Domesticity and Dispatches

I am continually amazed by how much knowledge has been lost within the past generation or two. If you were to ask the people around them if they knew how to bake a loaf of bread from scratch, darn a sock, make soup stock, or hand-sew a straight seam, chances are that only a scant few will know what you're talking about, and even fewer will be able to do these things themselves.  In this era, bread and socks both come from stores, stock comes in cubes, and why on earth would you ever need to know how to sew anything when you can just buy it?

My close circle of friends may be an exception to this general mindset, as many are either SCAdians or those who cherish self-sufficiency and simple living, but I also have extended family members and general acquaintances who wouldn't know how to prepare a meal that didn't come out of a can, and would have to run to mom in order to have a button sewn back onto a shirt.

Sometimes I wonder what might happen if modern conveniences were suddenly stripped away because of some natural disaster or somesuch.  Take a look at a few things that are sitting around you right now. Is there a bottle of hand cream nearby? Maybe a tube of lip balm? Would you know how to make those from household materials if you needed to?
If your pen wore out, would you know how to use a quill and ink? (Do you even know how to use a pen anymore, now that everyone types their correspondences?) What about cough syrup? 

If you've seen our "Dispatch Ontario" children's activity book series, you've probably noticed that it has a noticeable Victorian lean, and has both recipes and crafts for young folks. When we created them, we were influenced rather strongly by the New Dominion Monthly magazines that were published in Montreal during the later 1800s, and the activities and such that we learned about as we read those magazines certainly inspired and influenced our life out here in rural Quebec: we've begun to work the land to grow our own food, and we cook and bake (nearly) everything from scratch. 

Back in the Victorian and Edwardian eras, most people made the majority of their household products themselves, with the exception of a few luxury items like soap or perfume that may have been purchased from a shop. "Housekeeping" books were quite popular, and included everything from perfume recipes to gardening tips, and had entire sections on what skills to teach children at which age.

I spin yarn, knit/crochet, sew, and mend our clothes, and my newfound love of canning is nothing shy of obsessive. Just a scant 100 years ago, the average person would have known all kinds of skills like these, and it's sad to think that many of them might be lost merely because modern convenience has taken precedence over homemade craft.

Interestingly enough, these skills would have come in amazingly handy when we were younger, and we like to hope that some of the crafts and recipes we share with our young readers might pique their curiosity as far as self-sufficiency and such are concerned.

On that very note, we've been asked by a few people if there will be more volumes in the series, and we'd like to reassure you that yes—we are working on new material that we hope to release in 2014. 
Our move to Quebec (and an assortment of projects) have kept us busy for quite a while, but we've missed the Ani.Mals, fae folk, and such that we got to know while creating these books, so stay tuned for their re-emergence in releases that will now under the umbrella of Dispatch Canada.

Stay tuned!

Appreciation of Bygone Eras

Although it isn't officially wintertime yet, being a week and a half away from the solstice, the sub-zero temperatures and generous snowfalls have created quite the glittering wonderland around our home. We've had the opportunity to plough/shovel snow several times now, and it's fun to see the tracks that different creatures have left through the powdery stuff. Deer have been visiting the feeder up on the hill, and we've discovered fox, rabbit, squirrel, and raven tracks around the property. Our bird feeders have been little social hubs as well: it's not uncommon to see an entire flock of chickadees fighting for space around them, with raucous blue jays waiting on the patio beneath, waiting for seeds to tumble down to them.

There is such a glorious magic to this place; one that I don't think I truly appreciated last year when we were living by the lake. Granted, there was a fierce beauty to behold there—especially after the water froze, capturing luminous green waves in mid-fall—but spending a winter in the forest is an entirely different experience. The stillness here is nearly mind-boggling, and although we head into town once a week or so to check the post and buy a few groceries, we often go for days without seeing or speaking to any other human beings. I can imagine that many people find that isolating, but I find it more serene and soothing to the soul than I could ever express.

I actually prefer this type of isolation, but recent experiences have really made me consider what Nathaniel's ancestors must have experienced, living out here in the wild. His family settled here over four hundred years ago, and both sides of his family has several generations' worth of folks who have lived upon and loved this land. Even with all of our modern tools and equipment, it isn't "easy" living here in wintertime: wood has to be cut and stacked, fingers freeze and shiver if kindling won't catch quickly enough, and fierce storms can knock the power out.

When it comes to acquiring food, that's another story entirely. Sure, we have a months' worth of canned tomatoes, beets, and carrots, but we didn't get to can as much as I'd have liked last summer, and the few herbs and leafy greens that I've managed to sprout in the pallid light that seeps in through the window are anaemic at best. On our walk to the grocery store today, we discussed the possibility of MacGuyvering a hydroponic bay in the basement so we can have fresh produce in wintertime.

Speaking of grocery shopping, that's the hilarious topic that brought to mind the idea of bygone eras and ancestral hardships. Having grown up in Toronto, I often had groceries delivered to the door as soon as ice appeared on the roads, or else I'd take a quick walk to the corner store run by a lovely Vietnamese lady to buy any number of fresh vegetables for next to nothing. Out here, a head of broccoli can run as high as five dollars in wintertime, and don't even think about a luxury item like an avocado or an orange. The cost of food is unbelievable, and the only supermarket in town is two kilometres from our house. Walking (or biking) that distance is certainly keeping us in shape, but since the dirt road leading to our home is barely ploughed during this season, we get to walk through the snow to get to our destination.

Much like N's ancestors would have done.

I've read stories about the people who settled this wild land, and the journeys they would take to pick up essential supplies from the closest town. Some would snowshoe for ten km or more just to pick up a bit of tea, sugar, flour, and such, or families would band together and take a horse-drawn sleigh to town for their shopping. A village such as ours would likely have had a general store and a counter (or even a small shop) where people could receive their orders from the Hudson's Bay Company, but every outing to the town centre would have been quite the undertaking.

It was -8C (-2C in the sunshine) when we headed out today, bundled as we were in multiple layers of clothing. I had tights under yoga pants, topped with waterproof ski pants, and 3 shirts (cotton, cotton/silk, and wool) beneath my coat, while Sir N had thermal longjohns under his ski pants. Since the road nearby is basically a treacherous ice slick covered with powdery fluff, we chose to take a path through the woods instead... and what an adventure that turned out to be. As we trudged through knee-high snow, flanked by spruce, cedar, and bare-limbed birch trees, I think I mentioned to Nathaniel that it was like walking through Narnia; I half-expected a little scarved faun to peek around the corner and offer me some crumpets, but then again, this is Quebec—he'd probably swear at me in Joual good-naturedly and then offer me a sip of his bière.

The woods were quite silent as we walked, and the journey had a nearly meditative quality: we both tend to get inspired while walking, and all manner of thoughts and ideas percolated in our minds as we stomped and slid our way to the store. There's something so invigorating about marching through snowdrifts, and at some points we followed deer tracks en route to our destination. We picked up just enough that we could carry comfortably, and headed back the way we came, stepping in our own tracks for ease of walking.

I must say, one develops a startling appreciation for the little things when one has to battle the elements to attain them. The cup of coffee I'm sipping right now is absolute ambrosia, and I'm certainly looking forward to nibbling overpriced lettuce for supper tonight. Our ancestors wouldn't have been able to enjoy fresh vegetables until the first fiddleheads and sorrel leaves appeared in April/May; they would have subsisted mostly on root vegetable soups/stews, hard biscuits, and a bit of cured meat/pickled items they'd have put by in the autumn. I'm so immensely grateful for these small luxuries, which I haven't truly appreciated until now—it's incredible what we'll take for granted until they're not immediately available, and the horrendously unladylike manner in which I slid down the hill and crawled across my porch today ensures that I'll never take any morsel for granted ever again.

Here's to respecting our ancestors' resilience and strength, and to woodland adventures. I may have to cook something on the wood stove soon in honour of those who have come before, and made homes/lives for themselves in this gorgeous, untamed land.

New Beginnings.

If I thought that the last post we made here was embarrassingly late, this one deserves a hearty apology and a batch of home-baked cookies. It's been over seven months since our last update, and although a lot has happened in that time, we could have at least made an attempt to post a note here and there.
I'm sorry, truly.
Now that the dust has settled and we're nesting in for the winter, we can devote a bit more time to burbling about what's been happening with us.

As mentioned above, a lot has occurred over the last several months, not least of which was moving into our own home here in the wild woods. Yes, for the first time in our lives, we have a house all to ourselves, and a nice swatch of land that we can cultivate into garden spaces. This has been a dream of ours for quite some time, and it still doesn't feel completely "real" yet. My guess is that it'll take some time for everything to really sink in; right now, it's still very fresh and exciting, but every so often we'll turn to one another and ask whether we are , in fact, actually here, or whether we'll wake up from this. It's beautiful and overwhelming at turns, but in the loveliest way possible.

Although we've been in our new home for a few months now, we've only begun to scratch the surface as far as decor is concerned. We have a general aesthetic in mind for the house, but it'll take some time to amass the bits of furniture, artwork, and other accoutrements that will make our house truly "home". The building has only stood for about thirty years, so we'll be adding bits outside to give it a more Victorian/Edwardian feel, and the interior decor is a combination of that era's influence, and a reflection of our woodland locale.

At the very least, we've painted over the hues chosen by the previous owner, as they were eye-searing beyond measure. Who paints a kitchen terracotta and yellow? Honestly.
The hues we've chosen for the house have been drawn from the forest around us: river stones, tree bark, moss, lichen, sky, stream, wildflower. The kitchen is white and blue, while the living room is white, grey, and mossy green. Our bedroom is all shades of stone and bark, while N's studio is a manly, woodsy place—iron, wood, loam. My studio is an airy aerie in white, aqua, pale pink, and light grey, and the garden outdoors... well, those will have personalities all their own.

We spent the summer sanding, painting, and fixing things, and the winter will be a time for nesting and planning: those gardens will require a lot of work, and between establishing food-bearing trees, creating raised permaculture beds for perennial vegetables, and scattering local wildflower seeds, we'll certainly be kept busy! For now, let's just hope that the windowsill herb garden grows in the weak winter light, and that the deer will return to visit us over the cold half of the year.

March's Great and Terrible Beauty.

Spring is approaching.
The last few months have graced us with some of the most beautiful, startling weather I've ever experienced, and if I hadn't fallen in love with rural Quebec before, I certainly have now. There is a perfect, sacred stillness to be found when it's -30C and all is still in the woods. Snow glitters like diamond dust where it clings to cedar and spruce, and even the most hardy animals nestle into their burrows to keep warm on nights so cold, the stars themselves threaten to crack. We saw the green tendrils of Aurora borealis thread and dance across the sky, watched deer pick their way across the frozen lake, and befriended the little red squirrel that lives in the tree behind our house. Now that the snow has begun to melt and days are growing warmer, we're seeing another face of this wild and fierce land.

Photo by John B.

There is no denying that nature is beautiful beyond words, but all that imagery of a gentle, loving, kind Mother Nature/Gaia figure is seriously lacking in honesty. Yes, there is extraordinary beauty in the feathers of a bird's wing; in spring flowers, and baby rabbits, and the way that sunlight dapples lake water... but there is also so much suffering and violence. As I remarked to a friend earlier, " I have heard rabbits scream as hawks tore them from their burrows, and seen fish go through their death throes while being pecked apart by herons." If ever there was awareness of the brutality that exists in nature, it's at this time of year. Winter's stores have been depleted, and spring's new life has yet to burst forth from either earth or womb. A dead deer was found in my mother-in-law's yard up the hill, and within a day, the carcass had disappeared; drawn into the woods and picked clean by every hungry being in the area. Coyotes have been venturing closer and closer, their yips echoing through the woods as they search for food, and though the little red squirrel that lives in our cedar is plump from all the peanut butter sandwiches we made for it this winter, its cousins are looking significantly more haggard and bony.

Lac Simon's ice is receding, and there's a weasel sifting through the debris on the shore. I think I saw him pick up a mussel shell, so hopefully he's found some nourishment on this grey, rainy day. The official first day of spring is in 9 days, and though the landscape is unlikely to explode into verdant fields overnight, I like to hope that this season of rebirth, growth, and renewal will be kind to the many beings with whom we share this land.

Photo by Jim Nix

CHANGES, & SIMPLE PLEASURES

Wow, it's been a while since we updated... like, a full year! Sorry about that! Things have been a bit crazy in our world, and we're still in the midst of getting settled... but the bottom line is that we've taken a leap of faith and decided to move from our flat in the core of downtown Toronto to a little cottage in the woods of rural Quebec. How awesome is that?

Though we've kept the "33 Leagues" aspect of our blog, we've changed the subtitle to "33 Leagues from Mont Royal", with a slightly different spin on things: though we're still locavore enthusiasts, we're aiming to focus on all things related to the region of Quebec we're now living in, from its history and early days to its local culture. We're actually 33 leagues (just over 100 miles) from Montreal (the oldest port in Canada), and we'll certainly be focusing a great deal on all of the amazing things available to us around here.

We've been observing the land to determine what to plant where for our permaculture garden next spring, and we'll be wildcrafting the wooded areas around our place for all manner of forest plants. Though we have a plethora of local herbs to cultivate and harvest (cohosh! yarrow! red clover! burdock! milk thistle! mullein!), we'll also be planting some other medicinal herbs of our own and are considering inoculating some fallen hardwood logs with oyster mushroom spores. *glee*

Leaving the city has been a dream of ours for quite some time, and though we're a bit nervous about taking such a leap, we're looking forward to the change of pace. The tips and tricks we've learned in the city will certainly be of use in the countryside, and with all the organic produce available locally, you can bet we'll be canning and preserving our little hearts out! We also have a bunch of projects on the go for the winter months:

• learning how to make cheese
• making mead/metheglin and cider
• more sewing and knitting projects (those are likely just mine)
• making more tinctures, salves, etc.

It's certainly the time of year for nesting and prepping for things to keep us busy during the colder half of the year, and you can be certain that we'll both keep busy and creative for months to come.

Living in the country allows for a far greater attunement to the subtle shifts in seasonal weather than in the city. Sure, when we lived in downtown Toronto we were able to enjoy the changing leaves and crisp breeze that autumn brings, but the little shifts that are visible each day here by the lake are really noticeable. Squirrels and chipmunks have been scurrying around rather frantically, their cheeks packed with seeds and nuts, and flocks of geese have been flying by in their classic V formation, honking all the while. We even saw a moose swim across the lake! Amazing. Evenings are getting chillier, and the wonderful scent of woodsmoke has been wafting over to us from people's hearths around the bay.

Needless to say, the food we've been eating has taken on a more autumnal note, with warm meals now becoming daily indulgences in place of the salads and sandwiches we enjoyed during the summer months.

In addition to immersing myself in the local dialect (which I seem to be picking up far more quickly than I'd expected), we've also been doing a fair bit of research on the area's history, culture, and of course, traditional food. Though I spent a great deal of my childhood living in Montreal, we didn't eat much in the way of French Canadian cuisine, as my parents chose to stick to the Northern Euro dishes they were familiar with. Nathaniel was fortunate enough to have spent a great deal of time with his French-Canadian grandmother, who spoiled him rotten with all manner of traditional foods. (Did I mention she's an amazing cook?)

Montreal is also a rather cosmopolitan city, and though there's plenty of Quebecois fare to be enjoyed around town, one can get anything from a falafel to a bowl of chana masala in the downtown core... not to mention a bagel slathered in cream cheese with capers and smoked salmon. Sigh. I wonder if there are any decent gluten-free bagels to be found in that city?

Enough about Montreal's multicultural snacks, then: we're out in the bush. Having passed the ruins of homesteads that must have been built 200 years ago (or more), I find myself wondering about the people who settled and cultivated this land. Who were they? What were their dreams like? What did they do to keep themselves occupied over the long winter months? Quebec really does have an intricate, gorgeous history, and I have nothing but admiration for the hardy folk who settled here and not only survived, but thrived, and sowed the seeds of a culture that has thrived and grown over the centuries.

Naturally, in contemplating the previous inhabitants of this land, I'm inclined to wonder about the foods they ate. I've had the opportunity to try out some fantastic local dishes as prepared by Nathaniel's parents, aunts, and grandmother, but there's so much more to delve into. I’ve always been a fan of the hearty soups and stews of the region such as the traditional Habitant-style pea soup and ragoût de boulettes, but I'm also learning about all kinds of dishes I'd never even heard of before. With the food restrictions in our family—Celiac disease and allergies for me, while N is a vegetarian—I’ll be tweaking and experimenting to make versions of regional fare that we can both enjoy, while trying to stay as true to their roots as possible. We’re fortunate enough to live just down the road from N’s parents, so I’ll be able to test these recipes out on the locals, so to speak: considering that N’s paternal line has been here since the early 1500s, I’d say that they’re fairly qualified as taste-testers.

Being huge proponents of locavore eating, Nathaniel and I are hoping to use locally-produced ingredients as often as possible, so in addition to buying produce, eggs, and dairy from local farmers, we’ll be harvesting some edibles from the wild spaces around us. Seeing as how the early settlers here would have incorporated many native foods into their diet, we hope to follow in their footsteps and try to do the same, being as self-sufficient as possible while treating our food sources with respect and appreciation. I'm looking forward to using ingredients like burdock, garlic mustard, and items used in First Nations cuisine like local wild rice, squash, and assorted berries.

While writing this, I've been delving into some great Quebecois recipes, and am compiling a list of those I'd like to try out first. Since we're edging into autumn and there are so many wonderful apple varieties around, I might try my hand at the wonder that is the apple dumpling. My mother-in-law and her mum (yay Nanny!) made them a few weekends ago and I just fell in love with them, so I'm going to try my own hand at making them as well. I think it goes without saying that theirs will come out on top, but I'm sure mine will be a tasty mess in their own rights! Gooey, sticky, gluten-free messy piles of deliciousness, damn it. I'm happy that items from the farms and orchards nearby are carried by the village grocery store (as well as on roadside stands!), so I'll likely pick up some sharp cheddar along with the apples I'll need the next time Sir N and I are out shopping to use in my dumpling experiment.

Stay tuned: a recipe and pictures of my apple mess will be forthcoming shortly.

Love and light.

CWH

Sweet Autumn

Yesterday was officially the first day of autumn, and it's making me happier than I can possibly express. Most people who know me well know that this is my favourite season: the weather turns crisp and cool, leaves change colour, and a sense of calm falls over me as I begin to nest in for the winter. I have to admit, my idea of a perfect evening would be sharing a gorgeous dinner with a small group of friends, and then curling up by the fireside with a book or some knitting and a cup of mulled cider, and the darker half of the year is really quite meant for such evenings, isn't it? Wow, am I a wild child... Fortunately, my dear Nathaniel is much of the same mindset, so it works out rather well.


Our little sparrow, Robin, is growing up to be quite the handsome gentleman. It's amazing how much personality is squeezed into that bird, but it's truly a wonder to behold. He has definite likes and dislikes, an extensive vocabulary of warbles and squeaks, and recognises several words that we say: so far, the words that elicit the best response from him are "almond", "blueberry", and the latest one, "TIMBIT". I've also discovered his fondness for Lady Grey tea with agave syrup and a squeeze of lemon juice: what can I say, my boy has good taste. I just have to find a way to keep him out of my teacup.

Robin and a honey cruller Timbit with his name on it.

We thought that we would need to sort out a new nesting place for him for the winter, as his abode in a metal "N" atop our radiator would not be ideal once the heat is turned on. He seems to have sorted out that issue for himself, however, as he has made a little den for himself in one of the cubbyholes built into the Victorian writing-desk we have in a corner by the window.


This season is full of so many delights, and not just those of home and hearth: farmers' markets are teeming with the season's harvest, and we can once again indulge in soups, stews and casseroles that would have been terribly out of place in summertime. The other night, my dear friend Becca created a dish of quinoa with roasted squash, leeks, and garlic that was absolutely gorgeous, and I've been craving roasted squash and pear soup like you wouldn't believe. Nathaniel also has a penchant for creating melanges of root vegetables that, despite their simplicity, have a richness of flavour that has to be witnessed firsthand. We don't really have a recipe for this per se, but there are only a few key ingredients that are needed:


- organic root vegetables
- onion
- garlic
- olive oil
- herbs and spices of your choosing.


One of our favourite combinations was a mixture of sweet potatoes, russet potatoes, orange and purple carrots, parsnips, a bulb of garlic, and golden beets. The vegetables were all chopped into cubes, then tossed in a baking dish with olive oil, salt, pepper, a bit thyme and a sprinkle of herbes de Provence. We then roasted them at 400F for nearly an hour until the vegetables were soft, the onions had caramelised, and people were lining up outside the house to find out what we were cooking to make the neighbourhood smell that good.


We have a few creative projects on the go right now, though our major focus is on Dispatch Ontario 2: the second edition is a paperback rather than hardcover, and is full of stories, poems, colouring pages, puzzles and more! Stay tuned for further updates, and have a gorgeous weekend.

The Harvest Begins!

Oh my goodness. Was our last blog post really in June?
That's utterly dreadful.
Please accept our wholehearted apologies for the neglect of this blog: we've both been swamped with workstuff and the like, and putting up new blog posts was a priority that was shoved down the list somewhere between sock-mending and defrosting the freezer.


We shall be posting on here with greater frequency henceforth, we promise!


In our last post, we mentioned that we had found a baby sparrow and were raising it by hand: the wee one is now nearly three months old, is officially a male, and thriving merrily. He lives in our bedroom, has made a couple of little nesting spots for himself around the room, and has developed a taste for cherries, bananas, mangoes, and almond biscotti. (What can we say? Our little boy has good taste.)


In more creative news, Nathaniel and I have created our first children's book! Written and illustrated as a gift for our niece Isabelle, Dispatch Ontario is a tribute to local fauna, architecture, folklore and fun, all geared for an audience aged four to seven. This is the first book in a planned series, and will be available for sale online in the very near future.

We're currently working on content for the next installation, so stay tuned for news on that front!


Now that August has arrived, we're starting to see the fruits of our labours in terms of the few edible plants we've nurtured in our little garden over the past couple of months, and from the looks of it, we'll soon be barraged by more cherry tomatoes than we know what to do with. The heirloom beans are coming in full swing, and our heritage squash and pumpkin plants are starting to flower too! Another trip to Urban Harvest will be in order soon to buy more seeds to keep in storage, and we're saving as many seeds as possible from our own garden. (Do you know how to collect and store tomato seeds, beans and the like? If you're at all interested, leave a comment below or email us directly, and we'll write a blog post on how to do so.)


I hope you're all taking the opportunity to visit your local farmers markets as often as possible to revel in all of the gorgeous food that's coming to full ripeness now. We're heading to Whittamore Farms this coming weekend with a group of friends so we can pick some of our own vegetables, and we've been relishing the produce that's available at the St. Lawrence Market as well. The other night, we had a lovely friend of ours over for supper, and Nathaniel baked what was quite possibly the best vegetarian lasagna I've ever had. Using only local, organic ingredients from The Sweet Potato, he created a multi-layered, gluten free paradise with eggplant, zucchini, sweet potatoes, his own secret tomato sauce, and an assortment of cheeses. Absolutely gorgeous.


Is there a particular recipe that you like to make as summer draws to a close? 

Parenting Passer domesticus.

And so it was that on a sunny spring day in May, Nathaniel and I found ourselves to be the foster-parents to a baby sparrow.

Around 3pm on May 28th, N and I were on our way home from a friend's house when we decided to take an alternate route back to the house, and as we walked along Dundas street east of Runnymede, we saw an older man standing very still, staring at something on the sidewalk.
We approached slowly to see what it was he was looking at, and discovered that it was a tiny baby bird--pink and transparent, probably just hours old (if that), flailing helplessly on the concrete.

I immediately scooped the little thing up into my hands to warm it and told the man that we would take it home with us. He said "ok" and wandered off, and we made our way home with this tiny, fragile little life cupped protectively in my palms. Once we got home, some research was needed to sort out what species it was and what its needs would be, and at once, care for the little house sparrow began.

("Robin", 3 days old)

It's a very surreal experience to hand-feed a pink, cheeping little creature every twenty minutes from sunrise to sunset, but to see the changes in this little life in so short a time span has been nothing shy of miraculous: within a week, the little one (whom we've named Robin, as we don't yet know its gender) has opened his/her eyes, began to sprout feather-stalks, and is starting to look more like a bird than a nugget of chewing gum with a beak on it.

We have discovered that s/he likes to be held in one hand and sung to sleep, that one type of chirp means s/he's hungry while a different tone means that s/he needs to poop, and that blackberries mashed into his/her meals makes for a very, very happy birdlet. As his/her eyes are now fully open, there's a great deal of looking around at the magical new world around his/herself, and the little pink tongue that flicks out to taste new foods is so cute that my heart nearly breaks every time I see it.

It is a very strange, very beautiful experience to parent something so tiny and fragile and helpless. I've cared for human babies since I was in my early teens, and though they're also small and delicate, there's a hardiness to human infants that is completely incomparable to this small little life. At first, s/he weighed less than an ounce, and was completely bare-skinned and blind: the most helpless, vulnerable life form I have ever encountered, and one that was entirely dependent on Nathaniel and I for everything, from regular feedings to encouragement to relieve itself.  Since then, s/he has doubled in size, changed colour, opened his/her eyes, and sprouted little spikes all over his/her body that are beginning to erupt into soft brown wisps of feather. It's now been 11 days since we found our little friend, and his/her personality has been developing more and more each day.


Despite all of the fears and neuroses about accidentally injuring or otherwise scarring the wee birdlet, this has been an incredible experience, and I am eternally grateful for this adventure in foster-parenting. Never would I have imagined that I'd be getting up at the crack of dawn to mash berries into baby bird food, or stroking a little head the size of my fingertip to calm the wee one to sleep. Among the many lessons I'm learning in this journey, I think one of the most important ones is absolute presence in the moment: for the first week of Robin's life, s/he was so fragile and vulnerable that the possibility of death was very probable. In fact, 98% of orphaned birds don't survive their first 48 hours, so it was with bated breath that we checked on the little one every morning to see if s/he'd lived through the night.

All of this is certainly a lesson in appreciating every moment and cherishing its sweetness. Robin has changed so much in the last week and a bit, and each change is an irreversible one: s/he will never be a blind, pink, squiggly thing again, nor will we ever re-live the moment when s/he opened his/her eyes and looked around at the world for the first time. Every sensation is a new one, and we get to live them through him/her--right down to the bliss s/he seems to feel when we blow on his/her little back and s/he spreads wings to catch the draft around them.
With any luck, this presence of mind will expand to other aspects of life, and we can spend more time in the moment, appreciating it fully, and seeing it for the beautiful, ephemeral wonder that it is.

(Super soft sparrow-kisses)

I've always had an incredible affinity with birds, particularly the wee ones like sparrows and wrens, and I think it's strangely (but wonderfully) poetic that I am learning so much from one that's now sharing its life with us. I am honoured to be part of its growing process, and beyond delighted at the magical set of random circumstances that brought Robin to us.

S/he is unbelievably special, and so, SO loved. 

Almost summertime!

I've been so swamped with workstuff lately that when I realised that it's been over two months since we last updated this blog, I was beyond appalled. I've gone from being in a place in my life where I was writing daily, to scribbling notes on scrap pieces of paper every couple of weeks when I have a spare moment to breathe here and there.
Balance: Trying to find it. 


Actually, it's the pursuit of balance that's my main focus these days -- balancing work and LIFE, play and promise, friend-time and solo introspection, etc.
Living here in our little fortress of calm and peace in the High Park/Junction area is certainly playing a huge role in finding a measure of tranquility that hasn't been present in other places we've lived. I've started running again (for the first time in six years...  eek!) and as I explore the neighbourhood more and more, I'm realising what a treasure High Park really is. In previous years, I might have only gone to the park for the cherry blossom festival and the occasional barbecue, but it's now less than a ten minute walk from my house, and I'm reveling in visits there as often as possible. The trails are great for running on, there's a labyrinth to walk, and the swans in Grenadier pond always make me smile.


I'm also planning to start taking yoga classes at Green Lavender: an eco store and yoga studio that's just up the street from us. Spring/summer always seems to shake me from my cold-weather lethargy and makes me want to bounce around and stretch and play, and I think I'll just "go with it".  *grin*

This area is also full of wildlife that I've never even heard of, let alone encountered anywhere in Toronto before. There are 4 different species of warbler that live in the trees in our front yard, and I've seen foxes, opossums, little red chipmunks and plants that are gorgeous beyond measure. Nathaniel and I seem to encounter new bird species almost daily, and when we cleared several years' worth of mulch in the garden, we unearthed bulbs and other wee green things that have turned into yards of lily of the valley, creeping ivy, hostas, and other wondrous plants. I've never had a garden quite so lush before, and we're taking full advantage of our surroundings by having meals outside on our patio and spending evenings out there, reading until the light fades.


Trying to find time to write when all I do is type all day is another matter. It's hard to be inspired to pour forth prose when one's days are filled with seemingly endless torrents of work-stress. Therein lies the challenge, neh?  Being able to leave work at work, and replenish the self afterward so that creativity can flow forth. At least when I leave work, I have a verdant, calming space to retreat to, a wonderful partner whom I love dearly, and a plethora of knitstuffs and books to soothe my soul.  Thank the gods for small pleasures.


I'm off for now: heading over to the home turf of Orange Nose Cakery to pick up my beloved's bithday cake. The owner, Farida, has made a custom, gluten-free marvel for us to indulge in, and I can't wait to try it!


Namaste.

Organically speaking

any of us talk about making healthier choices when it comes to the food we eat, but a great number of people are deterred by the thought that buying organic/free range food is more expensive, and that attaining said foods is an inconvenience (i.e. not all major chain grocery stores carry organic food, so people have to trek all the way to a "health food" store to get it, then have to wade through miles of hippies, etc).

Fortunately, this isn't always the case.

Here in Toronto, stores like Loblaw, FreshCo, Metro and Sobeys either have sections dedicated to organic and healthy alternative products, or have these types of foods interspersed with their regular stock. When I went shopping at one of these stores recently, I found quinoa and kamut pasta right there on the shelf next to the wheaty ones, and there were all manner of certified organic bits to be found all over the store.
That being said, I prefer to support smaller local stores than the large chain ones, but if this isn't an option in your area, you may be pleasantly surprised to find such products where you least expect to.

While some "health food" products may be a bit more expensive than others, many of them are at the same price point, if not lower (if you don't mind buying in bulk). For example, at many health food stores, buying a bag of organic granola that you've shoveled into a sack yourself is far cheaper than oh, let's say... a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal (which, though delicious, is also not the healthiest choice as far as foodstuffs go).

I'm of the belief that the long-term benefits of eating for one's health are worth a bit of investment. The old adage "you are what you eat" holds true, as food is medicine in its own right, and what we put into our bodies has a profound effect on how our bodies and minds function. If this means shelling out an extra dollar for produce that hasn't been sprayed with carcinogenic, environment-destroying chemicals, I'm all for it.


Last week, Nathaniel and I had the pleasure of receiving our first box of produce from Mama Earth Organics -- a Toronto company that connects those who live here with local organic growers by delivering farm-fresh produce and other products to our homes. My first bite into an organic apple made my toes curl with happy, and we both had similar reactions when we tasted the Boston lettuce, blood oranges and other bits of wonder. These raw ingredients were exquisite, and the dishes we cooked with them had depth of flavour that just cannot translate properly into words.

Organic produce reminds me of what food tasted like when it was freshly harvested from the garden when I was a child. I remember picking tomatoes for supper after they'd been basking in the sunshine all day, and that crisp burst of tomato scent that wafted with each freeing tug was a small delight in itself.
Most of us have grown so accustomed to the flavourless fruit and vegetables that are readily (and cheaply) available in our local supermarkets that we have either forgotten or, even more sadly, never experienced what these foods should actually taste like.


Toronto has several organic home-delivery services that not only distribute produce, but also organic baked goods, preserves, dairy and meat products, and other delectable tidbits. In addition to Mama Earth, there's also Green Earth Organics, Front Door Organics, and though you have to pick it up yourself rather than having it delivered to your door, FoodShare puts together an impressive Good Food box as well.

In this week's basket, we received ambrosia apples, navel oranges, fair-trade bananas, shallots, rainbow carrots, Boston lettuce, spinach, fennel, black kale, and snap peas. We've eaten the snap peas raw, but we have plans for the other ingredients:


- Kamut soba noodles with kale and broccoli in a garlic-ginger-sesame sauce
- Fennel, carrot and apple slaw with a yogurt dressing
and
- Spinach and white bean soup (minus the turkey)

At least one of the bananas will likely end up in a smoothie of some sort. *grin*


As we continue to explore this city and its surroundings, we'll be keeping our eyes open for all manner of sources for organic foodstuffs, as well as sources for seeds to be able to grow herbs and veggies in our home garden. This weekend will include a trip to The Sweet Potato ,a health food store near our place in the Junction, and I've reserved a few hours to curl up in the window seat with a cup of tea to read my Encyclopedia of Organic Gardening.


Have a gorgeous weekend!
Be well, walk in Beauty.

Pioneer quest?

KAY... not quite a "quest" per se, but certainly a delving.
Let me explain: Nathaniel and I have been compiling a list of some historical places around southern Ontario that we're planning to visit over the next few months, and one of the places on the list is Black Creek Pioneer Village. I haven't visited that place since seventh grade, and Sir N has never been, so there's a significant measure of excitement in experiencing everything there from an adult's perspective.


Many of my own interests are more than a little anachronistic, so this forthcoming venture into Pioneer-world has caused the creative juices to churn and squeak, and I've come up with a creative endeavor that's going to be shared with my dear friend Kel, a soul-sister who lives on the other side of the world in the wilds of Tasmania: we're both going to create natural dyes from the native plants and mordants of our own areas, and use them in some artsy projects!  I'm aiming to dye both cloth and wool, do some sewing, and use the spun thread to embroider embellishments on whatever it is I'll be making.
This is exciting! I've been doing some research about the plants that are indigenous to our area, and can't wait to experiment with the colours I'll be able to create from the different plant parts. Of course, I'll have to wait for the snow to melt and the plants to actually start -growing- before I can harvest most of them to start dyeing, but there are some components I'll be able to work with fairly early.

I should be able to create light greens from the leaves of new herbs, pinks from early strawberries and sumac flowers, yellows from onion skins, etc. What I'll be creating with all of these components will be a surprise, but I'm really, really looking forward to the process.

In that same anachronistic vein, Nathaniel and I are aiming to learn some of the other things our pioneering predecessors would have spent their time doing, including canning/preserving berries and other fruit, brewing our own beer or wine, making our own cheese/yoghurt, foraging for wild foods, and tending a garden full of indigenous vegetables and flowers.


Spring really is just around the corner: the March rains will quickly give way to April's green, and we'll be prepped and ready to go!

A new day dawns, and a new journey begins.

HEN last you heard from your dear intrepid adventurers, I'd had a complete meltdown over my inability to remember what non-local foods tasted like, and Nathaniel had gone completely AWOL because of various work responsibilities. That was six months ago, and needless to say, a great deal of change has happened since then.


We did manage to adhere to the 100 Mile Challenge until mid September, at which point we abandoned it with much gusto and curled up with bowls of awesomeness at Thai Elephant on Queen West. Digging into a bowl of padh thai after three months of having no exposure to any spices was almost transcendental: I'm not over-exaggerating when I say that I got teary-eyed as I ate, and I have a vague memory of Sir N cradling his bowl of green curry rather tenderly. It was quite an interesting experience in terms of basking in flavours we were no longer accustomed to -- without regular exposure to those spices and seasonings, our taste buds had become more acute, and we found that we had greater sensitivity to subtleties in the foods we'd been eating. While before the challenge, I might have huffed in a bowl of said padh thai without much thought (probably whilst reading a book), this meal was a symphony to my senses, and I think we spent as much time talking about what we were tasting, as eating the meal itself.


In November, we moved into a new apartment close to the High Park area, and have been making regular sojourns to check out this part of town. Never having lived around here, we're reveling in the artistry of the area's Arts and Crafts homes, and we're both drawing a lot of inspiration from our surroundings for our own art and writing practices.
Since we're so fond of delving into this city's history, we're currently in the process of compiling a list of historical places within 100 Miles of our town that we're interested in exploring (including the multitude of fascinating nooks around Toronto itself, of course!) and the 33 Leagues form York blog is evolving into a celebration of Toronto and its surroundings.


There will be postings from dear Sir N and myself on topics such as:


- The architecture and history of various buildings
- Gardens and wild spaces
- Farmer's markets (and recipes to go along with foods purchased at them!)
- Wild foods that can be foraged and whereabouts one can do so
- Native species, their habitats, and why we find them interesting
- Dates that have historical significance (and any festivals surrounding them)
- Various other happenings around Toronto that pique our curiosity
...and so much more.


So the new journey begins, and with it, a meal to launch this mighty ship.
It's far (FAR) from anything we would have eaten in our 100 Mile challenge, and I'm more than happy to celebrate that. In fact, I may light a candle in thanks to whoever established the spice trade to begin with.

Our repast this evening consisted of hand-made flour tortillas, black bean mash, pico de gallo, guacamole, plain 1% yogurt in lieu of sour cream, shredded old cheddar, and sliced limes. This was served with a side of corn bread, but it wasn't pretty enough to take a picture of.
Just imagine perfect, golden wedges of cumin-laced cornbread deliciousness.
Great, thanks!


I can't give any recipe measurements per se because neither Nathaniel nor I actually use recipes or measurements when we're cooking. I can tell you that I've found the most perfect cornbread recipe EVER, and will be using this for all future cornbread-ish endeavors.


There's a trick to making really exquisite pico de gallo as well: if you're like me in that you're not fond of having mouthfuls of raw onion to contend with, try mincing the onion very finely and allowing it to cure in lime juice for 10-15 min before adding in the tomatoes and cilantro. The sweetness of the onion will come through along with a subtle bite, but that manky, overpowering "onion-y-ness" won't assault your face or come back to haunt you later.
The hand-made tortillas are super easy as well: just flour and a bit of baking powder and salt mixed with a 50/50 solution of water and oil until it makes a roll-able dough. These are rolled out into flat rounds that are approximately 6 inches in diameter, then thrown onto a hot (ungreased!) pan on high heat,  and tossed around back and forth until the bubbly bits start to go brown. The oil content keeps them pliant so you can fill them with all manner of deliciousness and then roll the up for easy devourings.
*Note: For my own cornbread, I substitute unsweetened organic soy milk mixed with a tiny bit of water in lieu of cow's milk.


With the exception of the cheese and sour cream, this meal was completely vegan and could be made entirely so with the use of vegan sour cream and cheese alternatives. Since we're not vegan (as mentioned before, Nathaniel is lacto-ovo veggievore and I'm a "pescetarian") we revel in dairy delicacies rather often, but it's nice to know that we can tweak recipes so our vegan friends can indulge in the food we create as well.


More to come soon!  I'm now going to curl up with a lovely cup of PG Tips and a book, and wish you all a wondrous weekend.

Pity party.

hinge alert ahead: you've been forewarned.

See the woman.
See the woman with big hair.
See the woman with big hair sulking at her desk.
See the woman with big hair sulking at her desk and having a complete self-pity party because she can't remember what cinnamon tastes like.

BLOODY HELL this is hard.

It really hit me this week, and I don't mean in an epiphanic way, but rather in a manner more befitting the fairly crunchy experience of having a 2x4 smack into my cranium.

I'd mentioned in previous posts how much I've been missing tea, and it's gotten to the point where I find myself daydreaming about it. Is that pathetic? I find myself wandering through the spice aisles at stores, fondling cloves and star anise, and stroking vanilla beans in a manner that could almost be construed as inappropriate. Same goes for coffee, and I've never been much of a fan of that particular beverage.
Nathaniel caught me with my face half-buried in a can of coffee grounds, inhaling deeply in an attempt to fend of the gnawing cravings that are tearing through me, though I'll not go into further detail about that particular moment of depravity in an attempt to leave some small vestige of my dignity intact.

This is unbelievable.

Strangely enough, I'm not craving avocados as much as I thought I would... I am, however, craving lemons, chick peas, pepper, cinnamon (as mentioned), OLIVES, and pickled herring so strongly that it almost feels like I will wither and die without them.

(In regard to the herring, I'm more of a pescetarian than full fledged veggievore, and we Northern Euro folks have a bit of a penchant for pickled and smoked fish products. Be happy I'm not delving into the subtle wonders of Kalles Kaviar.)

We have 46 days and just a little over 8 hours left in this challenge, and I'm starting to wonder if I have the tenacity to get through it without having a complete breakdown. Should this really be such a trial? I mean, this is just a question of food preferences and personal likes/dislikes, right? We're eating AMAZING food, learning to forage, being super creative with our cooking, supporting local farmers, and certainly not going "without"... are we just so accustomed to the plethora of exotic ingredients that we've been fortunate enough to have that being without them actually makes us go through serious withdrawal?

All I know is that right now, right this very moment, far from being in a position where I am wholeheartedly lauding the merits and marvels of locavore life, I am going over menu options for September 21st. Samosas laden with cumin? Padh thai? Latvian sprats on toast? I haven't decided yet, but if I'm in the same state of mind then as I am now, I might just spend the day rolling around in the emptied contents of my spice cabinet, thanking whatever gods are out there for trade routes, and drinking a London Fog the size of my bathtub.

Zucchinis and peaches, oh my!

ell, well. It -has- been a while since we updated, hasn't it? Many apologies: we've both been a trifle swamped with work and whatnot, and haven't had much time to dedicate to blog writing. Nathaniel will be posting as soon as he's able to, and in the meantime I get to dominate the blogosphere with my flowery prose and pretty pictures. *grin*

It's been a little over a month since we've been on this locavore challenge, and while I was correct in assuming that things haven't gotten any easier per se, there have been some advances. For example, I no longer burst into tears when someone asks if I'd like a cup of tea... I just get a bit misty-eyed and quickly change the subject.

We've both also learned to be very creative in terms of our seasonings when cooking and baking. One thing I can certainly say is that there is a local company that has completely saved my sanity during this challenge: The Ewenity Dairy Cooperative. Located just outside Guelph, they create sheep milk products (including cheese, yoghurt, and ice cream), and not only are they some of the nicest people I have ever met, their products are gorgeous. Being vegetarians, it's been rather difficult to ensure that we're getting enough protein, so the ready availability of these amazing dairy treasures has been wonderful.

Also wonderful is the fact that this is the time of the season when most fruits and vegetables are at their peak of "goodness". Farmers' markets are starting to be inundated with peaches, pears, apples, currants and GROUND CHERRIES (personal favourites of mine, can you tell?) as well as various squashes and root veggies. I'm focusing on two in particular for this blog entry: the zucchini, and the peach.


Most people cringe when they think about zucchinis (aka "courgettes"), generally because they haven't had very good experiences with them. To be honest, my own exposure to this delightful vegetable was limited to the zucchini bread we'd receive from a friend of the family every summer when her garden was overrun, and though it was delicious in its own right, it really didn't do much to make me want to eat more of it.
Fortunately, I have a predilection for French cuisine, and one dish from the Provence region uses zucchini in a spectacularly gorgeous way: paired with eggplant, tomatoes, and herbs, zucchini is one of the primary ingredients in ratatouille.
When I make ratatouille, I don't follow a particular recipe. I use what I have in the house (in varying quantities), and just sort of throw it all together. I don't measure anything, so the "recipe" I'm about to share is more of a rough guideline -- should you choose to make your own version, you could try to find a classic one online, but I'm a strong proponent for making up your own creations on the fly.

In today's version, we have:

1 large eggplant, peeled and chopped
1 large yellow zucchini, chopped
1 large onion, diced
a few leaves of basil, shredded
3 cloves garlic, minced
4 medium tomatoes, chopped
local herb mixture similar to Herbes de Provence
Niagara balsamic vinegar
canola oil
maple syrup
salt
chipotle pepper puree (we brought back a can of chipotle peppers when we came back from California, and are using it very sparingly in various dishes. Will explain the use later).

Pour a fair bit of oil into a large pot and set it to medium heat. Once it warms, add the onions and toss until they begin to soften. Add the zucchini, eggplant, salt, and herbs, and toss around for about 5 min. Then add the tomatoes, and continue to cook on med-low heat until the tomatoes give up their juices. At this point, add a touch of balsamic vinegar, a tiny bit of maple syrup to cut the acidity of the tomatoes and vinegar, and if you're not on the 100 mile challenge, a fair bit of cracked pepper. Since I like spice, I used a little bit of the liquid that the chipotles created in their can to add a depth and richness of flavour to the dish, as well as a bit of a spicy "kick".


This is all left to simmer until the vegetables are so soft that your great grandmother could slurp them through her dentures. In the autumn, I serve the dish piping hot with a side of warm crusty bread and a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. Now, in summertime, this will be served cold.
I chill it in the fridge for 4-5 hours, serve with thinly sliced toast triangles, and a glass of Pinot Gris.

...and what of the peaches? you must be asking by now. WELL THEN.
The half-bushel of peaches I bought at the Dufferin Grove farmer's market has been put to very good use: Not only have I been eating them raw, but I baked a pie with them too!!

Baking on the 100 mile journey is a HUGE challenge, since we can't use most of the ingredients we're accustomed to having on hand. Sugar? Baking powder? Shortening? Nope. Sooo... we make do with what we can, being creative on levels I'd have never imagined. With this recipe as well, these are just rough estimates as I rarely measure out anything.
Crust:

2 1/4 cups flour (I used local spelt flour)
pinch of salt
maybe 1/3 cup butter?
ice water

Add a pinch of salt to the flour and add the butter bit by bit until the flour comes together into pea-sized blobs as you mix it with a pair of forks. Then add ice water a small spoonful at a time until the dough all sticks together, then wrap it up in plastic and stick it in the fridge for an hour. Do NOT work the dough with your hands!! The only way you get that flaky pastry crust is if you let the butter stay cold in the dough throughout the process.

Take 2/3 of the dough and roll it out between 2 pieces of waxed or parchment paper, and lay this into a buttered pie pan. Smooth it down to form the lower crust, and bake for 10 min. Remove from the oven and set aside


Filling:

7 or 8 peaches: pitted, and sliced thinly
2-3 tablespoons of maple syrup
1/4 tsp of grated fresh ginger
corn starch
Preheat the oven to 350F.
Put the sliced peaches in a bowl and let sit so that their juices flow out and get all soupy. Add the grated ginger, and a couple of tablespoons of corn starch to thicken the mixture. Stir well, and let sit for 5 min or so.

Fill the pre-baked lower crust with the peach filling.
Take the remaining dough and roll it out as previously, only this time you'll cut it into thin strips to create the lattice top. Alternately, if you're a lazy bum like I am, you can just lay down one set of strips and then cover them with strips in the opposite direction for a faux-lattice effect. Ha!
Once the lattice top is on, press the edges down, toss it in the oven and bake for approx 40 min, or until the crust has gone a gorgeous golden brown.


This isn't a terribly sweet pie, so if you're not doing the 100 mile challenge, feel free to sweeten it up by adding a couple of tablespoons of brown sugar, or pralines, or whatever other bits you think would be amazing in it. My dear friend LilyBelle would likely eat something like this with a massive dollop of vanilla ice cream, but for those of us who don't have a raging sweet tooth, the subtlety of peach, ginger, and maple is a rather lovely finish to a light summer meal.

Enjoy!