Summer is finally here in every way... outdoor parties with family and friends, blueberry picking, sunburns, trips to the beach, the fruits of garden labor, summer evenings, lightning bugs, mosquito bites, fresh foods, live outdoor music, and more. As always, there are many things to do as we work to improve our home and lives, but summertime fun is the sweet reward for completing big projects!
It seems every year around this time I rediscover fresh, local warm-weather produce and my love of cooking; this year is no different. I’ve recently been inspired to try some new recipes, such as a
no-knead bread and
homemade butter. They are shamefully easy and there's nothing like a simple, delicious, and flavorful meal that has been made completely from scratch with fresh ingredients. It's soul food without a doubt. Up next: experiment with
sprouting and discover what this area has to offer in local grains. Perhaps a 30 day
Eat Local Challenge is on the horizon.
It seems all of my senses have been awakened after a
cold winter and
soggy spring. In addition to the flavors of summer, I’ve been sinking my fingers into the rich soil; lavishing in the sounds of buzzing bees, bird songs, frog chips, and fox calls; watching all the trees, shrubs, and flowers take turns presenting their unique qualities; while the scents of evolving blooms waft through the warm air. Even dirty hands and feet, the periodic itchy reaction to foe insects and poisonous plants, skunk spray, and fresh manure find their welcome role during this time.
Since moving from Baltimore to
rural Pennsylvania two years ago (and starting this blog), seasons tend to affect me much more. We are not nestled inside, isolated from the elements, staring through insulated panes of glass at the outside world of fluffy white layers of snow or steaming summertime pavement. Instead, we trek through snow and rain to retrieve firewood, our main source of heat, and are well on our way to relying on the garden to sustain our bodies.
This is a conscious decision we've made to live life not easier, but more simply, and to be more in tuned with ourselves and the world around us. It's not an easy lifestyle, but a labor of love, and we are continually presented with the rewards of our hard work. In addition to feeling good about our decisions, we've cut our annual reliance on heating oil down by more than half, are working to maximize the yield from our garden in order to spend less at the grocery store, while entertaining other ways of saving $$ and reducing our carbon footprint.
My creative juices are also grateful for this way of life and for the summertime season. The daily patterns, forms, textures, and colors I encounter dance through my head and beg to be reinterpreted on paper, fabric, and in metal. I hope to share some of these projects with you, as I have been producing on a limited basis. Nevertheless, as you can imagine, the squeaky wheel gets the grease during this season of fun, flux, and abundance!
I hope you are enjoying all there is to partake in this summer!
My Aunt Alma passed away recently. It was a sad time for the family, but also a time for us to come together and celebrate the life of a loved relative. I have an amazing family. I think it's easy to take that sentiment for granted, but I truly do have an amazing family. Their kindness, passions, and love have helped to form who I am and who I strive to be.
Aunts, uncles, cousins, and children have taken time out of their busy lives the past several weeks to be present and walk down memory lane together. Following my aunt's passing, several of us spent time at her home, which also used to be the home of my grandparents.
After my grandparents passed away several years ago, the once busy home became a quiet place for my aunt while she ventured out to family functions. Not having visited for several years, it was interesting to see how while nothing had really changed, everything seemed so different and small. When I visited on the day of her funeral, I was overwhelmed with its familiar scent. However, the typical everyday objects--magazines, clothing, kitchen implements--lay static where my aunt had left them before leaving her home. The same apple shaped cookie jar sat in the dining room, only it was empty and covered in a thin layer of dust. It was time to ready the house for sale.
Their home was always full of images of local flora and fauna, my grandmother's organ songs, beds dressed in linens trimmed with fine crocheted lace and afghans made by my grandmother, early pastel portraits created by my dad and uncle, and the scents of my grandmother's meals permeating the rooms. These are the things exposed to me at an early age that would influence who I was to become.
I suppose it seems natural that when it was time to clear out the house, I first found myself in the linen closet pulling out stacks of sweet smelling sheets, pillow cases, and embroidered finery. A sewing kit brimming with vintage buttons, spools of thread, in-process mending projects, and a lifetime supply of needles would come home with me for reinvention. Finally, my grandmothers Blue Willow china will find new life nourishing our guests the way it did for my family.
My fondest memories of my aunt and grandparents are synonymous with time spent at their home. I remember sitting on the porch feeding peanuts to the squirrels (from my fingertips), laughing with my older cousins, eating ourselves silly on holidays, loosing myself in the endless garden, playing with countless small animals my aunt kept for the children she taught, walking down to the park and into town, revealing the scenes on the china beneath my Sunday dinners, and spending the night sleeping on the softest sheets you'd ever dream of.
Since I don't have the opportunity to relive these memories with my aunt and grandparents, I am so grateful to have been able to recapture some priceless moments through their home and with my family. Now a few sentimental objects will help to create new memories of love, laughter, and home cooked meals with those whom I share my home with, and an ever welcome reminder of where I come from.
