Nobody leaves without pickin' the blues

I spent most of this past week at my cousin Caroline's place in Pennsylvania. Hey, with temps over 100 in the District, I was glad for the reprieve in the slightly cooler Poconos climate. We did a fair bit of work pulling and cleaning garlic, but mostly I did some writing and enjoyed the company of the fun folks with whom I found myself as we laughed and swam and cooked -- I was there for the 4th of July, after all, and it's practically illegal not to have a barbecue that afternoon. (Less illegal, apparently, than buying PA fireworks as a PA resident. Still trying to figure that one out. But I digress.)

We did take a break from garlic cleaning and swimming on the final morning of my visit, before I was to head to my friend Mitch's wedding in Philadelphia, to go blueberry picking. Caroline had mentioned it during our (garlicky) dinner the night before, and I couldn't shake my sudden desire to eat my body weight in the season's first tart berries. I stuffed my formal wear in the back seat of the car, packed us a picnic, and we were off for the blueberry fields at the crack of... 11am. It was rather steamy by the time we got there, but the berry harvesting gang was not to be deterred.

Soon after we arrived, the foreboding stormclouds rolled in. But I couldn't leave without pickin' the blues! (I can't help but think of that famous scene in Adventures in Babysitting. You know the one: an adorable Elizabeth Shue shuffles across the stage with her young charges at the underground blues club in Chicago in an effort to escape the villains, only to be stopped by a large, stern black man who insists, "Nobody leaves without singin' the blues." So she does.) Well, much cooler pickin' when it's overcast....

Okay, I was the first to dive under cover when it really started raining. Actually, it was under the cover of the hatchback of Caroline's station wagon, where I had fully laid out and taste-tested the picnic by the time the rest of the blueberry crew joined me. Even with my comparatively shortened picking stint, I made off with a solid 4 1/2 pounds of delicious, organically grown berries.

Yum. I think I'll be making some blueberry shortcake tonight.

Garlic on the brain (and in the blood)

With the last of the fireworks exploding and the final dishes washed for the night, I'm snuggled up in the guest room at cousin Caroline's on this 4th of July. It's a beautiful cool, clear evening, and tired as I am -- and early as I need to wake up tomorrow to catch a series of rides to get myself home again (5am? Really? I'd gone *to* bed later than that back at the height of my salsa dancing days) -- I find I have a lot on my mind. As usual, my visit to the 3rd-generation farm tucked up in the Poconos has reminded me of how rewarding (oh, the food!) as well as how challenging (grow, dammit!) sustainable farming can be. Take this year's garlic crop....

Unlike the drought much of the country has been facing, poor Gary and Caroline have been battling constant rain here in rural PA. At one point yesterday morning, just after another crack of thunder followed by pouring rain, we started joking about growing rice here instead. Lord knows the ground has been wet enough these past few months. I believe this is when we were tying up the previous day's harvest of braiding (softneck) garlic in the barn. A bit later, fearing that another bout of rain would surely result in root rot overtaking the bulk of the main crop if we left it in the ground much longer, we all trudged around in rubber boots and silly hats and jackets and pulled up some of the porcelain hardneck variety. Too small. Shoot.

Plants need rain to grow, sure, but they also need lots of sunshine. Allium crops all over the region are stunted and behind schedule because of the freak weather patterns, we learned from Gary's series of conversations with other farmers in the area. With one's main cash crop prone to rotting amid excessive moisture, what is an heirloom garlic farmer to do with 12,000 heads in the ground? Harvest too-small bulbs? Risk disease while waiting for the sun to show its face and encourage the plants to grow to normal size? Frankly, it's kind of a crapshoot, and I wonder how farmers aren't nervous wrecks.

(Another sign that I'm not cut out to be a farmer: I almost lost my cool after accidentally ripping three or four softneck garlic plants in a row while trying to pull them the other day. I had to go pick some raspberries -- conveniently located at the edge of the garlic field -- and scarf a few handfuls before I managed to calm down. Bah. Who wants braiding garlic anyway?) At least we pulled in a decent load during Saturday afternoon's harvest, when we had a bit of sunshine, but really, this weather has got to stop.

It's not all doom and gloom. I mean, they eat well. (Consider tonight's grilled venison, cilantro soup, roasted potatoes, and strawberry rhubarb bars.) And the small CSA seems to be going well, with diversified crops and maple syrup picked up weekly by their 7 shareholders. And there should be some sunshine this week (when, alas, the extra hands to help harvest will be back at their day jobs in New York and DC). If there's one thing I can say about Gary and Caroline, it's that they don't give up. Sure, there are losses and frustrations and (somewhat frequent) changes of plan, but they're still growing some beautiful, delicious stuff up here at Mountaindale Farms. And if the final crop is anywhere near as tasty as what I sampled tonight -- in the form of roasted, dark-chocolate-covered garlic and a post-dinner shot of youth-preserving "garple elixir" -- I think everything will turn out alright.

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Vampires beware!

It's always an epicurian adventure when I visit my cousin Caroline in the Poconos. It was here that I first made pumpkin ale, first tasted venison meatballs, where I made a crown of garlic scapes and scape pesto, and where I have visited in the late summer months in time to help clean garlic for sale at the fall festivals.

For a few years now cousin Caroline has been dating Gary, an outspoken and passionate organic garlic farmer. During their courtship she's been involved in the planting, harvesting, and selling of organic garlic. For her, autumn means garlic season. For my part this September marks the first time I have had the opportunity to help out at one of the garlic festivals I had been hearing about for years (during the aforementioned garlic cleaning sessions). Over Labor Day weekend -- obviously this post is, like my library books, a little overdue -- my friend Mike and I drove up for a visit and learned more than I ever thought one could know about garlic. And we ate lots of it. Raw.

The weekend turned out to be quite a family affair. My Aunt Martha -- whom I hadn't seen since Ollie and I made our way through Queens over a year ago -- was there, along with a couple of Caroline's friends and Gary's sister, all of whom had come to help out at the festival. Here's a pic of Caroline and Aunt Martha midway through the bustling Sunday morning. Check out the snazzy garlic corsage, fashionably affixed using a handy binder clip. No doubt you'll be seeing them in GAP ads soon.



The most popular items for sale at the Mountaindale Farms stand that weekend turned out to be the garlic chocolate chip cookies. (Yes, you read that right. And I have grand plans for garlic truffles and chocolate covered roasted garlic next year. Yes, maybe with a little sea salt. Yum.) There were also four varieties of garlic bulbs and something called "Garple Elixir" (which was an intensely flavorful and healthful tonic of apple cider vinegar, maple syrup, and, of course, garlic, and which I have constantly been incorporating into salad dressings since Caroline sent me home with my own bottle of it). Aunt Martha's garlic shortbread flew off the table as well -- I must get my hands on that recipe. When I wasn't refilling platters with cookies, I spent most of my time at the raw garlic tasting station explaining to curious festival attendees the differences between German White and Music (both longer storing, milder porcelain varieties) and the spicier Siberian Red. Nibble, nibble... "Oooh, that is spicy...." Some of them asked me for cooking recommendations (and got more than they bargained for in some cases: I can talk recipes all day long, but it may have been my garlic breath that they walked away remembering). In the late morning, I wandered over to watch part of a cooking demonstration put on by high schoolers enrolled in the culinary program at MCTI (a local technical school). You know by now how I have a soft spot for youth cooking programs, so I dropped a few bucks and bought some garlic rolls from the MCTI fundraising table (a treat I hoped would placate the hungry, hardworking team at the Mountaindale Farm booth that I had abandoned for nearly an hour to watch the cooking demo). By evening, we were all exhausted and returned to Caroline's for much-needed rest and lots of food, including, wouldn't you know it, a big bowl of pasta with some garlicky cashew and basil pesto and a few of the garlic chocolate chip cookies that were mysteriously broken during transport and thus unsellable. (Darn.)

After a Monday morning visit to Jeff and Mary Jean's farm with my friend Jim -- lots of exciting new developments since my visit a year ago June, including the addition of a hilarious herd of dairy goats and construction of a cheese making facility -- Mike and I hit the road, bound for DC. The car was riding a bit lower thanks to the bags and bags of produce from Caroline. Pumpkins, tomatoes, potatoes, shallots, and lots and lots of garlic. As if it wasn't already leaking out of our pores... Vampires beware!

Final days in PA

I spent most of Friday at a workshop on transitioning from conventional to organic farming at The Rodale Institute (something of a Mecca for farmers and gardeners on the east coast, and one of the groups consulted by the Secretary of Agriculture during the drafting of plans for a garden on the National Mall). It was another cold, damp day, and we all clutched cups of coffee and folders in our shivering hands, but the presentations and discussions were totally worth it. Speakers filled us in on the practical concerns -- what organic certification means, what to expect during the process, how long it takes, how to apply -- as well as federal and state (PA) financial assistance options, online resources, and various programs that can help farmers begin, convert, or expand their land to an organic operation. All of the speakers were great and many fielded some pretty tough questions. I learned a ton.

After a wonderful dinner, hot bath, and solid night of sleep in a comfy bed at the home of some dear family friends in (relatively) nearby Kintnersville, my cousin Caroline and friend Jim came by Saturday afternoon and joined us for an impromptu picnic before whisking Ollie and I up to Stroudsburg for a few days. Jim, my unflagging guide to the sustainable farming community here, brought me first to Josie Porter Farm, where veggies for the 100-family-strong Cherry Valley CSA are grown. Heidi and I planted flats of tomatoes and tomatillos as she told me about the history of the formerly biodynamic farm and some of her aspirations for the future of the place. Apparently I couldn't get enough of Josie Porter because I found myself back there on Sunday morning planting nearly an entire row of peppers with Heidi and weeding the onion patch with her friend Somaili visiting from West Africa. Sunday afternoon found me planting sunflower and loofah seeds and weighing garlic scapes with Caroline, Gary, Eric, and Jessie at Mountaindale Farm, followed by a dinner of venison weinerschnitzel, homemade applesauce, and asparagus/garlic scape salad. (Talk about a local meal: I think the bottle of Malbec was the only thing on the table that had traveled more than 200 yards from where it was grown.)

Monday morning found me once again back at Josie Porter Farm, but only for about 2 hours of planting and weeding before Jim transported me to Henry's Homestead Farm in Cresco. I chatted with Jeff and Mary Jean while they harvested mushrooms (part of Jeff's research project for his herbalist certification) and prepared for their 21 members' weekly CSA pickup. Theirs was an amazing and unique farm, with about a dozen small (150 foot or smaller) plots of beets, chard, garlic, onions, lettuce and more scattered about the property. After some conversation with the pair (exchanging recipes for yoghurt, cheese, garlic scapes, and broccoli rabe), Jim and I checked out the state-of-the-art greenhouse, were greeted by packs of truly free-range chickens in the forest (they made me a bit nervous, actually, with their complete disregard for human notions of personal space: about 2 dozen birds sidled right up to me, but Jim insisted they were harmless so I tried to dispel Hitchcockian scenarios from my mind), admired the creek, and learned a bit about the history of the land which had been in Jeff's family for generations. And I even had a chance to try my hand at milking Delilah, their lovely, infinitely patient cow. We left soon afterwards and I departed with the distinct impression that this farm was a place teeming not only with healthy food but also curiosity and joy. As Jeff and Mary Jean expand their efforts in coming years, I hope others seek out a similar model of sustainable food production.

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Where kids run the show

Philadelphia put in a strong bid for my favorite city on the trip so far. (The best ice cream thus far is an even closer race: a 3-way tie between Bedford, Carlisle, and Mechanicsburg. Ah, but I digress.) While only in the city for approximately 4 1/2 days, I managed to peek through many windows into a brighter, more sustainable future for our country. And as I suspected, it all came down to educating people, especially kids. And the best educating was done BY kids.

Monday morning, after a frustrating wild goose chase around the downtown municipal office building attempting to learn more about the mayor's proposed Greenworks Philadelphia project (I was sent to 3 different floors before I managed to locate the Office of Sustainability only to be told that there was nobody I could speak with and nobody could set up an appointment -- not particularly helpful or friendly, that receptionist), I had a cup of coffee (ohhhh, sweet elixir that I've been missing while camping) and headed to the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society headquarters. I'd read up on some of the innovative programs and partnerships and was happily met by PHS's lovely Eileen who filled me in a bit more on the City Harvest partnership, which marvelously harnesses the energy and expertise of different groups around the city. Here's how it works: seedlings are started by inmates and 2 part-time PHS staff in the prison greenhouse (I fortuitously met Lisa, one of the two PHS prison gardeners, during a jaunt up to Weaver's Way later that afternoon); seedlings are then distributed to community gardens around the city; SHARE (Self Help and Research Exchange) connects the food growers at these gardens with local food cupboards; and the Health Promotion Council organizes nutrition workshops and develops recipes for the food distribution centers. Pretty smart collaboration, I think.

Oh, but it gets better. On Tuesday morning, after throwing together a quiche and doing a bit of laundry, Ollie and I made our way downtown to meet with Toby, the educational director of the much-lauded (and deservedly so, I would discover) Urban Nutrition Initiative. Toby filled me in on the history of the youth- and nutrition-focused organization and gave me an overview of some of the programs: fruit stands (one of the cornerstones of UNI's work -- more on this later), after school cooking clubs, high school gardens, outreach to teens by teens on nutrition-related topics, and the annual "Eat to Live" Festival (featuring food-related games, snacks, and garden tours at local schools). Toby introduced me to former social worker turned gourmet vegan chef turned educator, Kate, who brought me along to Huey Elementary where I saw one of UNI's 18 fruit stand programs in action. Kate brought the fruit, but the kids ran the show. From delegating tasks (tracking sales, making change, advertising their product -- it was a tough sell next to the italian ice and pretzel stand in the schoolyard) to accounting for the fruit costs on their balance sheet to determining what to do with the profits at the end of the school year, the kids seemed well beyond their 10 years. (One school's fruit stand team, for example, used their earnings to make smoothies for the entire student body. Very cool.) I snapped a quick pic of the kids selling a kiwi to one of their teachers. Too cute.

Next, Toby and Ollie and I walked over to University City High School where one of the students working on the urban garden gave me a tour of the site. We sampled various bits along the way -- strawberries, sorrel, mint -- and I probed his knowledge of garden- and cooking-related matters. A few students filled me in on the weekly mentoring program with nearby elementary school students. Again I was impressed. (Here's a pic of a few of the guys transfering some seedlings to bigger pots.) While at the school, I had a few moments to check in on an after school cooking and peer nutrition education group, led by UNI's capable John but, again, largely driven by students. I love it! (No picture, as I'd left my pitiful excuse for a camera -- the blackberry -- with Ollie in the garden.)

Unfortunately, Ollie and I got pretty lost in Wissahickon Park after that, so we got to Saul Agricultural High School too late to see the country's only student-run CSA in action. I did help harvest -- here's a pic with Lindsay and Nicole and a freshly-pulled rutabaga -- and weed a bit. (Wait, now I'm not sure if it's rutabaga or kohlrabi. Can you tell from the picture?) I hope to learn more about Saul's educational model and the recent shift toward organic vegetable production at some point. I did leave with a lovely bouquet of Russian kale and some bok choy, in any case, and made my way back downtown without incident to meet Alex and Tim for dinner. Over a lovely meal of largely organic and local fare at FARMacia, Alex filled me in on the exciting work he's been doing with "Grid" -- the Philly-focused sustainable living magazine he started this past fall. Great stuff. The latest issue focuses on the movement toward local food in the city: Grid's playing my tune.

And so, Wednesday morning came and I was treated to gorgeous weather on my way out of this wonderful city. Which is good, as Ollie and I were bound for navigational challenges that day....


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Our work, our food, our power

Today was just gorgeous: beautiful, warm, and sunny. And the previous week's rainstorms, I must say, seem to have kicked the growing season into high gear. What a day to have my hands in the earth.




I made my way over to Mill Creek Farm in western Philadelphia this morning with my water bottle, a sandwich, and some sunscreen to help out at one of the community workdays. On my walk over, I even managed to cajole a few of the neighborhood boys into helping out for a few hours. (They were the hardest workers there! Not that the rest of us were slackers or anything.) While Jade managed a group of folks doing their regular shift on behalf of the Mariposa Food Co-op (I learned that members have the option of working in the garden instead of staffing the co-op -- very cool), Jo gave me and a group of volunteers from a local Jewish community center a tour of the farm.

To say I was impressed would be an understatement. Mill Creek is truly a model of sustainable living, from it's cob constructed shed to the living roof to the composting toilet to the solar panels. It's also a model of community collaboration, with a recycled materials mural created with students from a nearby arts high school and plans to begin construction of a grey water system with another local school under development (using bathtubs that had been donated to the farm). The farm itself is split into 2 main sections: one for community members to grow food for themselves and one for the farm volunteers to grow food to sell (to the local community, to the local food co-op) or donate to food cupboards. The whole point is to cultivate a sense of community and provide a space to produce and provide healthy, sustainably grown fresh produce to a neighborhood that would not likely otherwise have access to it. If this place doesn't embody what a community garden is supposed to be, I don't know what the heck else the ideal place would look like.

The farm is in the process of advocating for the land to be permanently designated as a critical green space in west Philadelphia. The idea is to get the land that the Mill Creek Farm maintains along with the adjacent community garden (which has been around for more than 30 years) put in a land trust with the Neighborhood Gardens Association (NGA) to get the title transferred from the City of Philadelphia, which currently owns the property, to the NGA.

This place rocks. If you want to help support the work here, swing by for a community workday, sign the petition to rally support from the local councilwoman, stop by one of the produce stands they have set up outside the farm on Wednesdays and Saturdays and purchase some of the delectable vittles. If you can't come in person, you can still donate online (not that I am in any way trying to divert funding from my own project, but this is one truly worthy cause.)

I'm hoping to learn much more about the burgeoning urban gardening scene in Philadelphia this week. Stay tuned!

Rice, Rice, Baby

It's been another rainy but eventful day here in Mechanicsburg. Having gotten through the more-intense-than-anticipated process of making lavender soap, I was tasked today with brainstorming some other items for the upcoming lavender festival. We started thinking about some kind of spice blend using lavender. Oooh, it's like Iron Chef (again, without the fabulous cookware or competition, but fun nonetheless)! I had tons of good, organic spices at my fingertips here at The Rosemary House, so after a quick trip with Susanna to the local natural food store to pick up a few different grains to dabble with (long grain brown rice, brown basmati, white basmati, and cous cous -- why not?) I got cooking. Lavender and rosemary... lavender and lemon grass... hmmm... hmmm....



I played with proportions, cooking times, adding spices at different points in the process. Even making only about 1 cup of each (1/2 cup uncooked), we wound up with quite a lot of cooked rice. You would think we would be having rice for dinner tonight, but no.

"Why not?" you might be thinking.

Well, I got a little sidetracked part way through the cooking extravaganza when I heard Nancy muttering, "What will we do with all of this spinach? Our new batch of CSA produce just came in this morning." Of course I immediately started scheming. Yep, lots of varieties of fresh basil out back in the garden... a big bin of chopped pecans above the fridge... olive oil... some garlic... just need to pick up some grated cheese and presto! Or, rather, pesto!

So we're having pasta. But I'm kicking around a few lavender rice pudding recipe ideas for dessert.

Had we but world enough and thyme

The long weekend in Mechanicsburg has been great: nice people, good food, tons of learning, beautiful weather, a bit of time working in the garden each day. After an extended afternoon in the sun at a barbecue the other day, Susanna and I decided to tackle some pruning and weeding in one of the gardens. I was getting a little slap happy, as you may guess from the photo:



There was no alcohol at the barbecue. No, really, it was the sun. I think Susanna noticed I was getting a little loopy, so after my toy truck escapades wound down she assigned me to designing a new portion of the tea garden, which emerged as something of a recycled kitchen garden with a number of different varieties of basil, with food-related equipment as planters:



Pretty fun. And it reminded me of my dad, the pesto maestro of the family, who would perhaps shed a tear of joy at the basilicious* possibilities here.

So aside from gardening, I've been preparing for the next leg of my trip: making calls, mapping out bike routes, locating state parks, rearranging my gear. I'm heading to the next destination in a couple of days and was just going through my stuff to determine if there is anything -- ANYTHING! -- that I can mail home. Or donate. Or somehow otherwise remove from the pile of accoutrement that weighs more than I do and that I am dragging around on poor Ollie. (She's a trooper, but still, a few pounds off would be nice, especially since I have another week or two of Pennsylvania hills to traverse before I get to New York.) My digital camera stopped working a few days ago, so now I'm down to the blackberry camera. That should shave off, what, 7 or 8 ounces? Maybe one of the sweaters can go. That's another, say, 8 ounces. There! A pound! Ha ha -- victory! Now my ride will only weigh... well, I haven't actually weighed Ollie loaded, but I can't lift her.

There must be a way to consolidate. I'm still not tossing the (as yet unused) dancing shoes. Or spare tire tubes. I can't possibly scrap the small saute pan or cutting board. Hmmm. Hmmm.... How about this little bit of genius: an herbal first-aid kit! I could combine my spices with my medical kit. Eh? Eh? I'll keep the space blanket, though. Just in case my Halloween costume idea falls through and I need a cape....

*Oooh, another new word. How long until the OED has me on speed dial?

Sing to your supper

The other day, Phyllis and I found ourselves once again engaged in one of our all-over-the-map discussions about food. One issue that we talked about was what it means to be an omnivore, a conscientious meat eater. As I describe myself as something of a foodie, an omnivore with vegetarian leanings, I recognize that were I to actually have to butcher my own meat, I would return to my erstwhile vegetarian days in short order (sorry, dad). I have been making a real effort to buy and prepare humanely raised and slaughtered meat from local sellers. It's expensive, so I don't eat much, but I do eat it. I tend to subscribe to the belief that animals, if given a life of animal joy -- a chicken with lots of lush grass to strut around and bugs to peck at, sheep with hills to roam and clear streams to drink from, deer with forest to traverse and time to raise fawns -- and a dignified death, are okay to eat.

One point that Phyllis brought up that keeps turning in my mind is the idea that all life has value, be it plant or animal, and that animals raised in a happier environment are not only healthier for us, nutritionally speaking (less fatty, less likely to get sick and need medicine or hormones to survive), but they have a different energy that is passed along to us when we consume them. Matter cannot be created nor destroyed, right? I think of life energy along similar lines, but more... karmic.

Now, I'm not getting all New Agey here. In fact, most of the "life force" stuff I have stumbled across is too out there or flaky sounding for me to incorporate into my worldview. (Perhaps it's my literary critical nature: "The Celestine Prophecy" was the first work I had come across which dealt with these issues, but even reading it in high school I felt it was too poorly written for me to buy into some of the ideas; "What the Bleep?!" on the other hand, I saw more recently, and it got me thinking a bit, but again some of the attempts at a dramatic presentation were a bit ham-handed.) Nonetheless, the idea that the energy of formerly living things that we consume is transferred to us makes sense. Life is comprised of more than molecules and electrical currents. Is it so strange to think that food is, too? Years from now, I would not be surprised if science bears this out. (In the meantime, it can't hurt to continue singing to your plants. You never know.) ;)

A little culture

So I spent yesterday morning harvesting and packing greens and herbs for today's deliveries. Kale, collard greens, chard, 6 different kinds of lettuce (including one related to the Chrysanthemum which tasted mildly like parsley and had me daydreaming about tabbouleh for the last hour before lunchtime), oregano, sage, and thyme. There were also some beets and asparagus that were too small for shipping so we divvied them up among ourselves. Yum.

As we worked, I had the opportunity to get to know some of the full-time folks at Maggie's: Phyllis, Eric, and JJ. (Cliff was on mowing duty for pretty much the whole day, so only a few jokes and sarcastic comments back and forth there.) Inevitably, the conversation turned to food. Sure, I can talk about all kinds of other things -- books, music, art, film, the need for universal health care coverage, the decline of the public education system in our country, the evil powers responsible for the inane Washington Sports Clubs' member cancellation policy (and how a lack of a forwarding address should not bring the system to a screeching halt) -- but food is my favorite. And as we worked in the cooler for hours with gorgeous, newly-harvested produce, I began to brainstorm. Arugula pesto. Sauteed chard with garlic and nutmeg. Roasted asparagus with mint and lemon juice. Baby beet salad with mustard vinaigrette.

[Writing intermission: snack break.]

Clouds lingered after lunch and the weather seemed iffy, so I worked with Phyllis for a few hours on the "Defragging Phyllis' Brain" project -- essentially, it was a download of a lot of information from the farm manager's brain onto a working spreadsheet to map out weekly, monthly, and seasonal plans for the farm. Again, during lulls in the work, food occupied the majority of the conversation, so once we got to what we deemed an appropriate stopping point for the day, Phyllis let me into her kitchen and I fiddled with some of the miscellaneous organic ingredients in her refrigerator and some herbs I'd snipped from around the farm. I'd cut some fresh lettuce in the greenhouse and we proceeded to enjoy an herbal salad dressing sampling for the prototypes I was working on, each one featuring a seasonal herb: oregano, chives, sage, and thyme.



It seems both Phyllis and I liked the thyme one best, which had fresh orange juice, balsamic vinegar, olive oil, and mustard; I seem to have overdone it on the chili powder in the chive vinaigrette; the other two were fine, but nothing too crazy. As we nibbled, Phyllis told me of a gentleman in town with 6 Jersey cows who sells raw milk. I think I may have been out the door and let myself into her car and had my seatbelt on before she finished that sentence, but I can't be sure. Raw milk! We picked up a gallon, stopped for a few dozens free range eggs from another neighbor, and headed directly back to the farm....

I am perhaps a little overzealous about my affinity for fresh, plain yoghurt. It's hard to find these days outside of farmers markets. (I wouldn't characterize my frequenting of the 3 dairy suppliers at the Dupont Farmers Market as "stalking" per se, but I would get a little panicky when the supply of plain yoghurt ran low as I tried to wait patiently in line.) Phyllis pulled out her recipe and we got to work. The next morning, it was ready... and ridiculously delicious. We devoured about half the quart between us, garnished with raspberries frozen from last summer. And it was so easy!



If you want to make it yourself, here's the recipe:
- Heat 1 quart of raw milk (or store-bought milk is fine, too) in a saucepan to 180 degrees.
- Remove from stove top and cool milk to 116 degrees.
- Stir in 2 tablespoons of plain yoghurt culture. (This can be the last 2 TBSP of previous yoghurt batch or simply 2 TBSP of store-bought, plain yoghurt, preferably organic)
- Pour into a glass container and cover. (We covered a large glass jar with some tin foil.)
- Store at 116 degrees for 6 hours or overnight. (We wrapped the covered jar in a small towel, then a wool blanket, and placed it on a wooden cutting board set atop a small, metal space heater set on low overnight.)
- Chill for an hour or two. (This may apply to you, but certainly applies to the yoghurt.)

Soooo delicious.... and easy. I'll bet it would be a blast to make with kids. But then you'd probably have to set a good example and share some of it. Hmmm.... maybe make two batches.

Penns-HILL-vania

Okay, seriously: I think the longest stretch of flat road along the 35 miles from Steve's apartment in Pittsburgh to Maggie's Mercantile organic farm was 50 feet. No joke. (I don't kid about such things.) Also, PA-30 is not a road I would recommend for cyclists for reasons other than the constant hill action (hopped up truckers with clear psychological issues and obnoxious soccer moms in minivans on their cell phones). PA-819, on the other hand, had nice motorists but poor signage and unforgiving hills.

I've been playing around with some numbers -- mostly as a way to distract myself from the lactic acid build up in my hamstrings on hills #14-37 yesterday -- and thought I'd share a few stats.

Since starting the official Bikeable Feast on 26 April:

- 335 miles biked
- 14 hills totally or partially walked hauling Ollie + accessories
- 3 flat tires
- 1 ditch dive
- 1 bike computer + 3 fender parts lost (in ditch)
- 3 slow motion crashes directly attributable to clipless pedals
- 15 phone conversations with my parents (not mentioning crashes)
- 3 straight days of motown on the mental mp3 player

Also, I just checked the site stats and since mid-February (when I installed Google Analytics) and there have been over 800 unique visitors to the blog! Whoah. I mean, mom and dad, you guys must be working hard to create so many fake identities to log in with. Or maybe the word is spreading.... :)

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Grow, Pittsburgh!

The past few days here in Pittsburgh have been packed. The weather has miraculously held out for the most part, allowing Ollie and I to venture all over the city exploring farms, gardens, fairs, and markets. Okay, and a few coffee shops. (What can I say - the 'burgh has a ton of fabulous independent java joints and I feel I would be remiss if I were to neglect these cultural centers. Also, they have free wifi and Will had kindly offered the use of his laptop for a few hours so I could do some online research without suffering thumb cramps trying to surf the web on my blackberry.)

Friday's action included an extended stop at the annual May Market, held on the grounds of the impressive Phipps Conservatory. There were dozens of garden clubs and urban farmers selling all manner of seedlings to throngs of local greenthumbs. It was also where I had a chance to meet Susanna, one of the Grow Pittsburgh movers and shakers, who gave me a rundown on some of the local gardening programs around the city. There's some great work going on here, including a fledgling Edible Schoolyard program (modeled on Alice Waters' famed Berkeley pilot project that integrates growing and eating healthy, sustainable food into the public school curriculum). Good stuff.

Saturday provided a chance to check out "Farmers at the Firehouse" - the farmer's market in the hip and happenin' downtown Strip. Unfortunately, my morning dilly dallying meant that Will and I arrived too late to get in on the wild mushrooms, which had sold out hours before our arrival. And my chat with the 2 Jonathans at the mushroom booth has not yet yielded an invitation to go morel hunting with them. I guess I shouldn't be surprised: Michael Pollan alluded in The Omnivore's Dilemma to the secret-of-life degree of guardedness among avid mushroomers. C'mon, I can keep a secret. Just toss me a few chantrelles and mum's the word.

After a sandwich and a stop by REI for the much-needed rain cover for my bike helmet and shoes (I had foolishly mocked helmet cover wearers in the past, but 6 days of biking in pouring rain changed my tune), Will and I poked around the Friendship neighborhood's Folk & Flower Fest. Here at last I met Barb, one of the founders of Mildred's Daughters, and managed to snap a picture of her and a few of the other workers and volunteers at their seedling stand. I had been to the farm earlier in the week and learned about the rare history of the 5 acre plot (which has been farmed since the late 19th Century) and working group alternative program to traditional CSAs. From here, we walked to the nearby Montessori school to check out their vegetable patch and then it was off to the Frick Greenhouse, where we encountered a good variety of seedlings and seasonal produce.

Ah, but the story of Pittsburgh was not over yet. Sunday morning found Ollie and I pedaling back to the Landslide Community Farm for - you guessed it - the brunch. Really, can I resist an opportunity to be around good people and good food? No, clearly I can't. They even let me into the kitchen, where I proceeded to sneak garlic into just about everything but the french toast. And I'm glad I loaded up on carbs because I needed them for the cross-town, hill-laden trek to Braddock Farms. (Oh my, did I say hills? I think I looked *down* and saw Mount Olympus from my vantage point on Forward Avenue.) The farm was alive with asparagus, garlic, lettuce, tomato plants, and strawberry shrubs. Pretty sweet, and oddly, but somehow fittingly, ensconced next to one of the city's few remaining steel mills.

I managed to navigate a different route back, with considerably fewer hills, that took me once more past the fantastic East End Food Co-op. I picked up a few last goodies and headed back to Steve's apartment. After dinner and a hot bath, I think it's time for a mug of tea and some flannel pjs. My legs are going to be sore tomorrow - I can tell.


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Landslide

I love Pittsburgh. Sure, there are hills that make the ones I was lamenting in my last post look like speedbumps. And the inordinate number of potholes that could swallow up a minivan before your very eyes make for challenging city cycling at times. But there's such energy here. And architecture. And good people. And there's a great organic food co-op nearby Steve's apartment. And green spaces everywhere just waiting to be nurtured into lush gardens. I daresay Pittsburgh may have the most green space in the country of any city its size.

Maybe I'm just swept up in the beauty of today. After all of the menacing weather reports last night I thought I was going to be waiting out a virtual monsoon. (Seems to be the pattern these days.) But no, by a bit after 11 this morning the grey clouds dissolved and opened up a sunny, warm afternoon -- right about the time Ollie and I arrived at the Landslide Community Farm (http://www.landslidecommunityfarm.org/Landslide_Community_Farm/Home.html).

My friend Will who works with the women over at Mildred's Daughters -- another urban farm here in the 'burgh -- had been kind enough to introduce me to one of the lead farmers at Landslide yesterday. When I learned that today was going to be a community work day, I pulled out my Bike Pittsburgh map (courtesy of my friend Don) and charted out a route. I arrived at the site to find 5 or 6 volunteers already digging in some of the raised beds and jumped right in. Crystal taught me the basics of potato planting; Tom helped me refine my knotweed-pulling technique. (He and I marveled at the tenacity of the invasive plant, which seems structurally quite similar to bamboo or asparagus. "Why couldn't it have been asparagus that had taken over this city?" I wondered, hungrily.) I loaded up buckets of mushroom mulch for where the plum trees were being planted, pulled knotweed, and considered the joy of having my hands in the ground at last. I learned from the others about the innovative acquisition and use of the property that had literally gone through 2 major landslides in the past half-century -- land which the creative folks at the site had purchased from the city and are hoping to expand to help nurture and feed the larger community just east of the Birmingham Bridge (http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/07225/809050-53.stm).

Speaking of feeding, I'm hoping to make it back over there in a few days to partake in the weekly Sunday (mostly vegan) brunch. I'm hoping Elijah will recant his vow to save all 20 varieties of organic garlic for next year and toss some in with the tofu scramble...

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Hills like white elephants (only much, much bigger)

Biking the last 2 days has been a challenge. The chilly rain has been unrelenting, but I've been trying to celebrate the way that the moisture seems to make the foliage more vibrant and draws a different variety of wildlife out into the open. Like the otter I saw earlier today. At least it looked like an otter's backside scampering away. It was too foggy and rainy to be sure.

While I did enjoy many things about the C & O trail, especially all of the historical tidbits, I have to admit that the quality of the trail itself was inconsistent. Once we made it onto the Allegheny Passage, I couldn't help but marvel at how much more well kept things are here in PA. It was almost like biking in a different country. (As we crossed the Mason-Dixon line yesterday afternoon, Ollie couldn't resist pointing out that we almost *could* have been in a different country. She's still holding on to a little confederate money, honey - in this economy, you never know.) The campsites, too, were much nicer. Probably because you have to pay $20 and scale a medium-sized mountain to get to them, they are relatively unspoiled.

After biking 30 miles in a downpour, I was looking forward to pitching my tent, peeling off the damp bike gear, and making some hot soup. But first it seems I needed to go through the litany of swear words I knew in every language I could summon as I dragged a fully loaded Ollie about 1/4 mile up the gravel suicide slope. (Who knew I remembered any Italian or Arabic?) It was not one of my finer moments.

I never did find the campsite. At least not until the next morning, when the ranger approached the waterlogged tent I had pitched just off the trail in a fit of frustration and impending darkness. Like something out of a movie, I had given up hope just about 100 yards short (still uphill, mind you) of the campsite. Everything inside and outside of the tent was soaked and I couldn't find the lighter for the stove. So today, after slogging through another 30 soggy miles - this time with plastic bags over my socks, which conveniently trapped the cold water that dripped through the small gap between my socks and rain pants directly next to my feet for 5 hours - I decided it was time to dip into the small discretionary fund I had allotted for the trip to rent a room for the night and order a pizza. I had to drag Ollie up another big hill (the one in the photo is from about half way up, right about where I coughed up my left lung), but at least it was paved. How's that for a little perspective?

And so, dear readers, I should sign off. After a hot bath, an episode of the Simpsons, and most of a medium pizza, I'm getting a little drowsy....
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