Tall Clover Farm

Preserving Lemons: A Sweet Way to Save a Sour Fruit

Recipes

Tom

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March 3, 2016

Preserving Lemons: A Sweet Way to Save a Sour Fruit

Preserving lemons never looked or tasted so good.

Last month my friend Myra gave me some Meyer Lemons from her mother’s tree in California. I think my response was somewhere between abject gushing and that of accepting an Academy Award. Yep, just shy of tearing up and saying, “I’d like to thank Myra, her mother Fern, and all the lemon growers everywhere who elevate our culinary lives and our pucker with these sunny little orbs.”

A couple weeks later, Fern ships me an entire box. And like the saying goes, “When life gives you lemons, make pie.” Well, at least that’s my version. Fern’s generous gift needed attending to, but I wasn’t sure how to proceed. I knew I would share some of the lemons with many of my like-minded, lemon-loving friends, but I would need to preserve some of the lemons to avoid spoilage. And then it came to me, I would preserve the lemons by pureeing them whole in sugar, like my first step in making shaker lemon pie filling. Funny thing is, once I made this, I learned (through sampling, of course) that preserving lemons with sugar and by freezing captures a truly fresh lemony flavor good for just about any recipe or dish needing some brightness and citrusy notes.

How to Preserve a lot of lemons for a later day.

Step 1: Scrub lemons clean and dry off.

Step 2: Grade lemons for size. Ideally, you want two large lemons per pint batch. If small lemons, I use four per batch.

Step 3: With peel on, slice off both tip ends of each lemon, and quarter lemon lengthwise.

Step 4: With kitchen scissors, cut out the center interior pith running the length of the lemon quarter.

Step 5: Remove seeds, which is easy now, since cutting the center pith releases them.

Step 6: Cut quarters in half and place in food processor with two cups of sugar.

Step 7: Pulse until chopped into small pieces.

Step 8: Then, turn the food processor on for 2-3 minutes until lemon mixture is a thick puree.

Step 9: Pour lemon-sugar puree into pint jar or ziploc bag, leaving about half an inch air space from the top.

Step 10: Pop a lid on each jar, tighten and freeze.

The puree doesn’t freeze solid, but instead stays spoonable. So, should you need a dollop of fresh lemon flavor, reach for the freezer. By preserving lemons today, I have lemon pie (and more) tomorrow.

Uses for homemade Lemon Puree, in addition to Shaker Lemon Pie filling:

To Flavor

yogurt
baked goods
salad dressing
oatmeal
granola
side dishes
ice cream
brining solution
meat marinade
sauces

shaker lemon pie -Buddy's favorite — Buddy studying and stewing over who is going to get the bigger slice of pie.

tom and bj lemons — My friend BJ, asked “how do you rate?” To which I replied, “I have no idea, but one thing’s for sure, Miss Fern has a pie coming her way when she visits the island this summer!”

Thank you Fern and Myra, from one grateful lover of lemons.

Shaker Lemon Pie: The Recipe

Chicken Staycation: Day Trip to the Greenhouse

Chickens

Tom

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February 27, 2016

28

Chicken Staycation: Day Trip to the Greenhouse

Chicken Staycation: Greener Pastures Make for Happy Chickens

Happy Chicken Staycation Art — One happy chicken by Vashon Island artist Marcia McKinzie (with permission to use)

Winter wetness has been a tough reality for my chickens (and me), especially considering February rainfall broke an all time record in the Puget Sound (Seattle) area. Wet chickens are right up there with wet cats, not a pretty sight; and no matter how much I try to keep things dry, Mother Nature still insinuates herself into their lives on a daily basis from muddy eggs to sodden feathers.

I could see that the girls and sir rooster needed a break, a chicken staycation so to speak. My greenhouse sits just south of my chicken coop and run, always teasing the flock with the promise of warmth, forage, dryness, and light. Heck, I would venture to say, my greenhouse is to chickens as the Mall of America is to a busload of winter-weary Minnesotans. I’ve hesitated letting them in the greenhouse for fear of complete and utter destruction of every living thing within its clear-plastic-covered walls. For those of you unfamiliar with a backyard flock, their sweet appearance belies an innate demeanor; chickens are velociraptors with feathers and beaks. Left to their own devices, a flock can decimate a garden faster than you can say, “Bob’s your uncle.”

In February, my greenhouse is in a sad state anyway, plants limping along, last season’s beauties collapsed on the floor, mourning a party that had to end. And that’s where the chickens come in (literally). They get a day trip to a dry spot and floral shop of edible and scratchable curiosities. In a week or so they will make handiwork of weeds, failing foliage, and crawling critters. I put up a screen for the area housing my current crop of spring blooming bulbs, and then, opened the door, and said, “Let the party and vacation begin.” I had half a mind to join them — to unfold a lawnchair, pour a libation, and set my iPod to ambient ocean waves.

Marcia McKinzie chicken art chicken staycation — What a rested chicken looks like. Artist: Marcia McKinzie

Earlier this winter, I extended my chicken run by letting the flock have access to my overgrown, weedy, all-is-forsaken raspberry patch. Within one week, they weeded it thoroughly, and by the second week, the barnyard banshees tore up and scratched through the top two inches of soil, rototilling the entire patch into soft fluffy mulch. By having mobile electric fences (to keep predators out and chickens in), I can change up the chicken yard boundaries every so often.

I keep the chickens out of the raspberry patch during the growing seasons as they peck at new sprouts, that when fully grown, will produce next year’s berries. The hens are also capable aerialists when it comes to securing low hanging fruit. Sometimes I let them in for one day just to clean up the fallen berries and a few weeds, while entertaining me with their antics. I lure them out of the patch and back the coop with a chicken’s drug of choice, mealworms.

I shot a video to mark this auspicious occasion. Who doesn’t love home movies of a friend’s latest vacation?

Feature Presentation: Chicken Staycation

Wishing you were here!

–the ladies and gent of the roost

Update: Happy hens lay pretty eggs.

The eggs shown above were some of our flock’s first. The blue eggs are from cream crested legbars and the brown eggs from buff orpingtons and the black australorp.

Apple Sesame Whole Wheat Waffles

Recipes

Tom

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February 22, 2016

13

Apple Sesame Whole Wheat Waffles light up any morning!

Since I showed off my vintage Griswold waffle iron in the last post, I felt it only appropriate to share the recipe that makes this little cast iron batter baker sing: apple sesame whole wheat waffles or sesame crunch waffles as they are also known. As with all things Tom, there’s a story, though a short one at that. When I lived in Seattle, the Sunlit Cafe was a regular breakfast stop where I enjoyed (in my humble opinion) the world’s best waffle. Crispy, flavorful, grainy, and delicious, the Sunlit Cafe’s waffle had bulk, density, heft, and chew-worthiness. For me, a light airy waffle is best served to an appreciative dieter.

whole wheat waffles ingredients — Applesauce, sesame seeds, honey and buttermilk bring big flavor to the party.

I’m not a vegetarian, but the Sunlit Cafe, Seattle’s longest-running vegetarian eating establishment, showed me vegetarian food could knock my socks off, if given the chance. Cafe Flora is another shining example of what vegetarian food aspires to be. Here on the island, we have wonderful Snapdragon Bakery and Cafe, which simply serves delicious, creative food, that just happens to be vegetarian.

Over the years, I’ve tried to find a decent recipe similar to the Sunlit Cafe’s waffle wonder, but to no avail. Every recipe I tried, disappointed me—light, airy, as disheartening as my first popover. And then, just last year, I tried again, searching online for a recipe worthy of my newly acquired Griswold waffle iron. The clouds parted, the sun shone through, and a choir of angels sang softly, and then, the blog Davebakes.com appeared as numero uno in my search results.

griswold waffle iron and batter — Griddle me this!

I pored over one of Dave’s blog posts, mumbling, yes, yes, this is the recipe. Give me an Amen, Dave! And while we were on the same quest for the best whole-wheat waffle around, Dave got there first, and I say amen to that too, especially since he’s a generous soul who shares his recipes. Thank you Dave, from the top of my syrup pitcher to the bottom of my waffle iron.

So here’s Dave’s sesame crunch waffle recipe, with just a minor modification: I substitute honey and sugar for agave nectar.

Apple Sesame Whole Wheat Waffles

Print recipe

Serves	8
Dietary	Vegetarian
Meal type	Breakfast
Website	Dave Bakes

I love these apple sesame whole wheat waffles, and have to thank Davebakes.com for desconstructing the recipe or at least one that's very close to the Sunlit Cafe's beloved version in Seattle.

Ingredients

1/2 cup applesauce
1 3/4 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1/4 cup honey (may substitute, sugar or agave nectar)
1/4 cup sugar
2 cups whole wheat flour
1 cup sesame seeds
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

Directions

Step 1
Mix wet ingredients.
Step 2
In separate bowl, mix dry ingredients.
Step 3
Add dry ingredients to wet ingredients, one-half cup at a time, and incorporate until lumps are gone and batter is thick. It may take a little more buttermilk, at times.
Step 4
Heat waffle iron, coat grates with oil (high temps butter burns). Pour or spoon enough batter to cover two-thirds of the waffle iron's surface as the batter will spread when the iron is closed.
Step 5
Since all waffle irons are different, let your nose help you. Steam will rise and a good baking aroma, will alert you as when to remove or at least take a peak.

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Oh, and do yourself a favor, these waffles (and you) deserve real maple syrup. It does cost more, but there’s nothing better atop chunks of bready goodness than runny pools of melted butter and maple syrup.

sesame crunch waffles and real maple syrup — The power of the square

griswold waffle iron — My favorite tool in my breakfast arsenal: Griswold, American No. 8, waffle iron.

Five Great Vintage Kitchen Gadgets

Eating Well

Tom

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February 15, 2016

35

Kitchen gadgets: treasures in them thar drawers

apple peeler kitchen gadgets — I think there are as many different apple peelers as apple varieties. I’ll feature my apple peeler in an upcoming post, but for now feast your eyes on some other great kitchen gadgets.

I sometimes joke that I was born in the wrong century, and then four words spring to mind: dental care and indoor plumbing. Nope, I’m very happy in the twenty-first century as long as I can benefit from modern medicine and hot showers, while still enjoying the best of vintage culinary tools, namely the kitchen gadgets of a bygone era. Of course, when it comes to farm tools, I draw the line, and am quite satisfied with all things powered and designed for ease-of-use (broadfork included).

American ingenuity certainly found a perfect design studio in the kitchen. When it came to the tools of the kitchen trade, form followed function, and beautifully, I might add. Who knew cooking a waffle or blending pastry dough could be performance art.

So let me share with you some great kitchen gadgets, favorites of mine and vintage all. As much fun to look at as to use, and I do use them regularly.

Griswold Rotating Waffle Iron

My friend Jacquie gave me this weighty cast iron treasure, my holy grail of kitchen gadgets. The Griswold American No. 8 waffle iron fits over the stovetop burner, reaches heat, and sizzles a satisfying song when the batter floods the griddle base. The design-genius is found in the ball and socket joinery. When the waffle needs to be turned, you simply lift and pivot the closed waffle round to brown the other side of the waffle. As if this gift wasn’t special enough, the 1908 waffle iron has the inimitable patina of a well-loved tool from the kitchen of Jacquie’s mother who lived on the Yakama Reservation in Washington state.

Turn-Key Nut Chopper

There are nut choppers, and then, there are nut choppers. This little gem on the left elevates the task with its nifty glass storage jar and it nut-chopper topper of tenacious tines. Simply turn the jar over a salad or a sundae and twist the turn-key to release a hailstorm of chopped nuts. I’ve managed to secure three: one for salted Virginia peanuts, one for walnuts; and one for Georgia pecans.

Tin Flour Shaker

It’s no secret I like to make and bake pies, so I beamed when I stumbled across this handsome tinman at our island thrift shop. To use, just remove the dome top sporting holes in the shape of a star, and fill the handled cylinder with flour about halfway up. Return the lid and turn over and shake lightly for a dusting of flour on any surface your heart desires.

Pastry Blender

This red-handled, wired wizard blends pie dough perfectly. The heavy-gauge wires flex and cut through cold lard, butter and shortening with ease. New pastry blenders are fine, but the old ones have cool wooden handles and a springiness not found in most modern pastry cutters.

Rapid Kitchen Utensils: Great Graters

Hashbrowns are as rare as grits around these parts so I’ve taken to making my own pan-fried potatoes a couple times a week. (And for the record, diners of America, home fries are not hashbrowns.) My quintet of “Rapid Kitchen Utensils” old graters are my go-to shredders of choice. Because the ends sport quarter-circle curves, the grater catches the edge to secure hand grating over bowls and frying pans.

I have more kitchen gadgets to share in forthcoming posts, but for now these should keep you busy in thrift shops and at yard sales. Happy Looking and Cooking!

Bulldog Chronicles: Buddy and His Ottoman Empire

Tom

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February 8, 2016

26

Bulldog Chronicles: Buddy and His Ottoman Empire

bulldog tug a war with Buddy — “This ottoman ain’t big enough for the two of us.”

Buddy (my bulldog) and I have settled into a daily routine, one that succumbs to tweaks now and then, mostly based on who is willing to budge, acquiesce, or turn the other cheek. So far, I still wear the crown, but my clever boy knows an opportunity when he sees one. Perhaps, you didn’t know the “b” in bulldog, stands for many things, from bossy and beautiful to bull-headed and beloved. So last week, Buddy carried out a land grab, one that I will happily concede to; his own ottoman empire so to speak. (Let me explain.)

When daylight wanes and temperatures drop, I head out to close up the chicken coop. Buddy, a complete barnyard gentleman, accompanies me on my rounds, though truth be told his stellar decorum was encouraged after his first foray into a low wattage chicken fence. Back in the house after we’ve both done our business (Buddy’s less mentionable), Buddy gets a treat for helping me, and we head upstairs.

bulldog happy dance — Buddy’s Happy Dance

In the TV room sits a large, albeit sad-looking ottoman, one that would have been thrown out the window if it had fit through the opening. It’s heavy, ugly and soiled from dining dogs and dirty paws. Needless to say, Boz and Gracie loved it. I loathed it, and swore when Boz and Gracie were gone, I’d pitch the monstrosity. (Word to the wise, not all garage sale finds are worthy of purchase, no matter what the price.) Currently, I dress it up with an old Hudson Bay Blanket.

Unfortunately, Buddy latched on the prime pooch real estate before I could say “claim jumper” or find someone to help me maneuver it down a flight of stairs and into my truck. This perch was his throne and I his jester. Entertain me, Tom, entertain me. Last night I watched Downton Abbey, while playing tug of war with Mr. Buddy. Talk about multi-tasking.

His favorite toys have specific purposes: the rope is for tug-a-war; the squeaky toy for fetching; and beef bones for gnawing with wild abandon. But last night our game-playing took a twist, one that made me laugh at first, that is before I saw the need to stand my ground. Buddy, my good man, you get the ottoman, but may I remind you that does not make me your valet. (Just call me Bates.)

bulldog buddy with a bone — A dog and his bone

As Buddy chewed his bone in full beast mode, it rolled off of the ottoman and onto the floor. Without thinking, I picked it up and put it back in his paws and jaws. Minutes later, said boned rolled off the ottoman again and onto the floor. Buddy turned to look at me in a way that can only be described as one that said, “Well, aren’t you going to get that?”

He looked over the edge of the ottoman like Wile E. Coyote looking down a miles-deep canyon with no end in sight. I said, “Buddy, I’m not getting that, it’s only a foot way.” He started to whimper like the bone was floating on a bed of lava, unattainable and lost forever. I repeated, “Buddy, not happening.” This went on for some time as I tried to concentrate on the more important issues at hand: will Lady Mary find love, will Anna have a baby, and will Lord Grantham survive his ulcer?

bulldog on ottoman — The bulldog version of giving me the cold shoulder

My next bathroom break, Buddy settled down, secured his bone and held court in a more courteous way. He tried the bone trick a couple more times, but in the end, I declared domestic victory. Ah Buddy, you already have my heart, and now the ottoman, but I really would like to keep the house. I think these are boundaries we both can live within.

Buddy and His Climb to the Top

Buddy

Tom

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January 27, 2016

23

I’m an early riser, but this morning at 4:32 am, I was an earlier riser. A poorly set alarm clock named Buddy awoke me by bounding out of bed with an urgency usually reserved for small bladders and long movies. Within seconds of heeding his march down the hall, I heard the sound, the coughing song, the gag reflex set-up, that gets this man out of bed faster than the words “house a fire.” Yep, Buddy was about to show me how his stomach felt about a few “treats” I gave him before bedtime. Apparently, I am not the only one put off by fatty pot roast. (Please accept my apologies, Buddy.)

In hot pursuit, tripping over shoes, yesterday’s sweatshirt, and a tangle of extension cords, I made it to the guest room and flipped the light switch. There Buddy stood, scowl intact (and in my direction, and deservedly so). I still had time to save the last rug untouched by any dog’s delivery (no matter which end). Then Buddy, started heaving with mechanical precision and cadence. There was no stopping what he was about to dispense. With the determination of a base runner sliding home, I pulled off my t-shirt and lunged toward Mr. Buddy. Disaster was averted, well at least for the rug, not so much for the tee.

It’s a bit later, and Buddy is fine, I am fine, my t-shirt—now in the washer—is fine, and I have learned my lesson. And since I can’t get back to sleep, this chatty prologue brings me to another story about getting to know Buddy.

I’ve been enjoying Buddy’s company now for a little over three weeks. And as we get to know each other, his stalwart personality reveals itself in quirky and comical ways (which is probably what he says about me). Buddy prefers to sit up high, say on a chair or ottoman, as if thrones. When I work at my desk, he requires a chair be placed next to me so he can climb up ( I will video this for you some time) and sit eye-to-eye, well actually more like muzzle-to-shoulder.

I learned about Buddy’s druthers for high-altitude climbs the first time I left him alone. When I returned home, Buddy was peering out the window from the vantage point of the kitchen table. Papers, a laptop, camera cords, cups and saucers did little to deter my determined Sherpa. He had reached his Everest courtesy of bulldog pluck and a well-placed Captain’s chair.

I had to laugh, but knew that this stunt was a one-time thing if I had a say in the matter. Apparently, I did not. The next time I returned home, I found Buddy unapologetically back on the table, butt wigglin’, heart soarin’, papers a flyin’. How could this be? I had moved all of the chairs away from the table, and yet one was backed up to it like a step stool. And then I recalled Buddy’s antics of the day before. Buddy hides his bones and toys under two wingbacks in the living room. When he wants to access his hidden treasure, he body blocks the chair until it moves enough to reveal his chewable cache. Yes, Buddy moves hearts and furniture. So to keep Buddy off the table for good, I now flip the kitchen chairs over on each like like it’s closing time at the neighborhood bar. Unless he grows thumbs, I think my tabletop is now safe from his claim.

And yet, this is not the end of the story. I’ve been missing my camera, which was last seen next to my laptop on the kitchen table about—you guessed it—three weeks ago. And since I use my camera daily, I’ve been scouring every inch of house, truck, coop, and farm environs to find it. I hate to make accusations, but I do know Buddy has a fascination with anything small enough to be carted away by his ample jaws. After a week of coming up empty, I feared my camera was likely buried in a mossy grave or under a crush of ferns outside, courtesy of my resident excavator and object relocator. And so I bit the bullet, and ordered a new camera.

Yesterday, I was pitching my recyclables in the new compactor at our island transfer station. The curious behemoth takes just about everything and crushes it for transport off-island to be sorted at a central facility. With the last bag in hand, ready for its handoff to the gaping compactor, I spotted a couple seed catalogs. (I have trouble letting go, sometimes.) I grabbed them, only to reveal my camera beneath their folds, along with a favorite cap. And so I discovered Buddy’s other hiding place just in the knick of time. Now if I can just find out where Buddy put its battery charger, I’ll have some new photos for you on your next visit to Tall Clover Farm. Well wishes, friends, oh, and Buddy says “Hi and thanks for the warm welcome.”

Someone’s been sitting in my chair… (photos via camera phone)

Bulldog News: Buddy Is in the House

Buddy

Tom

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January 16, 2016

23

Bulldog News: First Edition!

We just finished week two together, and Buddy and I are settling in quite nicely. Yes, the lovefest continues full throttle. Of course, welcoming a new canine comrade to the house is a lesson in patience, understanding and dishing out an inordinate amount of butt scratches. If made to choose between food and water, and a vigorous rump rub, Buddy would gladly back in for the latter. In fact, at our current frequency, I suspect carpal tunnel syndrome may be in my future.

When Buddy first arrived he would not leave my side, oh wait, maybe it was the other way around. As he grew more comfortable with his surroundings and me, his personality and sunny disposition begin to fill the farmhouse. He is home now, indeed, and I thought I’d share some of Buddy’s adventures (and shenanigans) over the last two weeks. He is his own dog.

Buddy met with local canine glitterati, Phoebe and Tillie, who you may recall made headlines, after loyal friend Tillie sought human help to free her pal Phoebe from being trapped in a cistern.

Climb every mountain... — Climb every mountain…

I left Buddy for just a moment while I went to feed the chickens. When I returned, he had pushed the chair back so he could use it as a step stool and launching pad to reach the tabletop above. And may I add, he was totally unapologetic. I call it Buddy’s beast mode. When he wants something under a chair, he just body blocks it and moves the chair out of the way. From wicker to wing backs, my little furniture mover is undaunted by the weight or size of the object to be prodded.

Update: And, as for the People magazine diet issue on the table, well it was a bit of joke by a well-meaning, albeit cheeky, friend — a not-so subtle hint about a direction I should take in the coming year. Oh, I’m on it, after the this double cheeseburger and chocolate shake.

Update II: I seem to be missing my camera. I left it on the table, I’m quite sure. I just hope it’s not corroding under some moss heap in the yard or entombed in a dust-bunny warren under the bed. I will send out a search party shortly. Now Buddy, I’m not pointing fingers or paws, but you do have proximity and nature working against you here.

Sleeping beauty — Sleeping Beauty, make that Sleeping Buddy…

Buddy has an interesting sleep regimen. In my bed, he is a torpedo to my battleship. I’m trying to train him that my lower back is not a good place to rest, and that sidling next to me is better than laying on top of me. And unfortunately, Buddy thought my CPAP sleeping mask was the perfect chew toy. I’m not sure what was worse: a mask chewed or dripping in bulldog slobber.

that is one toasty store — Buddy trying on his new collar for size at Filson.

Since 1897, Filson has been known for its unfailing goods, and so what better place to procure a new leather collar for Buddy than this iconic Seattle retailer, besides it’s the only thing I can afford in their leather line. While the impressive new store on 1st Avenue South had me at hello, Buddy and I were sweltering. Not sure how Filson’s moleskin-shirted, wool-vested, logger-hatted store clerks don’t spontaneously combust after a few hours on the floor. A panting Buddy and Tom were welcomed with open flannel-sleeved arms and treated like a prospector who had struck it rich. Thank you, Filson.

where's the ferry — “What do you mean we just missed the ferry?”

In the truck, Buddy is a committed wingman and shotgun-riding aficionado, offering notice of dogs nearby and ferry workers wanting tickets. Because he is so much bigger than Boz, Buddy has a clear view over the dashboard and is just one well-placed hat and coat away from facilitating my entry into the carpool lane (dashing brut and commuter that he is).

When I’m in my office (read kitchen table), Buddy is torn between supervising me from his comfy bed or my uncomfy cane chair. First he’ll try the chair and its elevated perspective, but the combination of sleep, relaxation, and gravity never bodes well for my furry upright sleeper. Minutes later, he returns to his bed, and gives me a look that is the canine equivalent of “carry on, carry on.” And so I do Buddy, so I do.

In closing, I would again like to thank everyone for their words of kindness, support and encouragement over the last several months; it meant (and means) so much to me. Thank you.

Ringing in the New Year With Buddy!

Buddy

Tom

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January 9, 2016

57

"First things first, so where's my dog dish and bed?" — “First things first, so where’s my dog dish and bed?”

Celebrating New Year’s Eve has never been a social long suit of mine. My internal time clock chimes in around 10 o’clock p.m. with “Commence shutdown! Eyelids standing by.” But this New Year’s Eve, I really had something to cheer about, and keep me awake a little longer: a new addition to my family, Buddy.

We couldn't make it to midnight. — We couldn’t make it to midnight.

Just days before New Year’s Eve, I received a call from the Pacific Northwest Bulldog Rescue, where I had an adoption application on file. I was encouraged that they may have a match for me, that is, a bulldog needing a home like mine and a person like me. It’s a lot like online dating; you want all parties to be happy with the end result.

Guess who's riding shotgun. — Buddy ridin’ shotgun.

And now that I know Buddy a little better, if I were to pen his dating profile, it would read like this:

Handsome Hunk of Loving Bulldog: I’m a tall drink of water, for a bulldog, and I like long walks on beaches…hiking trails, farmlands and city parks. My friends say I’m quite dapper, sporting a white furry overcoat and fawn-colored britches, all punctuated by a spot the size of Jupiter on my port side. I do kiss on the first date and all subsequent dates, and I have no trouble with butt rubs from friends and strangers alike. Athletically speaking, I’m active—will chase a ball, frisbee or rope, and tug-of-war with the best of them. I have uncanny climbing abilities, especially if a kitchen table is the desired summit. I’m a light sleeper and gentle snorer, barely making the sounds of a wispy fireplace bellow. As for personality, I have some serious animal magnetism. I’m attentive, engaged and secure enough not to chase chickens. And while I like the comfort of home, I find a daily trip in the truck is a fine way to cap the day.

Needless to say, when we met it was love at first sight, and I was giddy and ridiculous and channeling the emotions of a six-year old on Christmas day. I learned a lot from his foster mom, and accepted her well wishes and tote of treats and treasures for Buddy to take to his new home.

Buddy and I are settling in, and I couldn’t be happier with the big lug, and from what I can see, the feeling is mutual. I would like to thank everyone for their kind support and generous words after the loss of Boz and Gracie. I read all your comments, many times over and they meant a lot to me. I didn’t think a bully would be gracing the floorboards of Tall Clover Farm for awhile, but things happened sooner than expected and I always have an open-door policy when it comes to a bulldog buddy in need.

A Fitting Goodbye to Christmas Past

Tom

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December 31, 2015

25

looking glass — View from my front porch: chilly on the outside, toasty on the inside

A week of celebrating, and a drizzly, slate-gray morning have led me to reflect on some of the small moments of this big season. Yep, some fond memories and a cuppa joe are warming my winter chills this morning. Chastened by the benefits of age and expectation, I tend to enjoy Christmas in a less-is-more fashion. Gone are the days of keeping a ledger, a not-so-subliminal list of activities, events, and must-do’s that add up to having a proper Christmas. I’ve come to realize that seeing the show, heading to the mall, picking the perfect tree, and buying expensive gifts, a Christmas does not make, nor provide meaning to. I suspect we all know that, but when the Christmas train leaves the station in October, I have to make a conscious effort to stay off the tracks. The gifts of the season (and my life, for that matter) are the people in it.

Changing scene — Last year, when snow came to Tall Clover

The day after Christmas I was invited to an open house by friends who I would have to say always have an open house in my mind. I saw some old friends, made some new ones, and stumbled into few conversations where my mind and mouth were woefully out of concert; and this without the help of some boozy eggnog. Wood stoves and wool sweaters get the best of me, so I needed to cool down outside on the covered porch. A wicker chair awaited my arrival. I just had to maneuver through the minefield of shoes, clogs, boots, Birkenstocks, and Bogs blanketing the front stoop. One false step, and I would crush someone’s favorite footwear, and no doubt trip the light fantastic. Secure in the chair and a brisk embrace, and with no sprained ankles to speak of, I eased back and looked up at the rafters and strings of Christmas lights. Water drops on my glasses, made for quite a show.

Christmas Amaryllis putting on quite a show. — Last year’s “Christmas Amaryllis” putting on quite a show well after the holiday.

Perched on a porch between indoors and out, I could hear muffled laughter and spirited conversations behind the changing kaleidoscope of steamy windows. As a self-proclaimed human furnace, I find sanctuary on porches, where bouts of wind and rain say “howdy-do” and “simmer down” in one bracing kiss. A quintessential Pacific Northwest drizzle held an impromptu concert on the rhodie leaves and rain chain. It really can be the sweetest sounding rain you’ve ever heard. There’s no urgency in either its delivery or its dissipation. A few deep inhales and exhales, and the wind ushered away my sighted breath into the night. Christmas, like its recent full moon, was waning; and closure was in the house and on the porch. I found comfort in the spirited voices behind me, beauty in the abundance before me, and calm in knowing the next few days would be willingly served by peace and quiet. Happy New Year, my friends. May we all find the light that fuels our lives.

nnn — When the electricity goes out, the candles stay on.

Note: These photos were taken earlier, as I can’t find my camera. I know it’s around here somewhere; perhaps I’m in need of a New Year’s resolution about putting things away…nah, that’s crazy talk. Again, well wishes for the coming year!

The Beauty of Gratitude: Thank You

Celebrations

Tom

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December 17, 2015

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Boz Santa Baby — Handsome Boz embodied the spirit of Christmas spirit everyday. (Lightmark Press)

My year has been marked by the loss of my two favorite furballs: Boz and Gracie. But my year has also been marked by the exceptional, generous and heartfelt remarks, condolences, considerations and well wishes of many of you here on this blog. And for that I thank you. By global standards, my daily gifts are enviable, from simple things like fresh water, and a roof over my head, to the safety net of a giving community, to the love of my family and friends, to beauty of the island where I live.

My wish each day, is that I never take this for granted, that when I flip a switch, there is light, and I marvel; that when I pick up a phone, and say, “Good morning,” to my Mom a coast away, I thank my lucky stars; that when I hurt, I am consoled; that when I plant a seed, it grows; that when I tell a story, it may move a soul to laughter. My gratitude does not end there, for here on my blog, I feel the kindness of new and old friends through the wonder of technology and a little storytelling, and again, I sincerely thank you for that gift.

Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays.

Tom

If I may leave you with my thank you in photos, and some of the things that bring me joy and will hopefully touch your heart or make you smile as well.

LunaCafe_IMG_6133_dahliance — Dahlia Adagio: Nature’s rich dance

sometimes you have to spell it out — Sometimes you just have to spell it out.

tulips and bulldgos — Boz and Gracie channeling their inner Vermeer ( a favorite photo of mine)