Kitchen ghosts...

 We look forward to this day all year, my daughter and I. It's a day spent almost entirely in the kitchen, as we create the feast for Thanksgiving. We make a celebration of it, with mimosa's to sip on and good music playing in the background.  Thanks to Chris the larder is always so well stocked that we never lack a thing that we need, and this enhances our pleasure. 

We find that we are not alone in efforts. There are ghosts in the kitchen. I feel them when I roll out pie crust from the recipe my sweet friend Betty gave me 25 years ago, and when I bake bread using a starter I've had almost 30 years, a gift from my friend Nickie. 

They are there when I bake Pecan Pie, my mothers recipe, and one of the first desserts she ever entrusted me to bake when I was a kid. I forgot to add the melted butter until the pies were in the oven. I didn't want to admit to my error, so pulled them out and stirred it in quick. No one was the wiser. Perhaps she was peering over my shoulder today when I did remember to include all the ingredients before I began baking. 

Rachel brought new ghosts to the kitchen when she married. Today she made recipes from her husbands mother and grandmother, bringing some flavor from his family to share with ours. 

We have treasured recipe cards written in many different hands. Recipes we have unfailingly trotted out each year, savoring the tradition of inherited flavors. 

When I put my brother in law Nevada's dressing together, I can hear his voice, right down to the southern accent, saying, "Chop up an onion, and an whole lot of celery..." I never know just how much is an whole lot, so I keep chopping until I think he would be satisfied. 

There are ghosts in the kitchen, past generations crowding in as we, with deep gratitude, keep their memories alive in the most enjoyable that way we know how. 

Waddles, Wardrobes and Remembrance...

 You may remember that a few months ago one of our ducks was attacked by a fox. Although she survived, she has not been "right," ever since. The ducks are named Bill, Blanche and Bianca, (a nod to cousin Karen who came up with this fun triad.) I have given Bianca the new nick name of "Fox Bait," and have worried about her. On several occasions we have wondered if we should put her down. She eats, drinks, hangs out in the pool but does not go out exploring in the pasture with the other two ducks, choosing, instead, to settle in by the fence where she can watch the others while she rests. I have asked other livestock owning friends their opinions. "Should I kill her?" They both observed a while and said, "No. Give it time."  

Last week we had some fine days after rain, and the low spot in the pasture that we fondly refer to as "puddle pond" has been holding water. It has been frequented by crows, getting drinks and taking splashy baths. Friday two of the ducks discovered the water and spent hours paddling and splashing. When I went out before dusk to make sure the chickens and ducks had food in their bowls for an evening meal I was overjoyed to note that all three ducks were making their way back from the puddle. Yesterday morning when I let them out of their snug coop I watched as all three made the trek back out. Fox Bait was lagging behind, but making steady progress. 

I stood and watched as she struggled along, heaving herself over the uneven ground. 

I let out a little cheer when she hit the water and pushed off, paddling like a champ. 

Meanwhile, I have tied blaze orange bandanas around the necks of the goats and donkeys to prevent hunters from mistaking them for the elusive White Tailed Deer this season. Two of the donkeys have lost theirs, and today I will go hike around the pasture until I find them. Jezebel greeted me yesterday with this wardrobe malfunction. 

She was perfectly calm, but walked determinedly right up to me and stood patiently while I tucked it back under her chin and tightened it up a bit. It seemed she was saying, "Excuse me, madam. Could you and your opposable thumbs lend me some assistance?" 

It is mere days until Thanksgiving, and as I prepare to cook the annual feast I was happily reminded of holidays past. My friend Angel sent me this picture of our old house in Memphis. 

We met when she and her family moved in across the street from this dear house. She has since moved away, too, but was passing through on a visit and kindly shared this with me. I had a love affair with this house from the first day I laid eyes on it. High ceilings, a beautiful stone fireplace in the dining room, big, sunny windows and a floor plan that begged for parties to happen. We had some memorable Thanksgiving celebrations there. Rachel was young, and she and the other kids would take an old quilt I made outside and spread it on the lawn. They would fill their plates up with turkey, gravy and all the yummy side dishes, and have happy picnics on the lawn while the adults ate indoors. I was pleased to note that the arbor I planted at the end of the walkway is still there. I spent many a happy hour puttering gratefully in the gardens there.

I am reminded of all the Thanksgivings I have planned and prepared over the past 36 years. The locations have varied, but the flavor has remained the same. Bring on the bird, the sage and the stuffing. This Thanksgiving is bound to be delicious. 

Productive Saturday...

 Today started sweetly, with a shell pink sunrise tinting the windows. I stayed in bed a little later than usual, savoring that "day off," feeling. When I went downstairs and opened the door to let the dogs out, I started to lean my sleepy head out to check the weather. Something caught my eye and I froze... a spider the size of a nickel was dangling in the doorway, right at face level. I narrowly missed smacking into it. That woke me up! I caught its silk with my broom and gently lifted it outside. It dropped like a stone, hitting the deck with an audible "thud."

I tidied up the house, Chris made breakfast. 

As the stack of pancakes hit the table, I had a wave of missing our summer guest, Hannah Fields. She captured the feeling of weekend mornings quite well with this charming "recipe:"

Just as we were mopping up the last sticky drops of sweet maple syrup, Brenda arrived. Every year she kindly decorates our pretty arbor, and today was the day. Her car was filled with evergreen boughs, and she went right to work creating her magic. It was a treat to hang out with her a little and catch up, it's been too long. 

Tomorrow we will twine white lights amid the greens to complete the picture. 

I went to work cleaning animal houses while the weather was fine. I was about half way through the project when I heard a tractor trundling down the road.  I had asked Cheryl to come by sometime and spread out our manure pile. This will fertilize the pasture as well as make things look more tidy. The pile didn't look very big until she started scooping up bucket loads, then we could see how deep it really was. The donkeys were fascinated and all came to greet her. Abraham followed her about. 

Meanwhile Chris did the weekly grocery shopping, ran a bunch of errands, then came home and took trash and recycling to the transfer station. 

I finished cleaning two chicken coops, one duck house, the goat cozy and donkey dorm. Each space looked bright and tidy, and smelled like fresh pine shavings. I filled up all the feeders and rinsed and filled all the water containers. Time for a little rest, then company here for supper. Chris cooked schnitzel, one of his specialties. After a productive day this feast was just right. 

One thing marred our lovely day. My sister called and said that due to Covid she and her family will not be able to join us for Thanksgiving. I would rather have been smacked in the face by a cold spider than have heard this news. For 17 years they have filled our home with added holiday joy, laughter and SO much help with the celebration! Not to mention, no one makes gravy like my sister. Like so many other things this year, Thanksgiving will just not be the same. I feel bereft. 

Knitting...

When I was a young teenager I had the good fortune to date a guy who had a wonderful mother. She took me under her wing and taught me how to cook, how to sew, and how to knit. I knitted a bit, on and off, for many years. I could make rudimentary things... scarves, afghans, simple hats. I made a baby blanket for my nephew, a sofa throw for my mom. When my daughter was tiny she was interested in knitting and I taught her how. She has far exceeded my skills, knitting lace shawls and socks, mittens and complex patterned things. Meanwhile I lost interest. Long ago I parted with my needles, and have not missed them. 

My neighbor friend recently bought a yarn store, The Cashmere Goat in Camden, Maine.  I went in with my knitting niece, and she bought some pretty yarn. I found myself mesmerized by the lovely displays of wool and blends. So many luscious colors and textures. My fingers began to "itch" a bit. Maybe I'd like to knit something. 

My niece makes adorable knitted pumpkins and has gifted me with many of them. Some are tiny, some larger, all wonderful. I decorate with them every autumn. It occurred to me that I might like to try creating one.

The pattern used double pointed needles, something I've never tried.  Rachel kindly cast the pattern on for me, and from there it was a bit of a learning curve, but simple enough to make. And I enjoyed it. Over the last weekend I spent some time in the car, a perfect place to have a hand craft to while away the hours. In no time I had the pattern almost completed.  

Today I finished it up, refreshing my memory on old skills like how to decrease stitches, and how to cast off when the job is done. Low and behold, I created a soft little pumpkin! 

I feel a happy sense of accomplishment. It's been too long since I indulged in a handicraft. I enjoyed this project, and am pondering what would be fun to make next. The pretty yarn at the Cashmere Goat is calling to me. Winter is coming. I might need a new hat! 

November...

 If I absolutely had to choose, I'd say that Autumn is my favorite season. The breathtaking foliage, the bounty of harvest, the pumpkins and gourds and happy sunflowers. But even past those glowing copper days, I love November, too. Often cold, stormy and dismal, I cherish the coziness it brings. We focus more on indoor activities, light candles, keep a blanket on the sofa, and appreciate the warmth of a fire. Meals consist of soups, stews, hearty casseroles; things I make early in the day, their savory scent perfuming the house for hours. The pace of life slows a bit. There is Thanksgiving to look forward to, the planning and preparing of the feast, arguably the best holiday of the year. 

The clocks changed last night, so mornings will be bright earlier. New England nights stretch long, though. Chris will come home in the dark from now until spring. I woke this Sunday morning to the view I see most every morning...the two small windows on the west wall of our bedroom, framed with old-fashioned white ball fringe curtains. To welcome November this day the sky was pewter, making the scene before my eyes a small panorama of shades of  gray as the muted light reflected off the glass, the curtains, the walls. A fitting start to the month.  I could hear rain pattering on the sill, and the air was cold on my face. Under the quilts I was warm. Another thing to love about this time of year, the joy of being snug under a mound of covers in a chilly room. 

Downstairs the woodstove glowed with embers from last nights fire. I added a few logs and opened the damper. In seconds flames were springing brightly behind the glass. Stepping outside with the dogs I realized the falling rain was freezing as it hit the ground. I walked carefully, plotting the best direction to fall if my feet became victims to the ice. 

When they heard me, the donkeys began to bray, pleading for breakfast. I complied, bringing an armful of fragrant hay to the pasture and distributing piles. The goats danced out of their cozy, tossing their heads in the brisk air, and running to see if my pockets held treats.

The animals had visitors yesterday. A woman messaged me through my business and said that her 4 year old daughter is wild over our donkeys, insisting her parents stop the car each time they pass, was there a way she could meet them? They arrived just after I finished work, the little girl vibrating with excitement. Fearless, she pushed through the metal gate, into the herd of waiting animals. Her parents had brought carrots and apples and the goats and donkeys crowded around, cadging treats. "Do you want to sit on a donkey?" I asked. She nodded her head up and down. "This one," I said, patting Abrahams broad, dusty back. He stood rock still while her mother booster her up. Her little hands explored his fuzzy winter coat, she leaned forward to stroke his long ears. Giggles fractured the afternoon air. Abraham took one step, then two, gingerly. More giggles and a shriek of glee.  When she dismounted she spent long minutes going from animal to animal, hugging them tightly. Only Bliss objected, staying several steps away. The other animals became still and calm while the wee guest showered them with affection. 

As this sweet child gleefully embraced my animals, I grasp the cold, dark, "dreary" days and plan to wring every ounce of joy out of them that I can. Bring on the candles, the casseroles, the cozy. I'm ready.