Tall Clover Farm

Mothers Day: Mom’s the Word

Celebrations

Tom

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May 8, 2011

A younger me in the company of Mom and Grandma greatness.

Mother’s Day is a tough one to get right sometimes; it has been a lifelong learning curve that I’m just now beginning to understand. For years, I thought the celebration was about the gift or flowers, about matching a material gesture to the heart of the woman I call Mom. And while such things are and were appreciated and cherished wholeheartedly, my mother would always say, “You shouldn’t have. You know I’m happy with just a card.”

My siblings and I never believed her; a card couldn’t possibly be enough. Now much wiser (as seen in my greying temples and pensive visage), I see that she was indeed telling the truth (as mothers should).

Whether you buy or make a card, this is truly a case where it’s the thoughts that count. If you’re having trouble, think of what you’d say to a friend in describing your Mom and why she’s special to you. And while there are no doubt volumes to tell, keep it simple, earnest and something that will brighten her day, this day and every time she rereads it (and she will).

The idea of setting aside one day to celebrate my mother falls short. Though a nice societal nod, the occasion does not fully define her or live up to what she’s done over a lifetime with aplomb, fortitude, perseverance, grace and humor. Mom’s deserve our hearts every day–our kind words, support, attention and respect.

So on this Mother’s Day, I plan to celebrate my Mom every day by living the lessons she taught me every day: words trump trinkets; listening outshines lecturing; actions eclipse intentions and there’s no substitute for heart and home.”Happy Mother’s Day!

Boz and Gracie agree (and also feel the love).

My sister continues the tradition by joining the ranks of World’s Greatest Moms

Today Is Special…And So Is Tomorrow

Tomagrams

Tom

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May 6, 2011

21

Whether tap water, hard cider (above) or French Champagne, drink up, toast the day.

I have a quirk (okay, maybe a lot of quirks), but I’m not so sure this slant has served me well. I often keep something for a special occasion or reserve it for a more audacious or celebratory moment. I’m no hoarder (at least not yet), but after a couple rounds of unexpected self-reflection (personal growth is so exhausting), I came face to face with yet another epiphany and vowed to change my off-based penchant of waiting for a special time or place to enjoy something, and to favor the goodness here and now (or at least before its expiration date or subsequent deterioration).

Pie unrealized, and a message from my favorite apples: use us or lose us.

Case in point, four years ago a dear and generous friend I don’t see enough of, Ellen, came by for a visit and left me with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot champagne. As a man used to buying ‘champagnes’ with appellations nowhere near France or the premium wine rack, I tried not to clutch the thing like a chilled newborn.

Fast forward to my birthday dinner this year. I ran out of bubbly, but was drawn to the gleam of an orange-gold label in the back of my cluttered fridge. As an icebox fixture for close to half a decade, the Veuve Clicquot finally broke its silence and called out to me (exasperated and in French no less) “Monsieur, le moment est venu.” When magnums speak, I listen (and don’t drive). Indeed, the time was now to enjoy.

I uncorked the puppy (quite improperly I might add), bestowing a fine dent in the ceiling and a lesser example on the the forehead of an unsuspecting dinner guest (beware of the ricochet). We dispatched the bottle before a cold compress could soothe a surprisingly understanding (and now swelling) brow. While the champagne was heaven on high, I appreciated that the people around me made the moment special, not so much the libation. The bottle sat empty, but the evening brimmed full.

Lesson learned: saving this 2004 Parisian souvenir for a special occasion only sealed its fate in the can and as a cake not baked.

Is there a message here? Oh I don’t know, I just think too often we run around saving things for better days or times, when every day really is a special gift. Perhaps a readjustment is needed; use your good china, eat from silver, share a meal, give someone flowers, buy a pal coffee, wear your Sunday best on a Wednesday, pet a friendly dog, call a sibling, split a dessert, mow a neighbor’s lawn. (Uh, second thought, let’s omit that last one.) Things don’t make the day special, people do.

Don’t get me wrong; of course not every day is swell. Some days embody the staleness of a week-old biscuit or the sourness of turned milk. For me, seizing the day does not mean I have to climb a mountain, cure cancer or swim with dolphins, but it does mean I have to engage, listen and be willing to open my eyes to the people, delights and gifts around me. By always waiting for a special occasion, we can miss out on the present.

Boz is all about Carpe Diem; leave a chair empty, and he will surely join the party.

The Hardware Store Restaurant on our main drag sums it well in an old wooden sign posted on the landmark’s Northeast corner: Today’s special…and so is tomorrow.

I couldn’t agree more.

This actually was a special occasion, a sunny day in Seattle.

Why Make Compost? Glad You Asked.

Gardening

Tom

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May 4, 2011

6

Seattle leads the nation in home composting, an impressive development thanks to the City of Seattle and King County’s effort to make it easy and almost second nature for residents to do so.

According to King County, over 90 percent of single family households can now recycle food scraps in their yard waste bin, and turn last night’s pot roast and potatoes into a new main course for the garden. My people call it compost, a nutrient-rich soil amendment that helps your garden grow.

Since I live in rural King County, where yard/food waste pick-up is not available, I have to be a little more resourceful and focused to make home composting happen. Not a problem, as I’ve come up with a cheap and easy (my two favorite adjectives) way to make a worm compost bin. Once I snap some photos and find the right words to properly heap praise upon the miracle of vermiculture (worm composting), I shall share my revelations on making the right stuff, right here at home.

UPDATE: My DIY Worm Bin and Backyard Composter

Vermiculture: Tom’s New Can of Worms

In the meantime, here are some related links to get you started:

May bluebells bloom beautifully thanks to an autumn dressing of composted leaves.Boz is an avid (if not haphazard) composter–here, making handy work of a bone and bed of bluebells.

LOVE on the Horizon, Fun Along the Shore

Island Life

Tom

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April 30, 2011

8

LOVE on the Horizon, Fun Along the Shore

Dom channeling his inner Robert Indiana

The logistical challenges of living on an island serviced by a car ferry are many. When friends come to visit me from off-island, I tend to prep or remind them of what to expect when their road more traveled becomes a marine highway subject to the whims of weather, schedules and load factors.

Today’s weather forecast: Popsicle toes

So today, when some dear pals from Seattle missed getting on the Vashon ferry by two cars, and had to wait for the next ferry, they sent a text alerting me along with some inspired snapshots. For some folks, a missed ferry is reason to complain and fidget. For others it’s cause for an impromptu beach walk where an unexpected delay allows time for play. And for an even rarer few, it’s reason enough to share the L-O-V-E.

Miss Lucy jumps for joy on a West Seattle beach.

First island stop Vashon Farmers Market–from one good egg to another!

(photos: Sam and Dom)

Who’s Been Sleeping in My Hammock?

Boz & Gracie

Tom

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April 26, 2011

18

Last Saturday, we received our one allotted day of partly sunny weather for the week, so I feverishly begin tackling the chores reserved for outdoor duty. By mid-morning, I was ready to take a break. I thought a little respite on the hammock would work wonders in restoring my enthusiasm (and back) for more weeding, mowing, pruning and planting.

As I rounded the corner of the house, I was startled to see a sagging hammock, and by all accounts, an occupied hammock. Approaching, I wondered, who’s cheeky enough to commandeer my hammock, especially as I toil in the beds beyond. Seconds later, I had my answer.

Grasshoppers, I have taught you well.

The healing powers of the hammock should not be underestimated. (Now scoot over.)

Today’s Proverb: A Load of Crap

Tomagrams

Tom

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April 23, 2011

10

Today’s Proberb (based on local feedback)

He who has a parcel of errands in town, should refrain from first loading his truck with manure…or perhaps
If one’s truck is full of crap, stay home (until emptied).

“What? We don’t smell anything?” B&G: My two shotgun-riding sanitation engineers.

High Fashion Goes to the Dogs

Boz & Gracie

Tom

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April 20, 2011

21

Boz & Gracie Sport a Slicker New Look

Boz and Gracie enjoy taking time to smell the flowers while showing off the latest in farm fashions.

Uh oh, I can hear the rumblings and see the eye rolls now; Tom’s taken to dressing up the dogs. (Well, I do live alone.) Actually I’ve only done it once, and that was to keep up appearances for a couple purebreds hellbent on a poker game at our place. (They insisted on a business casual.)

Boz is not quite sure if the cape is better at repelling rain or enhancing canine powers.

Boz & Gracie have never been prisoners of fashion. Sure they don a nice top-stitched leather collar and lead once in a while, but bonnets, wigs and jumpsuits are costumes best left to insecure Poodles and dogmatic Chihuahuas. For the most part, and Tartan aside, the only thing Boz and Gracie like to feel on their back is a reassuring pat and occasional bum scratch.

Always the lady, Gracie makes fast work of a plastic pot with nary a collar out of place.

Last week after talking to my Mom about our poor run of weather, I mentioned to her Boz and Gracie’s reluctance to exit the house for anything less than a sunny day. With a Seattle rainfall record in March, and April playing out to be the all-time coldest April on record, the bullies are bearish on getting soaked and chilled.

A couple of dandy lions among the dandelions.

One week later a parcel arrives and my pups are staying high and dry. Thanks to my Mom’s design, pattern-making, sewing skills, and sense of style, Boz and Gracie have been outfitted with rain capes worthy of Burberry and London Fog.

And while summer tends to be a dry season in the Pacific Northwest, it’s also the beginning of Dungeness Crab, fried chicken and rib season. Bulldogs permitting, I believe I’ve found another use for these handsome capes (and yes, it would appear Boz and I share the same neck size).

Thanks Mom, from Boz, Gracie and the Guy with the bib.

Salmonberry Flower: Pretty in Pink

Plants I Love

Tom

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April 17, 2011

10

I don’t have a whole lot to say this morning (now there’s a switch), but this blossom from a volunteer salmonberry bush (Rubus spectabilis) caught my attention, and I thought perhaps yours would like to be caught, as well.

Related Links:

Friends Don’t Let Friends Buy Store-Bought Jam

Island Life

Tom

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April 14, 2011

15

Friends Don’t Let Friends Buy Store-Bought Jam

Jam First Responder: Nancy to the rescue, jars in hand.

The Surprise Arrival of Homemade Jam

Yesterday, I pondered the absence of jam in my pantry. Today, a goddess named Nancy, traveled down the Westside highway (her chariot a full-size flat bed truck) to bestow a coveted cache of delicacies on me and wrong the right of culinary deprivation.

As Boz and Gracie greeted our jar juggler on the porch, I wasted no time or decorum in asking her (the man has no shame), “Are those for me?” Nancy smiled and said, “Yes, friends don’t let friends buy store-bought jam.”

Nancy, a gifted cook, skillful canner and downright awesome friend, set a quartet of jars down on the counter for me to inspect. She said, “Let’s see, I brought you sour cherry preserves, some chunky caramelized apple sauce, pear chutney and cinnamon-apple pie filling. At least I think that’s what she said, as I had difficulty hearing over the choir of angels singing in my head and the licking of my chops.

Jarred by such generosity

I thanked Nancy with words, hugs, tea and bread, and broke out a few jars of my remaining provisions in the form of homemade salsa verde, orange marmalade, and summer fruit chutney. She was delighted, but really expected nothing in return(which of course is no surprise).

Nancy, just in case you read this…in addition to my undying devotion, should you a need a kidney transplant, a tire changed or mousetrap cleared, I’m your man.

Sorry Ma’am, I’m Out of Jam (for Now)

Tomagrams

Tom

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April 13, 2011

15

With my last jar of jam (apricot) spoken for, I am officially out of preserves.

Seasonal changes surround me, bare branches have a costume change, bluebells break through beds of dried leaves, and winged choruses serenade me early and often. The signs of spring are not only witnessed from a hammock view or back porch perch, but from the shelves of the kitchen pantry.

I wonder if corn relish will work on a PB-and-No-J sandwich.

Like hourglasses, canning jars tell time, once brimming with summer’s bounty, their new-found emptiness awaits another harvest and more tall tales of what tastes best. Winter may hang on a little longer, but the shine of glass jars before me suggests its reign is nearing an end and I will once again have the opportunity to capture another season’s goodness one harvest and spoonful at a time.