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You know how sometimes a word gets stuck in your head, and everything reminds you of it?  Earlier this week I read a garden blog about ephemerals .  Although the term was used very specifically to describe plants that come and go before the trees leaf out, of course in a broader sense everything is ephemeral. I was again reminded of that truth by  one of Gretchen Rubin’s “secrets of adulthood” : The Fun Part Doesn’t Come Later; Now is the fun part.

So this morning we took a little walk in the back yard to appreciate what’s blooming right now, and for me the fun part was the sweet woodruff.  I don’t remember when I bought the first plants or where, but this plant has flourished outside my kitchen door for years.  I’ve always imagined steeping it to make May wine; maybe this year…

The plant when newly gathered has but little odour, but when dried, has a most refreshing scent of new-mown hay, which is retained for years. Gerard tells us: ‘The flowers are of a very sweet smell as is the rest of the herb, which, being made up into garlands or bundles, and hanged up in houses in the heat of summer, doth very well attemper the air, cool and make fresh the place, to the delight and comfort of such as are therein. It is reported to be put into wine, to make a man merry, and to be good for the heart and liver, it prevaileth in wounds, as Cruciata and other vulnerary herbs do.’

 

I spent most of today in the garden, weeding and planting.  Thunbergia for the hummingbirds, both African Sunset and Blushing Susie to climb up the trellises that are topped with terra cotta carried back from Ranch Gordo, that time we went to Napa to admire beans and buy terra cotta.  Really.   Milkweed for the monarchs, both asclepia tuberosa (buterfly weed) and asclepia incarnata (swamp milkweed), in hopes that I can reduce my environmental anxiety and guilt.  And see monarchs.  Lettuce for salads and borage as a companion to the strawberries., which  have escaped their strawberry pot.  Sorrel.  Hyssop.  Plus parsley, sage, thyme, oregano, tarragon, and chervil.  All, I hope, as unattractive to deer as they are attractive to me and the creatures.

The French herbalist Gerard discussed Borage by referring to the ancient Greek naturalist Pliny, who said that the plant ‘maketh a man merry and joyful.’ (Hoffman 1995) Dioscorides, the first century Greek physician, mentioned the use of Borage to ‘comfort the heart, purge melancholy and quiet the lunatic person.’ Both Pliny and Dioscorides believed Borage was the famous nepenthe of Homer, which when steeped in wine brought about forgetfulness.

 

 

 

 

 

On Wednesday morning, we went for a walk at the botanical garden.  This time of year, things are growing and changing there so fast that we try to make it a weekly outing.  It was a perfect morning, and although the 40-minute mile isn’t exactly aerobic the steps still count on the fitbit.  It takes a long time to appreciate it all – to listen to the bird singing from high up in the tree:

to admire the soft colors of the daffodils:

to say hello to the goddess of the garden:

to decide which clump of flowers has the perfect degree of pale purple:

to pass the tree which I think of a the halfway point:

We admired violets that are in our own backyard, too,  but usually unnoticed there:

And at last we arrived at the pond.  Turtles, frogs, tiny fish, and layer upon layer of reflections and surfaces and shallows and depths:

Like so many things these days, this walk produced wildly ranging feelings in me:  gratitude for the garden and the time to walk there.  Anticipation of enjoying it throughout spring and beyond.  Sadness that it’s all so ephemeral.  And guilt that everything in the garden, everything in the whole world, is endangered by human greed and I can’t protect it.  Lately almost every experience and every emotion is accompanied by that guilt, quietly lurking in the background.

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the last fifteen years, I’ve had an off-again, on-again relationship with the Great Lakes Consortium, a local non-profit that organizes international exchanges of all kinds.  In 2002, I traveled with GLC as one of a delegation of American women to  Lebanon where, then and now, women were working to gain influence and power in local and national politics.  It was an amazing trip, and I will always be grateful.  Since then, we’ve occasionally hosted GLC participants and always enjoyed the experience.

 

 

Two sisters, both artists, from Tanzania were thrilled with American showers, although the “shower curtain on the inside” part of the experience eluded them.  They were overwhelmed when I took them to a craft store for art supplies and, in return, left us with incredibly colorful, imaginative and vibrant canvases.

Guests from Dagestan were touchingly proud of the food culture of their own country and dismayed by our fast food habits, while they admired at least some of America’s political culture.  Their pictures of a backyard with fruit trees and a kitchen garden made me very jealous.

 

A Russian guest, a restauranteur who was learning about American entrepreneurialism, made us borscht.

 

 

 

 

We’ve enjoyed many celebrations with our international guests, too.  While appreciating our hospitality, they enjoyed  sharing their own local treasures with us.

 

Sometimes language was a problem, but these visits have always left me with good feelings about people around the world I would never have encountered without the GLC.  Although I’ve been less involved lately, last night I went to the welcome party for a group of Eastern European organizers who will be in the country, in a variety of host cities, until June.  Bulgarians, Hungarians, Czechoslovakians… most young, all passionate about changing lives.  There was a silent auction of items and I was the successful bidder on a bottle of local (in Slovakia) herbal bitter liqueur. I’m looking forward to sharing it with friends over wide-ranging discussions around the table.  

If you really want to make a friend, go to someone’s house and eat with him…the people who give you their food give you their heart. Cesar Chavez

 

It’s opening day, we have tickets, and the games(s) start at 4:00, but John is working later than that and I’ll be at a Food for Thought board meeting by 6:00, and it’s likely to rain and anyway who wants to hang out with ten thousand people who have been celebrating since before noon?

So I decided to begin my multi-day birthday celebration with a pedicure.  Luckily, Ahava Spa was patrolling their parking lot, which is temptingly close to the Mudhens’ stadium, so I could find a spot and Sarah was available.  I decided on purple.   

Tomorrow’s forecast calls for sun, and I’m looking forward to wearing red sandals and purple toenails to the Friday game.

The problem with self-improvement is knowing when to quit.  David Lee Roth

Although I’ve never been a Van Halen fan, I think Diamond Dave Roth may have something there.  Still,  I’m probably not going to quit anytime soon.  I recently read Gretchen Rubin’s The Happiness Project, and I’m working my way through her new book about habits, as well.  I follow her posts on social media and I’m signed up for her frequent e-mails.  I’m thinking so much about how to improve that I have to remind myself just to be.  But of course that’s Gretchen’s message, too.  Her own Happiness Project included telling herself to “Be Gretchen.”

What you do every day matters more than what you do once in a while.”  Gretchen Rubin

I want to dismiss Rubin’s advice as cheesy and I’d like to feel all superior, but after reading her books I can’t do it.  How is it possible to forget that getting enough sleep, eating right and exercising really DO make a person happier?  At almost 65, how is it possible that I still need to be reminded of the importance of self-knowledge? What I am secretly hoping is that soon gardening season will start and I will no longer have time for these concerns….

To my surprise (and, if you’re my Facebook friend, probably to yours) I haven’t posted a lot of food photos.  This is the exception.  Easter dinner was fun: the traditional leg of lamb, which was the first cut I’ve cooked from a whole lamb purchased from a friend.  When I was growing up, knowing where meat came from was the norm, now I feel especially lucky to know my farmers.  And to be able to avoid, mostly, supporting the industrial meat industry.

My idea of “local” is not just geographic.  I’m a big fan of Rancho Gordo, the California vendor of heirloom beans.  With the lamb, I served flageolet beans, a classic combination.   I simmered them for a long time in my much-loved Rancho Gordo pot made in Mexico, signed by the artist and hand-carried from Napa by me.

To start, we had  deviled eggs even though I hadn’t dyed any, and a couple of new favorites:  spinach/red onion/dates and almonds salad a la Yotam Ottolenghi and his delicious beet/yoghurt puree.   How did such basic cooking become so trendy?

 

Finally, we finished with a once-a-year dessert, brought by a guest and enjoyed by all.   Who can resist the bunny-eared cupcake? Not me…

 

After a week alone in the house, I’m looking forward to some company this weekend.  Saturday’s market gave me a chance to add some seasonality to the living room.

I admire big, complicated floral arrangements, but I don’t like to spend a lot of money on them. Pussy willows from the farmers market work for me.  I especially enjoyed buying them from George, an old, crusty farmer who is one of my favorite vendors. Sans water in an old estate-sale urn, they should last  until the forsythia comes in.

Virtually nothing in our living room is new, and that’s how I like it.  The leather ottoman is an exception, bought several years ago to complement the curvy couch John’s mom gave us during her extensive re-decorating soon after we moved into this house.  (John remembers diving from the arm to the cushions as a child, but with its heavy frame it has held up for more than six decades.)  For a long time I’ve wanted a big oval tray for the ottoman, both for display and, occasionally, to serve  pre-dinner hors d’oeuvres. Silver would be gorgeous, but I wanted easy-care and wasn’t about to spend money a big silver piece anyway.  When I saw an inexpensive (new) hammered-aluminum tray made in India I couldn’t resist:

Just because it’s spring, I added a little basket of ground cover, also from the farmers market and destined for the garden, to the blue willow platter my sister Martha gave me and a favorite old estate-sale bowl.

Putting all these pretty things together was fun.  Maybe I have too much time on my hands…

 

 

Thirty five years ago this month I explored the gardens at 3468 Brookside for the first time.  After the April 1980 closing I couldn’t wait to see what was growing at our new home.  There were no creatures in the garden then, either stone or flesh, but I found crocus and hints of peony and phlox, and I could hardly wait for the ground to dry out so I could uncover them. I still feel the same every year.

 We’ve dug and planted a lot since then, and we’ve added quite a few creatures to watch over our home and gardens.   They’re an eclectic bunch, some classical, some natural, and some frankly pagan.  One or two are kind of fierce.

 

 

Although they’ll be sheltered and hidden by leaves and flowers soon, this morning all my garden creatures are naked and exposed, watching me watch them..

Last Tuesday morning I was picked up by a colleague for the trip to Detroit airport and travel to DC for a community action conference (more on that later).  On Wednesday morning, John drove to the airport in my car and left for Hawaii and a reunion with his whale/dolphin research buddies and, next week,  a Death Valley adventure with his younger brother.  On Friday night I came home, after retrieving my car, and on Saturday I hosted a cooking session with Slow Food colleagues, the remains of which have now been cleared away.  We joined another group of cooks and some eaters for an incredible dinner last night.  So, today – clean counters…

and the beginning of ten days of home alone.  I love it when John and I travel together, but I think the occasional separate vacation / solo trip is a good thing.  When I travel alone I am self-indulgent. When I’m home alone I am diligent about locking the doors at night. Sometimes I tackle projects that seem too disruptive when we’re both here.  One year I had our bedroom painted.  This year I’m going to do clutter clearing.

 

I don’t plan on entertaining this week, and I won’t be buying any Peeps or Cadbury eggs, but I will eat some solo meals on my Easter dishes, and I have scheduled lots of lunches, dinners, and after-works to get me out of the house.  I’m hoping for a visit from Johanna during her after-Easter break.

I’m eagerly anticipating a trip to the library today to stock up on my favorite mystery/detective/spy novels.  Olen Steinhauer anyone?  Although my reading habits lean heavily toward fiction, I’ve just finished Gretchen Rubin’s The Happiness Project, and I’ve downloaded her new book to my i-pad.  I wanted to feel superior about Rubin’s books, but who doesn’t want to be happier? and her approach resonates with me.

Overall, I think the next ten days will be okay….