned....

Spartanific adventure begins

2009-08-04T15:27:00.000-07:00

Behold the newest member of the SSF family, just 48 hours, hopefully, from landing on our little island. A 1953 Spartan Spartanette Imperial.

Spartan travel trailers were manufactured by oil tycoon J. Paul Getty's Spartan Aircraft Company after World War II. Having succeeded in developing a line of luxury personal aircraft for oil company executives, Getty turned his attention to the road, figuring the need for post-war housing would create a ready and lucrative market for fully-equipped trailer homes.

Spartan produced several lines, constructed of aircraft quality materials and design, and topping out around $6000 and, eventually, 50 feet! Because they were so expensive, they were manufactured for just over a decade and only a handful exist today.

Our gutted Spartanette Imperial measures 39 feet, 10 inches from nose to tail, and possesses virtually no pesky and annoying insides. She is a blank slate, ready for her next reincarnation as guest room, music studio, intern quarters....? You can be sure SSF will keep you updated with photos as the project evolves.

For fascinating history and other info on these beauties, check out this Spartan enthusiast's website.

Now to name her. Ideas?

Is the good life killing me?

2009-08-01T10:31:00.000-07:00

Nothing messes with your plans quite so much as a quick rush to the hospital.

Back home after a scare with chest pains and the attention of a veritable army of angels in white, blue, and torquoise lab coats, I have survived my one and only (save for the birth of my son) experience ever in a hospital. It's very, very, good to be home. The good staff at Virginia Mason hospital were nothing short of spectacular, but I hope they won't take it personally when I say I could go a long, long time before ever stepping foot in there as a patient again.

Perhaps the heat combined with my asthma and my ER-discovered hyper-tension to create severe pains in my chest along with shortness of breath and some other red flags. We were scheduled to go camping in Mt. Rainier National Park with our dear sheep-shearing friends and as I drove along doing errands on Thursday, rubbing my chest, I had to finally admit that journeying deep into the wilderness while experiencing the classic signs of heart attack was probably too reckless even for the health-stoic likes of me. I tend toward the "ignore it and it will probably go away" strategy of pain and illness management, but even I am not quite that irresponsible. I called the nurse and he all but dialed 911 for me.

So began a near-24 hour adventure, including the rather unexpected twist of being actually admitted into the hospital for an overnight stay. Nothing like being hooked up to a heart monitor and sharing a nighttime check-up schedule with a roomie involving something or other every hour or so to really induce a good night's sleep.

Luckily, I had something to look forward to: an 8:30AM treadmill stress test! Rip those wires off, change hospital gowns and run like hell! Yahoo. In all fairness, again, the heart institute folks were amazing - professional, funny, sensitive, and caring. What more could you ask for? They put my mind at ease and sent me back to my room to await discharge orders.

The good news - the ticker is just fine. In fact my fitness scored on the high side. A new routine to bring the blood pressure down and I should be A-OK. Trying to keep it a little on the low key side for the next few days, however.

Oh yea

2009-07-28T23:28:00.000-07:00

That's why we live here.

After a sweltering day, my visiting dad took us to dinner across the water at a Sound's edge restaurant. We sipped and dined and indulged in chocolate and afterward lingered while the once per hour ferry made its way back to our side once again. I watched it dock twice while relaxing over food and drink and tried hard to see the scene laid before me through the eyes I use to read of Greek isles and sleepy sea-drenched locales on the other side of the globe. Are we really so different?

As the commercial might say:

Dinner at the waterfront restaurant? Expensive (but admittedly I didn't pay)

Everything else? Priceless.

Northwest Heat Wave

2009-07-28T17:11:00.000-07:00

Here in the Puget Sound region, we are admittedly weather wimps. We are truly pathetic when it comes to, well, really any temperature outside the 65' - 75' range. We whine about how much it rains, but the minute it stops, our brows furrow.

Hey, my flowers are all wilty!

This water bill is outrageous!

My husband is cranky!

So, imagine the general malaise 'round our warmer-than-anywhere-on-the-island farm these past few - nearly record-breaking - days.

Actually, we're managing better than could be expected, save, probably for me. So, I am retreating into silence as much as possible to spare everyone else my ire.

Wherever you are these dog days of summer, I hope you are soaking it in and enjoying every minute.

The gauge on my porch says 98'!