A 1970-Something Summer

July 8, 2015January 16, 2019 ~ Katherine ~ Leave a comment

When I was little and it was summer, I would run. Run to get where I needed to go. I was always up for a game of tag–of running bases between the sturdy poles of the clothesline. I would run barefoot over the grass for as long as I could (before the grown-ups would insist I put my shoes back on).

You would think with all this running that I grew up on acres somewhere in the country. But I didn’t. I am from a small backyard, squished between two other small backyards each with their own secret things.

One side of my yard was a wooden wall–the color of mint chocolate chip ice cream. It was the wall of the neighbor’s garage. We had pussy willow growing against it. And one day, Nick ran too fast–tumbled right into those woody branches and got one caught in his leg. I followed him inside, while holding my ears against his screams as the flustered moms, interrupted of their coffee and cigarettes, pulled it out.

There was a low fence (made of chicken wire, maybe?) that lined the backside of the yard. Along it grew our vegetable garden–peppers, tomatoes, eggplants. This fence was not sturdy, and any strong, lithe and backyard-wise girl of eight or so, knew instinctively not to climb it.

The third side was built of a rusty cyclone fence softened with sweet, yellow and white honeysuckle. This belonged to Grandma and Grandpa. Just on the other side grew rose bushes, blue hydrangeas and delicate Lily of the Valley–pretty things that don’t belong where children play.

Most days I was happy enough contained within a space of those sweet honeysuckle, blades of grass, bitter dandelion, and blushing clover. I tasted it all, took sips from the hose and delighted in my self-sufficiency. I didn’t know it then of course, but I was learning how to feed myself.

The Kitchen Is Quiet

July 9, 2014January 16, 2019 ~ Katherine ~ 1 Comment

The kitchen is quiet. The garden is wild.

The house is straightened, piano is dusty, four baskets of laundry wait around lightly folded.

The kids in their swimsuits kick soccer balls over the lawn

past dusk, the goal stretches into the neighbor’s backyard.

Cheeks and noses glow pink on their pillows.

Brown shoulders and backs — their bodies tattooed by the sun are lean. They sleep in their beds, so solid must their dreams be, while the cool night air, like a mother’s soft hand,

brushes back their curls (tousled and French Toast – golden) from their smooth foreheads.

The kitchen is quiet, except for clinking spoons in empty cereal bowls, scrunching of cheese stick wrappers, tin foil yogurt lids being ripped off,

peach pits, egg shells hitting the trash can sometimes smacking the tile floor beneath, empty bags of cashews, baby carrots — wadded up like mini basketballs and tossed — all net, but sometimes backboard too, empty jars of peanut butter left for me to wash.

The garden is wild with salad greens, basil, nasturtium leaves (no flowers, but hope is alive), chives, tender green, fuzzy tomatoes grabbed and fondled by four lush, strong, adolescent, hopped-up cucumber plants.

Sixteen Tomatoes Do Not a Winter Pantry Make

September 19, 2013January 16, 2019 ~ Katherine ~ 4 Comments

Cooking is done in the garden. When that’s not complete, the gardening takes place in the kitchen.

Alan Chadwick, gardener

It was a sleepy late afternoon this past Saturday. I had just put on a pot of coffee to try to raise the shades inside my heavy head when a feeling of utter urgency took over. I began to put a few facts together: 1) it is chilly, autumn-like and 2) the squirrels are acting crazy – darting through the yard with black walnuts in their teeth and finally 3) lots of rain is expected tomorrow (Sunday).

I slowly pour my coffee as these thoughts run through my brain like a slide show on a loop. Suddenly the shades snap up and reveal a blinding call to action:

Time to gather the ripe tomatoes off the vines in the garden! The squirrels are getting hungry and desperate – they are going to eat them! Their squirrely behavior along with the cooler weather and impending rain says Time is up, Woman! Better act now!

I put a large pot of water on the stove and set it to simmer, slide into my flip flops, grab an empty brown grocery bag and head out into the garden where I gently twist and ever-so-slightly pull sixteen ripe and ready tomatoes from their unruly vines! It is time to make enough sauce to last us all winter! (At this point I am completely giddy at the thought of many zippered plastic bags of fresh summer tomatoes taking up space in my freezer!)

Back in the kitchen I let them loose and watch them roll around on the kitchen table while the kids squeak and chase them, and most impressively, catch them before any of them fall onto the floor. Wiping away a tear of pride at the sheer beauty of what we grew, I begin to slice a small “x” in the bottom of each tomato with my pairing knife. By now the water has gotten its simmer on and I carefully lower each hefty tomato into the steamy, swirly bath.

Three minutes tops and I see the peel coming away from the happy bobbing orbs and so into a bowl they go until they are cool enough for me to remove their skins. From there I briefly pulse two batches in the blender and prepare to make sauce – again, enough sauce to last us through the long months of minus degree temperatures and mounds of white stuff that I won’t even mention by name this early in the calendar.

The Big Lesson

So guess what? I did make tomato sauce (a.k.a. Sunday Gravy, complete with meatballs – East Coast Holla!) and it was delicious, naturally sweet and so fresh, with beautiful young red color. However, and here’s the big lesson…16 tomatoes is only enough to make one pot of Gravy!

But it was good… and so worth it!

A Change in the Weather and Summer Pasta

July 26, 2012January 16, 2019 ~ Katherine ~ Leave a comment

There is still a good month left to this summer. We are finally getting rain in this part of the Midwest. Thunder and lightning wake me in the middle of the night. Thunder roars differently out here, I think. Something with big meaty fists pounds our roof and then rolls away slowly, clumsily over its knuckles, glaring at me over its fat shoulder.

It snorts-Take that, Jersey Girl.

Lightning is fantastic in the big, big sky. In an instant and without warning, white fills my eyelids like a camera’s flash, transports me right out of a dream and back into the blackness of 3 am. Hopefully all this rain hasn’t come too late for the farmers who are relying on their corn crops. After living here now for two years and reading the local papers, this is what I think about. Maybe the farmers actually sleep better to the sounds of a storm.

Amid all the heavy roar and sharp cracks outside my window, I begin to drift off again. There’s an old farm house out here somewhere waiting for me. There’s a hot, orange sun beginning to set over a field, a wrap-around porch painted white wearing pots of lush ferns like earrings, a brightly-colored woven hammock sways gently in the corner. And just outside a squeaky front gate, there’s a country road that goes on and on.

In the meantime, there is our apartment, a hub this summer for all our coming and going. A place to hang up damp bathing suits and pool towels, a place to drop off the bass guitar after lessons and a dusty baseball bag after a night game under the lights. An almost too big table that just fits on an almost too small back deck where we share our summer supper. Where I notice the dirt still lingering beneath small fingernails and think to myself – Another good day.

A place for me to write, a place for my books and shelves for my cookbooks and food magazines. A place to make a quick, small meal last night, that-turns out- has big flavor.

It begins with pasta – small penne cooked al dente then tossed with bite-size pieces of fresh mozzarella cheese, fresh basil and juicy tomatoes all from the garden – chopped. A clove of garlic from the farmers’ market – minced, a bit of salt and pepper, a drizzle of olive oil.

Summer in a bowl.

Recipe adapted from Giada DeLaurentiis