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Surprising Our Super-Hero Dad

Tom
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Surprising Our Super-Hero Dad

F-100 pilot

My super hero could fly.

My first memory of Dad as super hero came in the first grade. Allowed to navigate the theater concession stand on my own, I was having trouble making headway to the front of the counter. When my father showed up to check on me, he could see the best of human nature was not shining on his six-year-old son. In the hierarchy of bad behavior, my father finds line cutting and taking advantage of kids as egregious as lying, cheating and disrespecting the flag. At first, I was embarrassed by his admonishment of the clueless teens and oblivious adults, but as they backpedaled, made excuses, and finally apologized, his superpower was revealed: protector of Tommy.

Down time with Dad and sis.

My Man of Steel wasn’t like most Dads, but at the time I had no idea he wasn’t the norm. He flew fighter jets (didn’t everyone’s Dad?). He brought glory to the Crimson Tide. He sank free-throws from a county away, and crossed the globe with an ease reserved for neighbors who cross the street. While his life and accomplishments were big, it’s the seemingly small, unmentioned moments that I replay with fond recollection. There was the time he proclaimed I was the best fisherman (since retracted) or the day I rebelled at mowing the lawn, and waited until dusk to tell him it was too dark to mow. He suggested I locate a flashlight.

Our in-house pillar of strength had his melting moments, like the uncharacteristically revealing letter he sent me in college, where he wrote, “your mother’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”  Saying holiday grace was a moment of pause, togetherness, and thanks that (though never admitting it) would choke him up.  During long absences, he would entrust and recognize me as “Man of the House” until his safe return (good thing Mom was my back-up plan).

Last week my father turned 80, and my mother, sister, brother, niece, nephew, aunt and I were there to see that he celebrated the milestone with a full-court press. We surprised him and he was delighted. At breakfast days later, he said the weekend was the best he ever had.  It was nice to learn we had some super powers of our own. Happy Birthday Dad, from your former crackerjack “Man of the House” and equally gifted (and-likely-still-the-best) fisherman son.

Little man with a big fish (and big hero).

Snip It: The Best Way to Pick Cherry Tomatoes

Tom
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Snip It: The Best Way to Pick Cherry Tomatoes

stem of cherry tomatoesMy heart belongs to the big ol’ Daddy tomatoes, the slicers, the small planets that make a BLT (and again, my heart) sing.  Sure  cherry tomatoes deserve some attention, but I treat them less like an entree and more like a snack food, which brings me to my ridiculously simple way of harvesting them. Instead of picking or plucking them individually off of the vine, I take scissors or pruners and cut the fruiting branch at the main stem and wrangle them all in one fell swoop, much like harvesting grapes.  Instead of picking 10 tiny tomatoes, I snip the stem and move on to the next cluster.

bowl of cherry tomatoesBenefits of cherry tomato cluster snip vs. the one-two pick:

  1. Easy harvest
  2. Cherry tomatoes last longer on the stem
  3. No fruit flies from split skins or stem tears
  4. Stem clusters allow for air circulation
  5. Piling on of single tomatoes causes mold and rot
  6. Healthy snack food to pluck from a bowl.
  7. Food for the eyes, too!

sweet green cherry tomatoesCherry tomatoes “egg yolk” are green and very sweet.

There you have it, almost as easy as freezing berries, and a simple technique to save you time and spoilage where tomato wee ones are concerned.

10 Things I Learned This Summer

Tom
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Lesson for all seasons: take time to enjoy the view (Mt. Rainier from Vashon Island).

Every season holds class for those who wish to attend, the hours in the day become pragmatic little teachers of simple truths and homegrown examples. This summer I tried to be a good student, and pay attention in class. Here’s a sampling of the lessons learned from my soulful sage and friend, summer.

The Lessons of Summer

goose egg duck egg chicken egg1. Good eggs come in all shapes, sizes and colors.

morning glory "flying saucer"2. Morning can be glorious.

sleeping bulldogs in a hammock3. Naps are restorative (and a to-do list activity).

bluebird of happiness plate 4. One man’s runny jam is another man’s dessert topping.

5. Just because something is cheap, doesn’t make it a bargain.

bunting under the stars 6. The best dining rooms don’t always require walls, neckties or reservations.

7. Proven and true: the lawn will not mow itself.

painting of bike rider8. Sometimes a sweet ride doesn’t involve four wheels.

9. Some cakes are almost as good as most pies.

10. And finally, never hug a man who has a fig in his pocket.

Plums in a Jar: Spicy, Spirited Keepers!

Tom
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Plums in a Jar: Spicy, Spirited Keepers!

Italian prune plums in jars

I’m a man who’s a fan of things to can, a preserve practitioner ready to bottle up summer sweet things at a moment’s notice or as availability allows. So when the folks at the SweetPreservation.com asked me to be a CANbassador, delivering a case of succulent Washington state plums, peaches and nectarines along with the question, “What can you do with these?” my brain simmered like a stock pot of steaming chutney.

Sweet Preservation Canning AmbassadorAs you can see, I take my responsibilities as Canbassador quite seriously. (Too bad I don’t have a staff or  a budget.)

plum still life After scorching my cerebral resources, I turned to my larder of dogeared cookbooks and found this enticing recipe from the River Cottage Handbook No. 2: Preserves (by Pam Corbin): Spiced Brandy Plums.  Spices, liquor, and fruit, what’s not to like? Of course, I had to add a couple of other things just for good measure. (Monotype print above by Vashon artist Brian Fisher)canning sugar syrupRECIPE: Spiced Brandy Plums

Makes 5 pint jars

  • 2-3 pounds of European plums (like Italian prune, Imperial Epineuse, Green Gage, etc.)
  • 1 cup of honey
  • 2 cups of water
  • 1 orange, zest and juice
  • 1/2 cup of brandy
  • 5 cinnamon sticks
  • 5 star anise
  • 1″ knob of ginger root, sliced (optional)
  • 15 cloves (optional)

Preparation:

Brandy Syrup

  1. Add honey to water and heat until it dissolves and is a uniform liquid
  2. Add orange juice, orange zest and brandy to solution
  3. Remove from heat and set aside.

Plums

  1. Wash and halve plums, remove pits and stems
  2. Place plums sliced side down in the jars, overlapping
  3. Fill jar with plums up to 1″ from top
  4. Add 1 cinnamon stick, 1 star anise, 1 ginger slice and 3 cloves to each jar

Preserving

  1. Pour warm syrup over fruit leaving 1″ head space
  2. Gently press on plums to remove air bubbles
  3. Seal and process in a water bath for 20 minutes, gentle simmer
  4. Instructions on water bath canning.

In the cold of winter when the days are dark and the fireplace flickers brightly, I’ll enjoy this nightcap in a bowl. Nothing like a little sweetness and brandy to spice up a fellow’s dreams and state of hibernation.

Enjoy, and don’t forget to visit, SweetPreservation.com for more canning ideas.

Recalling a Labor Day of Love

Tom
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Recalling a Labor Day of Love

Cleaning out the barn with a little help from my friends.

Sometimes my to-do list stops me dead in my tracks. Like an overloaded freight train, the boxcars of chores sit idle,  progress stifled by whining, denial and procrastination. Hoping to inch along in the right direction, I assuage my guilt by adding ridiculously effortless things to the list, tasks I’ve no doubt already done, but hey, a check mark is a check mark. Oh look, I fed the dogs, flushed the toilet, made a pot of coffee, put on clothes and  brushed my teeth.  Oops, forgot to run a comb through hair (as if that makes a difference). The good news is sometimes this Thomas the (stalled) train gets fuel by helping hands.

Every summer my sister escapes the stifling heat of Florida and pays me a visit. I’m a good host, offering unrelenting Boz and Gracie love, a gently swaying hammock, well-maintained bike, cozy sunlit guestroom, bottomless bucket of raspberries and a climate where temperatures rarely exceed the mid-seventies. As a dedicated teacher, she calls my place her rehab and relaxation center. I am glad to oblige, as honestly, I’d last two minutes as an middle school teacher; the classroom would be in ruins and I’d be stuffed in a locker.

So on this Labor Day, I salute my hardworking teacher sister who on her vacation labored to help me clean out my barn. I also sing praises to my friend Tamara, also an awesome teacher, who joined in the fun and took on the role of drill Sargent (“Clean? You call this clean, mister? Drop and give me twenty!”) Together, we made quick work of my cluttered, chockablock tarp-covered nightmare.  And I have the photos to prove it. Unfortunately, I forgot to take before photos, but truth be told, that’s a good thing.

bulldog walking in front of barnGracie saunters by my 100-year-old barn, replete with its latest tarp covering. (Roofs aren’t cheap) As the original machine shop, the barn now houses all of my equipment and flanks the spot where the original 20-stall dairy barn stood . As far as rainproof coverings go, the structure’s been befitted with a blue tarp, encased in a brown tarp, and later re-wrapped in a green tarp. I believe its latest reflective silver cloak elevates the board-and-batten cube into architectural art. Cristo and Jeanne-Claude would be proud, I dare say.

Boz finds a comfortable spot to supervise while witnessing history in the making.

Unusually clean shelves, courtesy of two bossy girls and their tough-love tactics.

Like domestic archeologists, we unearthed some remarkable finds: a tractor, four Christmas tree stands, a farm sink, and perhaps the most indispensable thing of all…

…a tub of twenty eggbeaters. (The trouble with me and Garage sales.)

Homegrown Postcard: Dahlias by the Bucketful

Tom
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Homegrown Postcard: Dahlias by the Bucketful

Dahlias, stealing the show, one stem at a time…

tall clover farm dahlias

Dahlias and distractions take center stage today. For once, I’m a loss for words and eager to get outside.  So here’s a little sunshine in a bucket for you as I’m heading out the door to secure a hearty hug from the final days of summer. The breeze is light, the sun determined, and the garden offers an encore performance at every turn.

bulldog butt and a bucket of dahlias and zinnias

I title this shot: Beauty and the Beast.

Tom Watering DahliasCaught by island Paparazzo; my friend Crystal snapped this shot on her way to town (undoubtedly, of my best side).

Preserving Tips: How to Thicken Jam

Tom
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Preserving Tips: How to Thicken Jam

apricot jam and biscuitsCountdown to ecstasy…

The goal: Jam that drops from a spoon but stays on a biscuit (at least until I eat it, which is usually less than T minus ten seconds).

As a jam maker from way back, I never really embraced commercial pectin. This had more to do with my end results than any preconceived notion of its application. Sometimes I’d end up with jam that resembled a giant jello shooter or a gum drop in a votive. I would call it slicing jam or fruit gel in a jar. When I spied my homemade gifts of jam from 1998, and 1999, lining the shelf of a friend’s post-millennium pantry, I had to admit that the only thing denser than my jam was my denial of its shortcomings.

granny smith apples and sour cherriesTip One: With a decade of jam making under my ample belt, I’ve found the secret to thickening up runny low-pectin fruit jams: add an apple or two. Pectin is a naturally occurring thickener found in most fruits, though levels vary greatly. For example, apples are high pectin fruits, cherries low. vintage grater with applesWhen I make jam out of a low pectin fruit like sour cherries, I add a peeled, grated apple to the preserving pot to boost the thickness factor. Because the subtle flavor of the apple usually takes a back seat to the sour cherry, it’s a fruit marriage made in heaven where the strongest flavor wins. (No 50-50 here.) sour cherries ready for jamming

Tip Two: Another way to help thicken your jam is to put the undercooked fruit jam in a fine mesh sieve and drain the liquid. Return the liquid to the preserving pot, simmer until syrup thick then add the cooked fruit mixture back, stir and bottle up.

Here’s a list of low and high pectin fruits:

High Pectin Fruits

  • Apples (tart, under-ripe have more pectin)
  • Blackberries (also more pectin if slightly under-ripe)
  • Crabapples
  • Cranberries
  • Currants
  • Gooseberries
  • Grapes (Eastern Concord)
  • Lemons
  • Loganberries
  • Plums
  • Quinces

Low Pectin Fruits

  • Apples (overripe)
  • Chokecherries
  • Elderberries
  • Grapefruit
  • Oranges
  • Sweet and Sour Cherries
  • Apricots
  • Blueberries
  • Figs
  • Peaches
  • Pears
  • Plums (Italian)
  • Raspberries
  • Strawberries

Happy jam making, and remember this:  if it takes a few tries (from someone who’s been there), a runny jam is merely a reason to make an ice cream sundae.Now you see it…

…now you don’t.

Apricot Appetizer: Easy, Pretty and Berry Tasty

Tom
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Apricot Appetizer: Easy, Pretty and Berry Tasty

Freshly anchored: Blackberries in apricot boats

Yesterday my dear friend Julie turned 40 (such a young thing), a milestone ushered in by her close friends and husband Matt. Matty as she likes to call him (though we may not)  had planned a surprise birthday party for her at our friend Kurt’s farm, as dreamy a place to celebrate on a sunny day as I can imagine. A man of quiet charm, Matt was like an anxious school boy on his first date. He worried unnecessarily, fidgeted readily and paced purposefully before the birthday girl’s  arrival.

In the end, Julie was surprised, Matt was delighted and we were there to share hugs and celebrate friendships. We ate, we drank, we basked in the warmth of both an August sun and our radiant Julie–a summer memory that will carry me well through next spring.

apricot appetizer on a platter

My contribution, a dish befitting the birthday girl:  something sweet, vibrant and fresh.

RECIPE: Apricot Berry Boat Appetizer

Ingredients:

  • Berries (raspberries, blackberries, even sweet cherries work)
  • Apricots (on the small size)
  • Honey (or fruit jelly)

Preparation:

  1. Slice apricots in half, remove pit
  2. Gently toss berries in a bowl with a tablespoon of honey to coat berries lightly
  3. If you don’t have honey, heat up a little jelly and coat the berries with that, again lightly
  4. Drop a berry onto apricot half
  5. Arrange artfully on a plate

Optional:

  • Add goat cheese (get a little fancier and add a tiny dollop of goat cheese (from LaBiondo Farm & Kitchen) between the apricot and berry)

apricot appetizer

Happy Birthday Julie!

Unsuspecting Julie walking into our celebratory (albeit surprise) embrace.

…And they lived happily ever after.

When Silence Was (and Beets Weren’t) Golden

Tom
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When Silence Was (and Beets Weren’t) Golden

Boz: “Treats? Uh, I don’t think so.”

I don’t deny as a kid  I was a little different (I’ll keep adulthood out of this debate), but in my trek to avoid the beaten path I also knew there were situations warranting a walk down the straight and narrow. Such detour awareness usually involved the presence of my father. As a no-nonsense man of few words, he would often remind me sternly, “Tommy, no one likes a smart aleck.” I later learned (through personal experience) that everyone actually loves a smart aleck. To this day, I assert that had I not listened to him, I’d be headlining in Vegas.

His other rules of child-adult engagement included the belief that children should be seen and not heard, and that talking back to your elders was not an option. And so my story begins…

Rhinestone cowboy taken down in his prime by backtalk and a canned root vegetable.

My Mother is a gifted and generous cook, but somehow that evening she served the most vile of vegetables: canned beets. I winched as the syrup-thick juice ran to the center of my plate, polluting every other tasty morsel in its wake. I was doomed; this was the era of the clean plate club, and in our household I was a draftee not a volunteer.

With beets untouched before me and dessert melting on the counter, my Dad said, “Hurry up, and eat your beets.” In a moment of reckless abandon and believing that my father’s wrath was more palatable than a plate of beets, I said, “But I don’t like them. They taste horrible.”

As I looked to my sister for support, I realized she had choked her beets down using the I’ll-hold-my-breath-and-swallow-them-whole method, chased by a wash-it-down-with-a-large-glass -of-milk palate cleansing.

My father was quick to dispatch his opinion on children (especially his own) talking back , and sentenced me to no ice cream and a forced exile at the kitchen table until the beets were gone and my plate was clean. How was I going to get out of this? I envisioned this second-grader’s skeleton covered in cobwebs hunched over the kitchen table, my family passing the corn flakes carefully, so as not to disturb my brittle dry bones and plate of leather-dry beets.

After what seemed an eternity of plate pondering and beet juice finger painting, I looked down to Penny, our exceptional Boston Terrier. I sought her counsel (telepathically, of course) and she responded by licking her chops.  (Brilliant Penny, brilliant!)  I happily stabbed each beat with my fork, and then lowered the root of all evil to my all-too-eager Pal.

pickled beets krinkle cutFresh crinkle-cut pickled beets: a far cry from the days of punishment in a can

Penny finished every last one and so, saved my life and brought order back to the family. My father smug in his perceived victory, needled me with, “See that wasn’t so bad, was it?” My intuitive mother knew better, and honored me by never serving beets again.

In bed, staring at the ceiling, I knew I had dodged a bullet. As I closed my eyes, and drifted off to a land of cowboys and Indians, pirates and flying carpets, my peace was broken. My father’s voice ricocheting down the hallway to my bedroom, “Oh Hell, Penny just threw up something, something purple…TOMMY!” Even Penny couldn’t stomach those nasty orbs. Her choice of re-distribution was most unfortunate: the living room beige carpet.

Portrait of beet booster: Talking back about the great taste of fresh golden beets.

The good news is I’ve grown up (emotional scares have healed, I think), and I no longer have the palate of a seven-year-old.  As a changed man,  I really like beets, but only fresh beets, and especially golden beets. I grew golden beets for the first time this year and have to say they are something special, my variety of choice: Touchstone.

Recipe: Roasted Golden Beets

Ingredients: 5-6 Golden (or purple) beets

  • small beets, say the size of a lemon or lime, are more tender

Preparation:

  1. Trim off beet tops (beet greens make a great wilted salad)
  2. Wash beets
  3. Place cleaned whole beets in baking dish
  4. Roast in oven at 400 degrees for 20-30 minutes
  5. Remove from oven and place foil over top and let beets cool
  6. Foil creates steam, making peels easy to remove
  7. Serve sliced at room temperature with salt and pepper.

Options:

  • drizzle with favorite salad dressing
  • drizzle with balsamic vinegar
  • drizzle with Asian sweet chili sauce (love this stuff)
  • crumble with blue cheese
  • add to a salad
  • add to a sandwich

Bonjour Monsieur Cyrano de Raspbergerac

Tom
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Bonjour Monsieur Cyrano de Raspbergerac

balancing a raspberry on his noseIn-house tableau: homegrown homage to Cyrano

I just can’t finish off the week without one more nod to a produce proboscis. With the last of my Tulameen raspberries gracing but a few stems, I felt the need to have one also grace the end of my nose; and thus Cyrano de Raspbergerac was born.

Balancing the bodacious berry, I recited a few lines in my best fake French accent, finishing with a emphatic “En garde!” Unfortunately I sounded more like Pipi le Pew than Gerard Depardieu. With the vigorous dispatching of my invisible sword, I also managed to dislodge my ample berry nose and send it to the floor and Boz’s awaiting choppers.  (That’s a way to end a scene.) I then turned to You Tube for a snippet of the real thing.

Here is Gerard Depardieu’s 1990 performance in Cyrano de Bergerac with general translation below. And while my favorite French actor made news this week for streaming something other than an in-flight video, I still hold the rake in high esteem as one of the best actors of our time, as seen below.

You Tube: Cyrano de Bergerac, “Le Nez” (1990 film)

Young man, I am afraid your speech was a trifle short. You could have said at least one hundred other things, varying the tone of your words. Let me give you some examples.

In an aggressive tone: “Sir, if I had a nose like that, I would amputate it!”

Friendly: “When you drink from a cup your nose must get wet. Why don’t you drink from a bowl?”

Descriptive: “Tis a rock! A peak! A cape! No, it’s a peninsula!”

Curious: “What is that large container for? To hold your pens and ink?”

Gracious: “How kind you are. You love the little birds so much you have given them a perch to roost upon.”

Truculent: “When you light your pipe and puff smoke from your nose the neighbors must think the chimney’s afire.”

Considerate: “Be careful when you bow your head or you might lose your balance and fall over.”

Thoughtful: “Place an umbrella over your nose to keep its color from fading in the sun.”

Arcane: “Sir, only the beast that Aristophanes calls the hippocampelephantocamelos could have had such a solid lump of flesh and bone below its forehead.”

Cavalier: “A hook to hang your hat upon.”

Emphatic: “No breeze, O majestic nose, can give thee cold – save when the north winds blow.”

Dramatic: “When it bleeds, it must be like the Red Sea.”

Admiring: “What a fine sign for a perfume shop!”

Lyrical: “Is that a conch shell? And are you Triton risen from the ocean?”

Naïve: “Is that monument open to the public?”

Rustic: “That don’t look like a nose. It’s either a big cucumber or a little watermelon.”

Military: “The enemy is charging! Aim your cannon!”

Practical: “A nose like that has one advantage: it keeps your feet dry in the rain.”

There, sir, now you have an inkling of what you might have said, had you been a witty man of letters. Unfortunately, you’re totally witless and a man of very few letters: only four that spell the word “fool.” But even if you had the skill to invent such remarks, you would not have been able to entertain me with them. You would have uttered no more than a quarter of such a jest, the first syllable of the first word, for such jesting is a privilege I only grant myself.

tulameen raspberries fresh picked

Raspberries like these always inspire my theatrics. (And I wonder why I live alone.)

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