Read more of my interview with Enid Shaw in the Methow Valley News
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Enid Shaw turns 99
Read more of my interview with Enid Shaw in the Methow Valley News
Monday, September 28, 2015
Where Soul meets Body
And the day touches night
On the edge of the forest glade
Where darkness meets the light
As the earth hides the moon
From the arms of the sun
Less is More
Time has just begun
That moment in between
That is where I will be
The anticipation
Where Soul meets Body
A Mother's Tale
“My father always said he’d been in love with my mother since the age of 5,” Kathleen Bigger said as she sipped a glass of iced tea and paused over a salad at the Twisp River Pub recently. “She was a beautiful watercolor artist — her works were displayed in different galleries. But the minute she became well known, she would walk away from it all. She was so ashamed, so afraid they would find out who she was …”
Read more of my interview with Kathleen Bigger in the Methow Valley News
Friday, September 25, 2015
Where Did All the Water Go?
Read more in the Methow Valley News
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
Kale Apple Ginger Soup
It is 'shoulder season' - the inbetween season of summertumn. End of summer, beginning of autumn. Mornings are chilly, afternoons are just right - not too hot, not too cool. Evenings come early, the temperatures dropping as quickly as the sun.
The garden is still prolific, and during the day a simple caprese salad of mozarella, basil, and tomatoes straight off the vine sounds pleasing for a dinner. But as twilight nears and the air cools, a soup becomes more and more attractive.
It is difficult to say 'no' to any fruit or vegetable in the garden, so this soup was born of the imagination when I couldn't turn away from the delecate kale and spinach, or the brightly colored carrots. Even the apples from the tree found their way into this hearty, satisfying fall soup.
Kale Apple Ginger Soup
Thick cut bacon2 cups water
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 sweet onion
2 inches ginger root, peeled
1 large carrot
1 large apple
5 garlic cloves
1 teaspoon turmeric
1 cup kale
1 cup spinach
1 bag frozen peas
4 cups (32 oz) chicken broth
Place single layer of thick cut bacon in bottom of large skillet, cover with 2 cups water and bring to a boil.
In soup pot, warm olive oil over medium heat. Roughly chop onion, ginger root, carrot, and apple. Place into pot along with whole cloves of garlic and turmeric. Stir to combine. Heat for 5 minutes or until onion turns translucent. Add kale, spinach, peas, and pour in the broth from the thick cut bacon - reserving the bacon. Stir in the chicken broth.
Bring to a boil and reduce heat to low, simmering until all the vegetables are tender.
Using a hand blender, blend until smooth.
Top with chopped bacon.
Monday, September 14, 2015
I was a vision of loveliness
White shirt, broad brimmed taupe hat, blue swim trunks.
Paddling across a cold alpine lake, trees along the shoreline turning their leaves in the autumn sun...
Loki enjoying the ride in the front of the kayak. Suddenly she whirled around and frantically licked my face - her way of saying, "I've got to poop. RIGHT NOW!!"
I quickly paddled to the closest shore, trying to avoid her lashing tongue - paddle bonking her on the head with every stroke.
I say, "we're almost there," she turns, and seeing the shoreline, leaps out of the kayak and swims to shore...only to get mired chest deep in black, inky muck.
She works her way free and bounds uphill, a look of happy relief as she finished her business. Meanwhile, I paddle over to a large boulder where she could jump from dry land to boulder to kayak and avoid the muck.
On her way down hill to the boulder she stopped in pleasant surprise. A cow had left a large fresh steamy pile...just for her. She flipped on her back and gleefully slid downhill, wiggling to ensure her fur was adequately coated, her muck-blackened legs happily pawing the air.
She hopped on the rock, ever so pleased with herself. Bottom half covered in black muck, top half covered in dung. A thick glob of mud slid down her side and landed with a loud kerplop on the rock. I tried to kick off from the rock, hoping she would instead swim alongside the kayak, but I wasn't fast enough. Loki leaped through the air and belly flopped into the kayak, her hind legs kicking in the water. Realizing that she was now "splashing", her other favorite activity besides rolling in shit, she made no effort to either get in or out of the kayak, as she was having much more fun splashing the water with her hind legs, sending splatters of dung and mud all over me and my white shirt, and my lovely broad brimmed taupe hat.
Nearby, in the other kayak, sat Joe and Shasta. Joe laughed hysterically. Shasta sat in quiet response, reclining in the bow like the queen of the Nile, her eyelids half closed in an afternoon nap.
Paddling across a cold alpine lake, trees along the shoreline turning their leaves in the autumn sun...
Loki enjoying the ride in the front of the kayak. Suddenly she whirled around and frantically licked my face - her way of saying, "I've got to poop. RIGHT NOW!!"
I quickly paddled to the closest shore, trying to avoid her lashing tongue - paddle bonking her on the head with every stroke.
I say, "we're almost there," she turns, and seeing the shoreline, leaps out of the kayak and swims to shore...only to get mired chest deep in black, inky muck.
She works her way free and bounds uphill, a look of happy relief as she finished her business. Meanwhile, I paddle over to a large boulder where she could jump from dry land to boulder to kayak and avoid the muck.
On her way down hill to the boulder she stopped in pleasant surprise. A cow had left a large fresh steamy pile...just for her. She flipped on her back and gleefully slid downhill, wiggling to ensure her fur was adequately coated, her muck-blackened legs happily pawing the air.
She hopped on the rock, ever so pleased with herself. Bottom half covered in black muck, top half covered in dung. A thick glob of mud slid down her side and landed with a loud kerplop on the rock. I tried to kick off from the rock, hoping she would instead swim alongside the kayak, but I wasn't fast enough. Loki leaped through the air and belly flopped into the kayak, her hind legs kicking in the water. Realizing that she was now "splashing", her other favorite activity besides rolling in shit, she made no effort to either get in or out of the kayak, as she was having much more fun splashing the water with her hind legs, sending splatters of dung and mud all over me and my white shirt, and my lovely broad brimmed taupe hat.
Nearby, in the other kayak, sat Joe and Shasta. Joe laughed hysterically. Shasta sat in quiet response, reclining in the bow like the queen of the Nile, her eyelids half closed in an afternoon nap.
Friday, August 28, 2015
What Travels on the Wind
Published in the Methow Valley News, August 26, 2015
During a week like this, some of us completely lose our appetites, but we still have the gumption to prepare food and feed people.
At a recent community meeting at Alta Lake, some people wanted to bring bulldozers, while Sue DePriest and Kathie Oberg brought freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. The bulldozers were turned away, but the cookies received a warm welcome.
Last Saturday, Denise Steffens heard Don Ashford on K-Root announce that there would be food at the community meeting in Methow that evening. She figured she better get cracking, since no one had made refreshment plans. Denise worked her magic and produced a warm cranberry bread and a platter of crispy kale chips that were quickly devoured by a hungry crowd.
The Methow meeting began with a round of appreciative applause for the local postal clerk who wishes not to be named. It was fortuitous chance that the clerk was at the Pateros post office when the mail arrived. Upon learning that the mail would not be delivered up valley, a phone call to the postmaster released the first-class Methow mail into the clerk’s capable hands for Methow delivery. Methowites were appreciative of both the mail, and her cranberry bread and savory kale chips.
After the amicable and informative meeting, Methowite Eric Zahn expressed his appreciation for everyone driving safely during the recent evacuations. The only road currently open in and out of the valley runs right through the heart of Methow, and Eric says thank you for “not driving like ______.” Rhymes with “grass toes.”
These last few days, plans change as quickly as the winds. Twispites April Wertz and Samantha Carlin were relaxing in my living room Friday morning as we deliberated over where to go for breakfast. A detailed strategy that included a drive down to Pateros Rivers Restaurant was conceived. The plan was approved with April’s famous finger snap, “That’s the plan!”
At that precise moment a fierce wind howled against the house. Huffing and puffing, it threatened to blow the house down. Our bodies stiffened. Our eyeballs flickered toward the windows and back to each other as we mentally calculated the risk of road closures in a blast so strong it could take down trees and power lines, and move fire. A mutual agreement was made to stay put and raid the pantry. Soon there were biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs, and Hank’s breakfast sausage … which was wordlessly just shoved around our plates, as our appetites had seem to have left with the wind.
Last Wednesday afternoon, I stood on my porch, reading updates on the newly ignited fire along Twisp River Road. One word stood out before tears blurred the rest of the message. “Entrapment.”
Overhead it was a clear blue sky. A gentle breeze set the wind chimes in motion, the melody floated over the creek and up the mountainside. When tragedy happens, a peaceful moment feels like blasphemy.
In old stories, myths and legends, a certain plot line reoccurs. A man digs a hole in a meadow and whispers a story into the dirt. A grove of aspens, or a bed of reeds sprout from the meadow and whisper the story every time a breeze passes through.
Perhaps the winds that moved the chimes on Wednesday were three men passing from one world to the next, whispering their stories along the cold creeks and rugged mountains. Each one of them was a force of nature in this world. God speed, men.
During a week like this, some of us completely lose our appetites, but we still have the gumption to prepare food and feed people.
At a recent community meeting at Alta Lake, some people wanted to bring bulldozers, while Sue DePriest and Kathie Oberg brought freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. The bulldozers were turned away, but the cookies received a warm welcome.
Last Saturday, Denise Steffens heard Don Ashford on K-Root announce that there would be food at the community meeting in Methow that evening. She figured she better get cracking, since no one had made refreshment plans. Denise worked her magic and produced a warm cranberry bread and a platter of crispy kale chips that were quickly devoured by a hungry crowd.
The Methow meeting began with a round of appreciative applause for the local postal clerk who wishes not to be named. It was fortuitous chance that the clerk was at the Pateros post office when the mail arrived. Upon learning that the mail would not be delivered up valley, a phone call to the postmaster released the first-class Methow mail into the clerk’s capable hands for Methow delivery. Methowites were appreciative of both the mail, and her cranberry bread and savory kale chips.
After the amicable and informative meeting, Methowite Eric Zahn expressed his appreciation for everyone driving safely during the recent evacuations. The only road currently open in and out of the valley runs right through the heart of Methow, and Eric says thank you for “not driving like ______.” Rhymes with “grass toes.”
These last few days, plans change as quickly as the winds. Twispites April Wertz and Samantha Carlin were relaxing in my living room Friday morning as we deliberated over where to go for breakfast. A detailed strategy that included a drive down to Pateros Rivers Restaurant was conceived. The plan was approved with April’s famous finger snap, “That’s the plan!”
At that precise moment a fierce wind howled against the house. Huffing and puffing, it threatened to blow the house down. Our bodies stiffened. Our eyeballs flickered toward the windows and back to each other as we mentally calculated the risk of road closures in a blast so strong it could take down trees and power lines, and move fire. A mutual agreement was made to stay put and raid the pantry. Soon there were biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs, and Hank’s breakfast sausage … which was wordlessly just shoved around our plates, as our appetites had seem to have left with the wind.
Last Wednesday afternoon, I stood on my porch, reading updates on the newly ignited fire along Twisp River Road. One word stood out before tears blurred the rest of the message. “Entrapment.”
Overhead it was a clear blue sky. A gentle breeze set the wind chimes in motion, the melody floated over the creek and up the mountainside. When tragedy happens, a peaceful moment feels like blasphemy.
In old stories, myths and legends, a certain plot line reoccurs. A man digs a hole in a meadow and whispers a story into the dirt. A grove of aspens, or a bed of reeds sprout from the meadow and whisper the story every time a breeze passes through.
Perhaps the winds that moved the chimes on Wednesday were three men passing from one world to the next, whispering their stories along the cold creeks and rugged mountains. Each one of them was a force of nature in this world. God speed, men.
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