Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries

I love cherries.

I heard on public radio the other day that the cherry crop this year is abundant. All the cherry trees bloomed at the same time and so all the cherries are ripe for market at the same time. And cherries from the northwest are flooding the stores and are very cheap.

Unfortunately, not cheap around here.

I could eat bowls of cherries by myself. And I have.

On the little farm back in Michigan, my Grandpa had planted many fruit trees: lots of apple trees, a couple of pears, and some cherry trees. In the yard behind the house were the cherries. By the time my parents bought the house and all of us kids were born, only three cherry trees remained. Two were those dark sweet cherries – maybe Bing – and one was the yellow with red blush. The trees were great for climbing all summer; the massive lower limbs seemed arranged just right for our bare feet and grasping hands.

The best time to climb, of course, was when the cherries were ripe. Sometimes I’d climb up the tree, pick cherries, and eat them right up there, spitting the pits across the weedy lawn.

We'd pick and pick the cherries, and have large serving bowls of cherries in the fridge. And Mom would can the cherries and in the winter we'd have bowls of soft, syrupy cherries for dessert. Or when I'd feign illness and stayed home from school, I'd open a jar of those cherries, sneak it upstairs, and eat all the cherries, right from the jar. And then feel slightly ill.

I'd do it again.

I love cherries.

Remembering sound

The white coneflower and the Rudbeckia maxima right next to the beehive have never stood so tall. Is it the sound of buzzing coming from deep inside the hive that prompts them to grow so happily?



The first day that the hive was in the garden, I stood close to it and listened to the buzzing. I’d heard that buzz before – constant, insistent, low. I was transported back to my childhood – a foggy distant memory of Grandpa George and his beehives.

The hives were not in the small apple orchard that stood between our house and Grandpa and Grandma’s house. They were in the far-off orchard that was tucked back beyond the grape yard. The bees were there to pollinate the orchard and grapes, I suppose; I don’t remember any harvest of honey. I do remember the buzzing and the heat of a summer’s day and riding with Grandpa in his old pickup.

Memory is connected with our senses and I’m often taken back on the wings of scent – the smell of apple blossoms, of cinnamon and yeast, of muguet de bois and Coppertone and line-dried sheets.

But the sounds of memory -- harder for me to summon up. I'm mulling this one over.

What are your sounds of memory?

Birthday wishes

Spring means birthdays for my two sisters. L has an April birthday. When I was a little girl I was enthralled and envious of her birthstone. Diamond! Like so many little girls, I dreamed of Wedding and all that goes with it. I remember a long family car trip to Montana. I sat in the 'way back' sketching out wedding dresses and bridesmaid dresses on little scraps of paper that my father brought home from shop. And my sister's birthstone was tangled up in my wedding reverie. L did not have a birthstone ring, but it was enough for me that her birthstone is diamond. Lucky duck.

My other sister, C, has a May birthday. Oh, yes, I had a reason to be envious of her birth month as well: her flower is lily of the valley. Muguet des bois. The most beautiful of all the spring floral scents. And the perfume! Oh how we loved that perfume. The scent of lily of the valley and the greening of spring and my sister with the blonde hair that I ironed for her . . . .

Sweet memories of a shared childhood. Flowers and car trips and daydreams . . . . and my little envious wishes for me have turned into many many joyful wishes for you, L, and for you, C.

Happy birthday sisters.

Dutch Currant Bread

KRENTENBROOD
Dutch Currant Bread




My brother and sil serve the most wonderful currant bread at Christmas. It's a long, low loaf, so full of currants that there is only a little bread between each little black dot. I love it.

A box of currants in the pantry and a wintery day inspired me to find a recipe for Krentenbrood and try to make it myself. I used the recipe here.

The dough was easy to put together in the stand mixer and I hand-kneaded just a little bit before the first rise. I may have made a mistake on the yeast -- used two envelopes of yeast for the 2 tsp called for -- I think each envelope may have 1 tablespoon, but I compared the amount of flour in this recipe with another and two envelopes seemed right. The first rise was proper, and once the loaves were shaped, the second rise seemed right, too.

My only other changes were to proof the yeast in 1/4 cup + 1 T of the sugar before putting it in and to plump up the currants. The currants appeared withered up to me, so I soaked them in hot water for 10 minutes and then dried them on paper towels. In the loaf, the currants are nice and plump -- so good.

Results? Pretty yummy! The two envelopes of yeast still seems right, but I may do it with two tsp next time and also not use loaf pans to see if I can duplicate the long low loaves. And MORE CURRANTS are needed!

Currant bread is so good toasted and spread with a bit of butter.

Time for another slice.

Winter Days, Winter Projects, Winter Thoughts

A new tote for my sister. The fabric is crazy-quilt printed in such a cool way -- looks like the embroidery is real. I love love love the cherries. And the vintage button looks like it has stitchery on it as well. Love the bag -- love my sis!






Breakfast -- wonderful raspberry jam from Sunflower Sundries on 7-grain bread. It is the very best raspberry jam I have ever had. Just the right breakfast treat at my desk, while making a seed/plant order from Select Seeds. In just a few months I'll show the beautiful flowering tobacco, Nicotiana mutabilis, in the garden. Right now it is a mail-order promise of warm days and honey scents.



Vintage postcard. On winter days, thoughts turn to family and friends, near and far, here and gone. I am thinking of you.

Red White Blue

I made Strawberry Rhubarb muffins, using Soulemama's recipe, and the taste reminded me of my Mom's Strawberry Shortcake. So -- I broke up a muffin into a bowl, added crushed, sweetened strawberries on top -- oh yum! Red.



White is 'Old Man's Beard' blossoms -- Fringetree, which blooms here in late May. So serene. White.


My cousin and I went on a merry chase for blueberries up north Michigan a summer or two ago. Samples are swell! Blue.