Defeat by vegetable

With two weeks left to go in my 20-week CSA season, I concede. CSA, I am completely defeated.

I come to you today from my kitchen, paralyzed by the onslaught of vegetables from a local farm. There is an acorn squash, two delicata squashes, a pile of garlic, and an unidentified orange sphere (approximately the size of the acorn squash) in the bowl on the dining table. On the counter is a large, dusty turnip, a bag of approximately 20 orange carrots, a baby butternut squash, a wisp of fennel, four peppers, and a watermelon. Those things on the counter all came on Thursday, and I haven’t yet figured out where or how to fit these in the fridge.

Speaking of the refrigerator…

There’s another bag of carrots in there — most of those are the golden variety. I used some in a recipe for Glorious Morning muffins that I took to work, but there’s probably still 20 good-sized carrots in that bag.

There’s another watermelon, three ears of corn, four purple kohlrabi, a cucumber or two — no, wait, those have gone bad — a pound of beets, five more peppers, two heads of lettuce, six or seven leeks, a daikon radish, and several bunches of either kale or chard (or perhaps both). Oh and there’s also a head of cabbage that came a few weeks ago. If I ever get to that part of the refrigerator again, we’ll see if it’s still any good. There’s also a large bag of jalapeños. I gave a whole mess of jalapeños to two different friends who love hot things, but I still have enough to make a restaurant-sized appetizer.

In the pantry is a pound and a half of very small, very dirty, red potatoes.

Last year, I took on my CSA as a fun challenge. Being faced with eating only what is available in the here and now was interesting and eye-opening. But this year, I just can’t bring myself to expend that kind of energy on this. I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s absolutely no point in paying what divides up to $20 a week for a whole bunch of perishable food that I don’t have the energy to prepare or preserve. I sit in my kitchen, staring at all this fantastic local produce, and I really, really want to make this right. I really want to cook it and eat it, reveling in our local bounty. But I’m tired of trying to figure out how to prepare unfamiliar things (like that turnip… and what is that orange thing?), or how to sneak in the familiar that I don’t normally buy much of (like the peppers, including all those jalapeños)!  And I have to wonder: even if I were better at throwing things together, and even if we incorporated all these veggies into our breakfasts and lunches, and not just dinner — would we really be able to eat it all? There are only two of us.

When I think about how much of this I gave away this year, and how much went in the trash, I conclude that this is the last CSA year for me. It’s true that at farmer’s market, I won’t get half as much produce for my $20. But if I’m giving it away or throwing it away, what’s the point? I’d rather just get only what I need.

No goal left unbroken

I have one sacred rule when it comes to knitting. Every other project must be for me. I made this rule a few years ago, when I found myself getting less pleasure out of knitting, and realized it was because I hadn't made anything for myself to enjoy in quite a while. Knitting gifts is great, but there's got to be something in there for me on a regular basis. So I made a rule.

I just realized this morning that I am completely breaking that rule right now. Apparently, it wasn't so sacred after all. How did this happen?

Progress on the Icarus Shawl.

1) Good intentions toward my stepmother. My stepmother is also a crafter, and in recent years, she's found her happy place with quilting. Her quilts are incredible. She has the patience to cut tiny pieces of fabric and piece them together for a queen-size quilt. She's given me two. I started feeling guilty. I asked my dad, is there something I could make that she would like to wear? (Mind you, I was thinking maybe a hat). He suggested a traditional shawl would be nice.

I'm not sure what either of them would picture as a "traditional shawl" so I took a flying leap and landed on the Icarus Shawl by Miriam L. Felton. I mentioned this shawl back in July, when I was struggling to get in a groove with it. Back then, I had switched to bamboo needles. They were okay for a little while, but that catch at the join often encountered with inexpensive needles started to try my patience, and I ended up buying yet another pair. Knitter's Pride Cubics finally won out, and now I'm in a pretty good place with this project. But it still took me a long time to settle into the rhythm of the pattern, and I don't want to risk making mistakes.

Progress on Cindy's Blanket.

Because of this, I found I needed something else to work on in those evenings after work when I am just too exhausted to pay close attention. And so I turned to my friend Cindy's gift of yarn.

2) Ah yes. Cindy's gift of yarn. This gift was a bag full of different yarns she bought with the intention of making a blanket. Figuring she'd never get around to the blanket, she gave me the yarn.

I'm always grateful for free yarn, but... I don't really like most of these yarns. A lot of it is chenille. Not too crazy about chenille. So I got the idea to make her a blanket (The Boulevard Blanket, by Fifty Four Ten Studio) to give to her this fall. I'm in the middle of it now. It's one crazy-looking blanket but hey, she's the one who picked the yarn!

Progress on the baby blanket.

3) Babies! Babies babies babies! My coworker friend is due in December. Of course she needs a baby blanket -- Lion Brand's super-easy Diagonal Comfort Blanket. And a hat (not yet started). And, if there's enough yarn left, booties. This is actually the first time I've been reasonably close to a pregnant person since I was 14 and my older sister was pregnant with her first. (All I remember about that was her morning sickness. Makes quite an impression on a 14-year-old). So I'm pretty excited for my friend, and excited to knit baby things.

And so... my queue continues to fill with things I'd love to make for me. Perhaps my Christmas present to myself will be finishing all these gifts!

In the meantime, I also realize I've missed a couple other goals. Like keeping up this blog. (My goal was to post every other Friday). And getting my butt back in the gym. (I'm always a happier person when I go. And it's easier to hike when I work out regularly. This year was not a good hiking year). My mental health is suffering for all of this.

I'll admit -- I'll give this gift to myself -- that my work has demanded a lot of me for the past month or so. But, that rush of crazy is now over, and I can settle back into a routine. So. No more crazy. Back to my goals.

That's the great thing about goals. Even after a miss, we can always get up and try again.

The right tool for the job

It’s not easy knitting a project when it slips and slides in your hands. I discovered this when I started working on the Icarus Shawl, a pattern by Miriam L. Felton. The pattern is a popular one, reprinted in The Best of Interweave Knits: Our Favorite Designs from the First Ten Years.

It is, truly, not a difficult pattern. It’s symmetrical and has a simple enough rhythm to it. But the wool-silk blend yarn (JaggerSpun Zephyr Wool-Silk 2/18) slipped and slid on the needles, and I really struggled not to lose the many yarnovers. The opportunity to participate in a sock knit-a-long was a welcome diversion. When I finished the socks (yay socks!), I turned back to the shawl. After one row I realized what was wrong. The needles.

Since this is my first project knitted with lace-weight yarn, I didn’t have the right size needles when I got started. Not realizing what the repercussions would be, I splurged (thinking I was doing myself a favor) on a set of Addi Turbos. I already have a set in a different size and don’t recall having any problems, but I guess that wasn’t with a silk-blend yarn. Plus, both the needles and the yarn are gray. Let’s just say I had no idea how farsighted I had become until I started this project. So I put down the needles and eventually bought what I think of as my go-to pedestrian brand of needle, Clover Takumi bamboo needles.

What a difference! The yarn isn’t slipping and sliding any more. In fact, every so often I have to stop and move it forward on the needles, a task I will gladly enjoy when compared with desperately clinging to the yarn with my fingers to keep it from sliding off. The shawl is about the right size for an adult mouse right now, and I expect it’ll take some time to reach adulthood — but at least now I have confidence I will get there.

Cannon Mountain

View of the Tripyramids from the Hi-Cannon Trail.
I-93 can be seen below.

Cannon is a giant albatross of a mountain, located on the northwest end of Franconia Notch. It’s not at all shaped like a pointy triangle, so from the highway, examining its sprawling girth, I never really understood exactly where the summit might be. But if you look closely, you can see a fire tower positioned on the official summit. Approaching from 2,100 feet below, I gaze up at the fire tower and think, “I will be up there later today.” It’s an incredible thought.

I am lucky enough to have the chance to hike on a Monday afternoon, avoiding the usual weekend overcrowding that plagues the Notch. Even so, the parking lots are full and I ended up pulling onto the grass alongside the exit ramp for the parking area. But the Notch has lots of different hiking and biking trails, and crowds tend to disperse among the trees. As it turns out, I only see five other people hiking on the trail.

View from the Hi-Cannon Trail. The ladder near the bottom
of the photo is part of the trail.

Using Steven Smith’s guide The 4,000 Footers of the White Mountains, I decide to begin from the Lafayette Campground, ascend via the Hi-Cannon Trail, and then, if I think there is enough time, descend on the Kinsman Ridge Trail, intersecting for a final descent on Lonesome Lake Trail. The Hi-Cannon Trail looks like it might be the more difficult trail, but I figure I can handle it.

Within the first 30 minutes, I am not sure if I can handle it. The air is muggy and I’m feeling a little lightheaded. I have to stop and wait for the mental fog to clear before using both hands and feet to lift myself up a root-covered boulder. The trail climbs steeply through the trees, with several parts of the trail damaged by erosion, making the footing uncertain. Pretty soon my face is slick with sweat, my cotton headband soaked. I am so out of shape. I’m not sure if I can do this after all. One step at a time. I am a mountain goat. I can do this. When I reach that rock, I will stop to rest.

When I reach that rock, I decide to sit for a real rest. I eat some gorp and look at the trail map. There’s a fork not too far ahead. If I really feel bad from there, I can always descend on the adjoining trail. My damp body is cooling down; it’s time to start moving again. I can do this.

And I do. When I reach the fork, all the clouds in my head are gone. I’ve found my trail legs. The worst is behind me, and I hike the rest of the trail to the summit with relative ease. Near the summit, there’s a crossroads of trails where folks who ride the Cannon Mountain Aerial Tramway emerge for the short walk to the fire tower on the summit. They look neat and clean in their street clothes and fashionable shoes. Some puff with effort as they climb the wide stairs of the fire tower. Most of them are not from America, except for a group of Hasidic Jews. I smile to myself. With the men in overcoats and the women in thick stockings, they, at least, are dressed for the cold wind blowing on the summit.

View from the summit fire tower.

The fire tower isn’t exactly a restful place, so after a few moments of internal celebration and recording the view, I climb down the stairs and find a stone bench near the fire tower. Regretfully, I didn’t bring my usual bag of celebratory peanut M&Ms, but I do enjoy some chocolate yogurt-covered raisins. It’s about 4:30pm; time to head back down the mountain.

At the fork where Hi-Cannon and Kinsman Ridge trails meet, I encounter a hiker with a facial expression I can’t quite identify. She appears both annoyed and resolute. “Are you hiking the Kinsman Ridge?” she asks me. Yes. “Have you hiked it before?” Well, no, I tell her. “Be really careful,” she says. “Really careful. It’s really, really rough.” Um, okay. I will, thanks for the warning!

I begin to descend and wonder what in the world she was talking about. The trail is somewhat steep, with large boulders to navigate, but it’s not too bad. After all, it is the White Mountains, I think to myself. They’re not easy. The trail becomes steeper. Many times, I use my hands to hold my body aloft between two large boulders, slowly lowering myself down to the rock below. Okay, this really is getting difficult. I am suddenly really glad I didn’t hike up this way. I look behind me at the trail of boulders, seemingly climbing straight up. I mutter an expletive. The topo map totally didn’t indicate the trail would be this steep. I sit on my butt and slowly scooch down to the next boulder below. It’s fun, but it’s hard. I am so glad I didn’t hike up this way.

Damage on Kinsman Ridge Trail.

And then I see what she was talking about. The trail ahead seems to disappear in a thicket of broken trees and cut limbs. Clearly, a storm caused some damage here, and while the trail was rudely cleared, it’s not at all the typical tramped surface. The trail turns hard left and for about eight feet, skirts a granite rock face, the narrow path dropping quickly to the right. A water bottle lies abandoned several feet below. I turn with my back to the water bottle and, with my hands on the rock face, step carefully to safety. Okay. Yeah. This is sketchy. The path ends in the rocks, and I assume I’m on the trail again, but it’s hard to know for certain. I must still be on the trail, I think. There’s no where else to go.

Eventually I see a faded blue blaze on a tree, and with renewed confidence I continue down the rocky trail. It rained pretty steadily during the past couple of days, and the trail is wet and slippery. I wonder if it seems more slippery now because I am descending, or if this trail is made of different stuff? My hiking boots slip and stumble on the rocks. Out of nowhere, my left foot slides out from under me and I am airborne. By some miracle, I glide to the left and land on my butt — and my backpack — on a soft bed of dirt and hemlock needles. Well, that could have been a lot worse, I tell myself. Okay. Let’s keep it slow and keep going.

It usually takes much less time to descend a mountain than it does to climb one, but not today. After a while, I start to wonder where in the world I am. I should have reached the junction by now that would direct me to Lonesome Lake. Where is it? I’ve hiked for a while. I review the description of the trail, but it doesn’t really help. What the heck. Knowing Google Maps is virtually useless on hiking trails, I try it anyway and discover that I can, at least, see my position relative to the lake. It appears as though I’m where the trail junction should be. I must be pretty close.

The trail has moderated to a gentle descent through soft dirt and the occasional rock — no more large slippery surfaces to negotiate — so I descend quickly, wondering where I am. What would happen if I missed the junction? Where would I end up? Would I still be able to get back to the car before dark? I do have a flashlight, which is some relief. Mostly I am concerned the trail might start climbing again. If it does that, I will know I screwed up. But really, the best thing to do, even if that happens, is keep hiking until I find a landmark I recognize. I keep going.

Lonesome Lake

The ground is starting to become marshy, and a log walkway appears ahead. The walkways around Lonesome Lake! I think in excitement. But wait. How did I get here? I don’t remember the junction where I would turn to hike down to the lake. But this must be it. Sure enough, in just a couple of minutes the lake appears through the trees. It’s been years since I’ve been here; the popularity of the area has kept me away. The last time was in 2010, on a foggy, misty, chilly day. On that day, I couldn’t see where the lake ended and the fog began. Today the view is crystal clear. A rhythmic banging begins, a loud chanting from across the lake. It must be dinnertime at the hut, I realize. Sure enough, my phone reads exactly 6pm.

The Kinsman Ridge/Lonesome Lake Trail junction.
I completely forgot I went through it.

I take a moment to flip through the photos I took along the way, and discover, to my amazement, a photo of the sign at the junction I thought I’d missed. I’m thoroughly confused; I don’t remember this at all. I must have bonked, I say out loud to myself. I’ve never really done that before.

Fortunately, I know the way forward is easy now; the trail between the campground and the hut is well trodden. I am back at my car at 6:45pm. The balls of my feet are sore, and I can’t wait to put my sandals on. I’m still a little confused about what happened, but, I did it. Despite not being in very good hiking shape yet, I hiked Cannon, and next week I can hike another mountain. My hiking season has officially begun.

Inspiration

Living in a state like New Hampshire, there are a few unique things one learns to avoid. Driving north at the beginning of the Independence Day weekend, for example. With the copious amount of Massachusetts license plates sprinkled with a few New Hampshire plates (no doubt commuters who live at the southern end of the state) all driving north to the lakes and mountains, it is folly to think the usual weekend trip north to the farmer’s market on Saturday morning is possible. In fact, to try this is downright foolhardy, unless you actually enjoy sitting in completely stopped traffic (for both interstate and local roads). I write this from experience.

In fact, living in the center of the state means the traffic going any direction is likely to be ridiculous, and therefore, any thoughts of hiking or exploring are curbed. In a way, though, this is a gift. Much like hiking through the woods can relax one’s soul, sitting at home and deciding to do anything but housework can also be inspiring… or at least, provides time to think and work on one’s hobbies.

An enormous amount of time was spent this weekend knitting Sock #2. I wrote about my sock adventure on June 17, when I explained this would be my very first knitted pair of socks. Sock #1 was finished on a business trip last week (gotta love all that airplane time). The photo generated more than a couple of LOVE clicks on the Ravelry discussion board, which made me smile and encouraged me to finish. While I knit Sock #2, I am paying more attention to the construction, to try and better understand how it works.

While I rested my fingers, I looked more carefully through my new book, The Vegetable Butcher, also a benefit of last week’s trip. The author, Cara Mangini, did a short chopping demo at the What’s Cooking stage at the American Library Association conference in Orlando, and her publisher provided a free copy of the book to all of us in attendance. She answered a lot of questions, too, such as how to keep okra from getting so slimy. (Remove the seeds, she said. It wouldn’t totally solve the problem, but would definitely make a difference. Who knew?!).

On Thursday, I received three very large zucchini in the CSA box, so I looked in the zucchini pages to see if she had any unique insights into the easy-to-chop vegetable. None on chopping (that’s pretty intuitive, really), but she does have a great illustrated page on cutting it into ribbons. Very cool. And on the next page, a fantastic recipe for Zucchini with Cumin, Basil, Mint, and Ricotta. Oooooooh! I thought. We have a giant basil plant that needs trimming, and mint is easy enough to get. And I could use Claudia Lucero's One-Hour Cheese cookbook to make the ricotta! With my cookbook-inspired inspiration in hand, my holiday weekend at home was now a success.

CSA summer, week two

Ah, summer. When the days grow long, the sprinklers start sprinkling, and the local breeze becomes welcoming (as opposed to that frosty gale we’ve been used to for so long) it’s time for 20 bountiful weeks of Community Supported Agriculture, or CSA.

The particular farm we use, Brookford Farm in Canterbury, NH, selects vegetables and packs them for you. All we have to do is make a weekly visit to our local farmer’s market to pick up our box. There are other CSAs where the client can choose the vegetables, but I kind of like getting a weekly surprise in a box, and the farm does an excellent job providing as much variety as possible.

Buying fresh local vegetables directly from the farm is overwhelmingly a positive experience, but it’s also a bit of work. Every new box comes with veggies that need to be sorted, washed, and packed for the fridge. (This farm does wash the veggies before they arrive, but the veggies nearly always still need one last bath to remove that last bit of grit). Last week, we received one enormous bag of spinach; two different varieties of lettuce (one head each); one bunch each of garlic scapes, dill, and green onions, a pint of strawberries, and a bag of sugar snap peas. The strawberries I trimmed and washed immediately before packing them in a Tupperware for the fridge. Because I got home late, the rest of the greens were stuffed in plastic grocery bags without washing — I would deal with that later.

I’m not good at cooking food on the fly — virtually everything I cook is from a recipe. I just can’t function any other way. My favorite moment during CSA time is when I find a recipe that brings together two or more of the items received. This week, that moment happened when I stumbled upon the Summer Vegetable Pasta with Crispy Goat Cheese Medallions recipe from Eatingwell. Spinach? Why yes! We still have half a bag, even after eating giant spinach & strawberry salads earlier in the week. Dill for rolling the goat cheese in? Why yes! There’s just enough in this little bunch. My joy was expanded when I figured out I could use the garlic scapes instead of the onion and garlic called for in the recipe.

The rest of the food did mostly get eaten, although I did give one head of lettuce to a colleague at work, and half of the other is still in the fridge. Week three’s box will arrive tonight, but I’ll be out of town for a conference the entire week. It’ll be up to my husband to figure out what to do with our bounty.

Summer of the sock

Basic Ribbed Sock,
knitted by pieKnits

I have a strange attitude about socks. I used to completely hate them - all socks, of every manufacture. Tube socks, lacy socks, cotton socks, nylon socks. I hated the word sock. I hated the way so many people like to wear "fun socks." (Those of you who think this a sneaky fun thing that no one notices? Um, hello. We do). I hated socks with colorful stripes and I hated socks with little animals on them. If I had to wear socks, I made sure they were plain, either light brown or black. But mostly I just wore sandals.

Then I moved to New England, and I had to start appreciating the sock. I still get creeped out by thick cotton athletic socks (gross! so gross!), but thin cottons are okay. I even have a pair with owls on them. And wool socks?! Oh yes! Wool socks are the best. The day my mother-in-law discovered that her children and their spouses truly loved receiving SmartWool socks for Christmas was a beautiful day. My drawer is now filled with soft wooly sock bounty.

I learned how to knit around the same time I learned to appreciate socks. It makes sense that moving to a colder climate would motivate such a shift in sensibilities. But the idea of knitting socks was scary. The concept of "turning the heel" or "turning a corner" was mystifying and frightening. I might make a pair of socks someday, I thought, but in the meantime, I knitted scarves, cowls, hats, handwarmers, and finally, sweaters. I got over a fear of fingering weight yarn, and thought that for summer 2016, I would knit my first lace shawl. But then, opportunity kicked in my door -- with a stockinged foot.

Foot Notes, in Ultramarine Batik

I am a sometimes-participant in the Mystery 220 KAL group on Ravelry. (KAL stands for Knit-A-Long, for those of you not in the know). Each month a new mystery project of approximately 220 yards (more or less) is incrementally knitted, following directions posted by the moderator. This summer, one of the moderators suggested adding a bit of fun - why not learn to make something new, in a non-mystery KAL? The ideas and votes were placed, and the Summer of the Sock won out. I looked at the discussion board with renewed interest. I could learn to make socks with a bunch of other people! I wouldn't have to stress over choosing a good beginner's pattern, either -- she had done that for me, choosing Kate Atherley's Basic Ribbed Socks. And, lo and behold, I had recently taken ownership of a beautiful skein of Foot Notes, by Fiber Optic Yarns. The sock universe had my attention. I bought a set of 2.5mm double-pointed needles and cast on.

Finished the heel!

I'm about halfway through my first sock and I am thoroughly happy; it's been smooth sailing from the start. Following the directions to turn the heel wasn't difficult at all -- although I must admit, if I were pressed to explain the mechanics, I'm not sure I could. But, the pattern totally makes it easy. I had no idea Kate Atherley was such a well-known knit designer until I happened to hear Becky interview her on the Knit Actually podcast. It's no wonder the pattern is so well-written -- Kate is a knitted sock guru!

Tomorrow is Worldwide Knit in Public Day, and I will be out in full force, finishing the foot of my first sock. This former sock hater can't wait to try it on. And make another. And, perhaps, another. And another.

Yogurt without the fine print

A couple of weeks ago, I had the opportunity to attend a class of my dreams: Cheesemaking 102, with Sarah Carroll, daughter of the famous "Cheese Queen" in Northampton, Mass. I originally read about the workshop in Barbara Kingsolver's book Animal Vegetable Miracle, and, as an avid cheese lover, was excited to experience the class for myself.

In the intervening years I acquired the book One-Hour Cheese by Claudia Lucero, which showed me how to make my very first fresh cheese. (I highly recommend it for anyone new to cheesemaking). The workshop definitely expanded upon what I had already taught myself, but the biggest surprise was the yogurt.

Historically, I am not a lover of yogurt. Many years ago, I had a boyfriend who would eat yogurt like it was going out of style; he would buy a large tub every week. Under his influence, I decided to give yogurt another try, and bought a few containers of Yoplait. I found I could stomach the Whips! or the Thick and Creamy varieties -- nothing more yogurty than that. But if there's such a thing as a gateway yogurt, those sweet varieties of Yoplait must be it. I grew accustomed to the taste and eventually actually began to find the Whips! to be much too sweet. Lately, simple Yoplait Light has been my go-to, and I actually like it now; I'm not just forcing myself to eat it.

But the yogurt at Sarah's workshop! Oh my gosh! Delicious! And much like applesauce, salad dressing, or mashed potatoes, one wonders why we spend money on the prepared stuff. It's not difficult to make. You heat the milk to 185 degrees, hold it there (stirring occasionally) for 20 minutes, add culture, and... let it sit. That's where the yogurt-making appliances come in -- the milk has to stay warm for many hours while it sits around becoming yogurt. Sarah's workshop provided three different flavors to taste (each flavor resulted from using a different culture), and each one was pretty delicious. Much like Mikey in the beloved Life cereal commercial, I liked it.

And so, instead of coming home with cheesemaking supplies, I came home with a yogurt maker, complete with seven 6-oz glass jars with lids. The next morning, with a bottle of typical pasteurized milk, I made yogurt. When the timer on the yogurt maker beeped seven hours later, my husband and I peered cautiously into the jars. I tilted one. The white stuff didn't move. We sniffed. "It smells like yogurt!" we exclaimed happily. Quickly we screwed on the lids and put them in the fridge. Yogurt for a week! Yay!

A week later, I repeated the process -- this time being more careful to stir the milk occasionally on the stove (I admit I was lazy about that the first time). Either because of the stirring or because I was better this time at keeping the temperature constant, the yogurt in the second batch came out thicker and creamier. Total success.

Now, of course I want to crow to my friends about how I am making this awesome yogurt, and "it's so great, because I know exactly what I put in it!" which is what I usually say when I make something from scratch. But this time, that phrase gave me pause. What exactly did I put in it? A package of culture I bought from the Cheese Queen. Y5, they call it. But what in the heck is Y5? What, indeed, is a "culture"?

According to the National Yogurt Association's home page, the culture is actually a living organism -- well, two: Lactobacillus bulgaricus and Streptococcus thermophilus. The culture causes the milk to ferment, creating the thing we know as yogurt. I have of course heard all about "live and active cultures" in yogurt, and I know they are thought to have health benefits. But giving Latin names to the word "culture" still didn't really do it for me. What is this organism we named Lactobacillus bulgaricus? What about that organism's buddy, Streptococcus thermophilus? Sounds like a disease to me.

Fortunately, I'm a librarian and know how to figure these things out. The Encyclopedia Britannica explains: "Genus Lactobacillus, any of a group of rod-shaped, gram-positive, non-spore-forming bacteria." Further, "various species of Lactobacillus are used commercially during the production of sour milks, cheeses, and yogurt, and they have an important role in the manufacture of fermented vegetables (pickles and sauerkraut), beverages (wine and juices), sourdough breads, and some sausages." They didn't have as much to say about Streptococcus thermophilus, other than to note that it is partially responsible for the ripening of Swiss cheese. But I get the picture, and I imagine that slightly different bacterial strains are likely responsible for the differences in the yogurt flavors. We'll explore that topic more in a later post.

So how about that. I also recently developed an appreciation for fermented vegetables... maybe this is just a result of my taste buds changing as they age. Whatever the reason, I am super excited about my new yogurt-making adventures. I think I might buy the double-decker to our yogurt maker. Why just make seven jars when you can make 14?

"Lactobacillus." Encyclopaedia Britannica. Britannica Academic. Encyclopædia Britannica Inc., 2016. Web. 16 Jun. 2016. <http://academic.eb.com.libproxy.plymouth.edu/EBchecked/topic/327373/Lactobacillus>.

Tired eyes, tiny needles

This week, I am forced to face it.

I'm aging.

With some trepidation, about 10 days ago I cast on for the Icarus Shawl from Interweave. I've never made a shawl before and I've never knit with lace weight yarn before, so this is all new territory.

Right away, I made a bit of a mistake. I bought a beautiful new pair of circular needles, Addi Turbos in size 2. For those of you not familiar, they are nickel plated, resulting in a shiny silver finish.

My yarn is JaggerSpun Zephyr Wool/Silk, in colorway... (drumroll please) Steel.

And so, I'm knitting with lace weight yarn that happens to be the same color as the needles, and I discover a new problem, a problem that had kind of been lurking around for a little while... my ability to focus close up. I am now relegated to that group of people who stand around squinting and holding the object close, then far away, then in the middle, then under the light. Yup. That's me now.

At first I really blamed the yarn color/needle combination, but on Friday night I went out to dinner with my husband to a very dimly lit restaurant. And I found I was struggling to read the menu. Great.

Mouse wearing shawl, by Natasha Fadeeva

Over dinner, I confessed this new turn of events to my husband, and he asked what could be done. "I think bifocals," I said. He made a face. We laughed ruefully. But he did remember that they do make bifocal contact lenses now, so hey, that might eventually be the way to go. We shall see. I am pleased to note that in spite of my inability to focus, the lace shawl is coming along well -- if I bound off now a mouse would have a lovely garment.

In other news, I committed to making my very first pair of socks. I realize now that I'm setting myself up for disaster - one project on size 2 needles, the other on size 1.5! Yeesh! But the Mystery 220 Ravelry group decided to do a non-mystery sock KAL this summer, and since I've never knit socks before, this seemed like a good opportunity to start. Unfortunately I haven't actually started yet, because I don't actually have size 1.5 needles yet. Shopping trip tomorrow should remedy this.

And so, may be the summer of 2016 be a summer of firsts. First socks, first lace shawl, first time I'm trying to make two projects at once. I'll continue to report on my progress. Huzzah!

When will it be too late?

For most of my life, I've enjoyed crafts such as cooking, and more recently, knitting, although I've also dabbled in other things (in high school, ceramics; under my bed, a freeform miniature quilt in progress). I love the challenge of cooking fresh and delicious things, and when the Brookford Farm CSA starts up again in a few weeks, the push will once again be ON to figure out how to eat all those greens.

I learned how to make yogurt this weekend. This particular DIY project expresses exactly why I enjoy these things: the finished product will be tasty, I will know what I put in it, and it actually cost less for me to make it myself. (Obviously knitting doesn't pass that test, but the uniqueness of each object makes up for this!)

But, for the past couple of days I've struggled to enjoy the fruits of my labors. Last Saturday night, my husband and I were out of town, enjoying an evening of delicious food and beer after a day-long cheesemaking workshop (hence the inspiration to make my own yogurt). We had just received our entrees, and so we were rather quiet, focused on our food, and could hear the table behind us very clearly having an outspoken conversation about the U.S. presidential election. We were in Northampton, Mass., where it's perfectly normal for white people to have dreadlocks, so their conversation slanted pretty left, and was mostly focused on Hillary vs. Bernie.

Their conversation resulted in a conversation with my husband about the spectre that is Donald Trump. How can so many people seriously consider, even champion, a man who clearly thrives on hate? As my husband said, everyone has to have someone to put down - all of us feel a little better about ourselves when we know there is someone below us to step on. I know that. He knows that. We know this is simply a human trait, one to be recognized and dealt with in a mature way. To do otherwise would be to invite the sort of hatred Trump is spreading. It sickens me to think there are so many Americans who aren't self-aware enough to realize how Trump manipulates them into this kind of hate. I want to throw up when I recall his nasty, schoolground behavior at one of his recent rallies, from a clip I happened to catch on the national news. "Oh, go home to Mommy," he sneered at a protester, before complaining that there are no adverse consequences for protesters any more. Is he insinuating that someone with an opposing point of view should face consequences?

Seriously? This is what we want for our President? This is who we think should represent our people and our ideals? (In contrast, this is how George H. W. Bush handled a protester. Listen to Act Two).

I got up to go to the restroom, and heard for the first time the ambient music playing in the restaurant - a fabulous, 1940s-era big band swing sort of sound, a sound popular when another leader of a first-world country was denouncing large groups of people for the religion and heritage they happened to be born with. I imagine that in the early days, most of the German people went about their daily lives while knowing something wasn't quite right with their leadership. And when it was too late -- it was too late.

When will we realize it is too late for us?
And what is the point of crafting at times like these?

Updates to my Rhinebeck Yarn

Glancing through posts of recent past, I noticed that in September 2015, I noted the yarns I purchased at Rhinebeck in September 2014. I must have felt really guilty for not using them within the year, because yes! Progress has been made!

My Sprig!

The Lisa Souza Blue Faced Leicester Sport did indeed become Sprig, a sweater pattern by Alana Dakos. I ran into all kinds of strangeness with this pattern. It's actually written quite well, but for some reason, it turned out to be incredibly gigantic on me, even though I measured myself and chose the size I felt was most appropriate, based on the schematic. And I swatched! Fortunately, after much hand-wringing, I decided to blow the minds of knitters everywhere and take it in. On my sewing machine. And it came out great. Details are on my Ravelry project page.

When I type that it sounds like it was a very easy decision, but in fact I was all angry and flustered and upset for the better part of a week. To be fair, I cut it to fit with zero ease, instead of the 1-2 inches of positive ease intended for this sweater. But even with that caveat - it was still huge! Where could I have gone wrong??? Now that all the dust has settled and I can look back on that experience with more detachment, I can say:

• Maybe I should have someone else measure me.

and...

• Let's face it. My gauge really is different when I knit on circulars vs. knitting on straight needles. I shall make swatches in the round from now on! A huge thanks and SHOUT OUT to the knitmoregirls for explaining how to do this on their podcast. I'd seen a description before, but honestly it just looked like a crazy mess. But when Jasmin said "It's like an icord," the lightbulb finally turned on.

The best part? I have almost a full skein of Lisa Souza Blue Faced Leicester Sport left over. (Yes, it is absurd that I made a sweater with 839 yards of yarn, and then later even cut some of that away. I really don't think I'm all that small). One of these days, I will try my hand again at the Wild is the Wind hat, by Lee Meredith. I think this yarn will be perfect for it.

My attempt at That Nice Stitch in Jubilee Pumpkin Spice.
I just wasn't nuts about how it came out. Frogged it.

The other yarn I purchased at Rhinebeck in 2014 was the single skein of Blue Ridge Yarns Jubilee in the Pumpkin Spice colorway, which I snagged out of a clearance bin. Sadly, it did not become the Cedar Leaf Shawlette. Nor did it become the cowl by Susan Ashcroft, That Nice Stitch (which I partially knitted for a Mystery 220 KAL).  I really just didn't care for the way the variegation looked knitted in the cowl pattern, and I figured it would probably look pretty similar in the shawlette pattern. I finally frogged it.

But I'm very happy to say that right now, on my needles, is the Gris de lin cowl by Cailliau Berangere. And I really like how the Pumpkin Spice looks with this pattern -- I'm getting more of a striped effect instead of a mishmash of colors effect. I'll end up with a ton left over, but hey, that just means I can make something else with it later.

Of course, now that I'm catching up with my 2014 purchases, I still have yarns from 2015 and so-far-in-2016 to knit... in fact, there's probably three years' worth of projects in my queue!

Mmmm Scallops

Anyone who's watched Top Chef knows that sea scallops are a risky business. More than one contestant has landed on the bottom and even had to pack up their knives and go home due to their inept cooking of the delicate white bivalve mollusks.

And the cost! I've never seen sea scallops for less than $12 a pound in my New England supermarket - and that price appeared so briefly that I failed to take advantage of it. Often I will order scallops in a restaurant, simply because I believe it is the one dish I could order where the cost is actually less expensive in the restaurant than it might be if I made the same dish at home.

But, sea scallops can be so delicious. And they are particularly delicious when prepared as part of the recipe for Seared Scallops Over Bacon Spinach Salad with Cider Vinaigrette, from the March 2008 issue of Cooking Light. This recipe with the absurdly long name is freakin' delicious. And so, when I found myself in the grocery store one evening without a plan and without a list, I decided I would make it for dinner.

Normally, other than cutting everything in half to accommodate a two-person household, I follow recipes to the letter. (Except for red onions. No dragon breath for me). Anyway, I did look at this one on my phone before I went into the Data Dead Zone (aka grocery store), but when I got home I discovered that not only had I intentionally compromised by choosing to use the romaine heart salad I already had (instead of spinach), and a Fuji apple instead of Granny Smith (because it was on sale), I had also unintentionally neglected to buy apple cider, AND, to top it off, the bacon in the fridge was fuzzy. Gross.

Fortunately, I managed to successfully work around this.

• Since I didn't have any acceptable bacon, I found a jar of Hormel Real Bacon Bits. Not quite the same, but it did the trick.
• Since I wasn't cooking real bacon, I couldn't saute the shallots in the bacon fat. Instead I used a tablespoon of olive oil.
• Since I didn't have the apple cider to cook down and mix with the shallots for the salad dressing, I decided to make a modified version of my mother-in-law's simple salad dressing. With the tablespoon of olive oil (now infused with delicious carmelized shallots), I added two teaspoons of honey, and less apple cider vinegar than the recipe called for -- about a teaspoon. This was super fun because my honey was a granular rock, and therefore had to be soaked and stirred in a pan of hot water before I could do a thing with it.

But, it was worth it. The resulting salad dressing was freakin' delicious, and made enough for the two of us.

Compared to all that, cooking the actual scallops was easy. Just dust them with seasoning (cumin, salt, and cayenne red pepper for a bit of a kick), and plop them in a frying pan with olive oil for three minutes on each side. They were halfway done when my husband came home. "Wow, we're eating rich tonight!" he exclaimed when he saw the scallops frying. Indeed we did.