Christmas season

Driving with the radio on, tuned to a station that plays holiday music. Yes, I'm one of those who really enjoys the Christmas season and all its excesses, including excessive repetition of holiday songs. Last evening we had Clare College and Kings College Carols playing in the background. Those soothing melodies have been with me since I discovered them when I was half the age of my daughters. Back then, finding a place that sold albums from all the Cambridge University choirs was hard. But I persevered and my daughters grew up with a season full of those sweet songs of Christmas. 

I always loved the stuff. As a kid, I'd adored Alvin and the Chipmunks singing Christmas songs. And the Polish boys choir doing their holiday repertoire. In recent decades, I grew especially fond of jazzy Christmas stuff. Oscar Peterson, Ella Fitzgerald -- and beyond. But hey, I'm good for the bouncy stuff on the radio too! I'm not fussy. The fact is, December can seem very bleak without the holiday colors. I love opening up to all of it, even if Christmas is an adopted holiday for me, as my parents weren't especially Christmas-inclined. Possibly the only two Poles on the planet who did not fuss over Christmas Eve. (Even if you weren't religious, you put on a proper feast then. It was and is ingrained into your Polish soul!)

And yes, it is a bleak day otherwise. Freezing, with a high today of 21F (-6C).

The chickens are hiding once again. The cold, the hawks, the lack of greenery -- it's all rather miserable for them.

 

 

But I have a chicken treat for them! Yesterday, I had to make two batches of cranberry corn muffins. Why? Because when the timer pinged for the first dozen, I thought -- ah! Muffins are done. And then continued doing some other prep, forgetting to take those darn things out of the oven. Until much, much later. Here's an interesting fact: chickens love over-baked corn muffins. A mistake may confer unexpected benefits to some.

 

And here's where I can bring in some real color for you: my Ocean friend who, along with her daughter run a very beautiful holiday-themed business (32 Degrees North), once again sent me a gift of old-world Advent calendars for the kids.

All the kids love these -- it's part of December magic to discover a sweet image for the day. Unpacking those calendars was a real pick-me-up to the morning. Breakfast, amid holiday pictures.

Immediately after, I head out.

For I don't know how many decades now, it has been standard fare to go tree hunting on the day after Thanksgiving.  Initially, it was just to help my daughter along with her holiday tree shopping. But despite the fact that I had a tiny bit of resistance on this from Ed, I did finally break down and buy a wee tree for our home as well. That wee tree grew a little over time, and since a couple of years ago, I have a regular old six footer in the farmhouse.

Last year, we all went tree shopping at a local tree farm. Snowdrop really wanted to repeat that excursion but the weather today is just so beastly cold! And, too, that place is insanely popular on the day after Thanksgiving. It feels like an assembly line operation: they guide you to a parking spot, then to trees, then to a packed gift shop, then to the pick-up point. Like herded sheep, from one field to the next. The grownups balked at the idea of doing that today and finally the little girl quit her campaign to get us out to the tree farm. She's an agreeable sort. Here we are, at the far easier shopping venue -- our local nursery, searching for the perfect tree for the young family (they go for the big fat ones).

Finally! Found one! That fat one.

Inside, they pick up a few other odds and ends and, too, the kids allow themselves to be set up for a Christmas photo. I take many, I'll post one I know they wont use for their card, but still, it's a sweet one.

I have always thought that we are a nation inclined to smile for photos. Poles, for example, rarely do that. Sure, they laugh like the rest of us, but those photo grins? Nope. Not for them. In case you think that the more natural expressions are in some way preferable, let me put in a plug for the photo smile: I recently listened to a story detailing studies that have demonstrated that even fake smiles work to stir up your happy juices. In other words, a facial expression can influence your emotions in a good way. Oh yeah!

From Bruce's (where we get their tree), it's just a hop skip over to Clasen's Bakery, where everyone stocks up on more chocolate covered gingerbread cookies (and other delights).

I wave good bye to them then and return to Bruce's on my own to select a farmhouse tree for this year. I don't intend to put it up yet. Maybe Sunday evening, maybe Monday. But back at the farmhouse, Ed is scratching his head over my plan to put it in the mud room for the time being.

Don't you want to keep it in water?

Fine, I'll put it in a bucket...

But then why not just put it up inside in the regular old tree stand?

So we do that.

To be decorated at a later date. When the new lights arrive because of course, half of last year's chain is broken, infuriating the both of us at the waste. (It's impossible to fix these defects in Christmas lights. Believe me, Ed has tried.)

In the evening, my youngest girl and her family drive into town. We all meet up for dinner at Craftsman Table and Tap. 

(here come the two Chicago girls!)

(dinner)

Ah, but it's great to have them all here, together! Total bliss for me. A proper Thanksgiving! Or -- entry into the Christmas season! Or both.

 (happy cousins)

 

with so much love....

Thanksgiving

It's Thanksgiving! Oh yeah!

I'll start with this: Ed always tells me on birthdays and anniversaries -- every day is like a birthday. An excuse to not make a big fuss, but, too, he means it. I thought of that today as I woke to a day that celebrates gratitude. I cannot tell you how many times each and every day I am overcome with gratitude. Ask me today to enumerate things that make me swell with appreciation? Sure, but I truly feel thankful every day. And Ed will throw in his share too. It's not unusual for him to say "I'm so grateful that we have toilets and running water." And I'll add "and heat, and health care, and you..."

Family, friends, good people everywhere, doing good things for others, for the planet. Health, love, sweet gentle Ed.

And now comes the essential part of today -- a gathering over food with those you love.

What food??

Well, soon to be prepared food. 

The day starts in the usual way: animal feeding. It's cold! And there's a hawk circling, looking for his own Thanksgiving meal. The chickens wisely refuse to leave their hiding place.

 

Next - I drive to Batch bakery to pick up the pie. And bread. And pastries for post breakfast snacks.

(what should I get??)

And then I start in on cooking, right?

Well no, not quite. I have to do my morning foot soak. And of course, I need my own morning meal!

And then the gang arrives. 

So, a small distraction. They turn on the parade. 

 

 

No cooking yet for me! But you know, it doesn't matter. People, it's just a turkey, for heaven's sake. True, the hasselback potato dish that everyone loves is a pain to prepare: a million thin potato slices in a cheesy sauce. But the other sides are a breeze! Garlicy green beans. Cranberry corn muffins. A few roasted carrots. Corn, from our summer stash. Cranberries. Mushroom gravy. Oh, and a plant based turkey slice for our pescatarian.

And still I dont get started. Lunch comes before dinner. I make a squash soup for the grownups, pasta for the kids.

Afterwards? The young family heads out for a walk. They don't last long. It's freezing out there!

 Now is the time that I finally start in on the dinner.

And guess what -- it does get done!

It was, in fact, a beautiful day. The kids played...

 

 

 

... read, built, drew, and in the end helped solve crossword puzzles with their parents. 

The meal was ready on time...

 

 

 ... and the turkey was not undercooked or over roasted (always a miracle!). I suppose I should have spatchcoked the bird rather than splayed it, but the mushroom gravy that topped the meat was fabulous so I forgive myself for taking the easier path. 

(thrilled to land the drumstick!)

In short -- a beautiful day. 

(wait, just one more, of the young family)

Tomorrow we switch our focus to Christmas. It will be an even more freezing day -- coldest post Thanksgiving ever, I hear. And we will happily huddle in the warmth of a heated house, with both young families, content, and so very grateful.

Happy Thanksgiving.

With so much love...

the day before Thanksgiving

So often aiming for that extra level of perfection puts you in a worse place than you would have been at, had you stayed with more modest ambitions. That's my thought for this day as we reach the evening hours and I still haven't touched food prep for tomorrow's meal.

Here's how the day went: on my to do list, there was a farmhouse cleanup. For tomorrow, and, too, for when my younger girl comes with her family later in the weekend. Yes, I needed to dig in and get it done. We don't clean thoroughly nearly often enough. I spot clean when I approach an area that I deem in dire need of it. I tidy stuff so that it looks orderly. But the thorough job I save for holidays and visits. 

Ed hangs back when I attack the house ambitiously. He'll vacuum, but he wont go after the dusty elevated spots so I find him to be only slightly helpful in these big cleaning projects. (Though to his credit, he does a superb job on the mudroom when asked -- hppy to throw away any of my stuff there!) So it's mostly on me to do the job well.

This morning then (a very cold morning, but I can't gripe because this weekend we'll be getting an arctic blast, below freezing both night and day, so today's chill is peanuts), I go out to feed the animals -- and give you the usual daily photo of a landscape that is so very different now from our summer one...

And we do eat a nice breakfast -- sweet and delicious...

And we talk about how unpredictable life is (you think you know how the next two or four years will unfold? Ha!). 

 

 

 

And then I begin my cleaning. I give myself a couple of hours for it. 

It takes far longer.

Things unraveled pretty quickly when I decide to organize the cleaning supplies that are stashed under the sink. Do you do that as well? Put cleaners there, forget about them, use others, until things get so tight below that sink that you decide to "organize things" a bit. Yep, I decided to organize things a bit and in so doing, I found that the cabinet floor was damp. I told myself -- it's probably some splash of something or other. But of course, that can't be harmless. So I took all the accumulated cleaning supplies out and called Ed. And yes, there is a drip and it isn't small and before I know it, he is taking apart the drain and the disposal and grunting and pounding until finally, an hour later, he proclaims the leak to be fixed. But what a mess I have before me now!

And nothing prepped for tomorrow's big meal. 

What to do? Go for a walk of course! I cling to the belief that it will get done! There will be a turkey, damn it!

However, before heading out, I have to run the dryer one more time. I had decided to wash the couch cover. That's not a maybe, it's a must! The kids and Ed eat while sitting on it (well, so do I, but I'm neat!) and it shows! 

The dryer decides at this moment to stop working.

Ed!

Now, this cant come as a surprise. The machine is at least forty, maybe fifty years old (honestly!). Ed found it battered and broken at a junk shop long before we even met and we've been together nearly twenty years. Over the years, he's fixed it of course. Many times. In the meantime,  today, I have two giant and very wet loads of laundry waiting. This is going to be an interesting set of hours.

Eventually he determines what parts likely need to be replaced. Not that he can get them today. But eventually. In the meantime, if he holds a finger in a certain place and I push the button in a different place, we can get it to cycle through a load. With several stops and restarts. It never fully dries a load, but hey, we can spread wet clothes and a wet couch cover all over the farmhouse, no? 

Our house looks like a hurricane went through it.

Doing this, of course, takes time. And still, he wants to squeeze in a walk. And it's a good idea -- we both need the exhale that comes from a brisk romp along our favorite trail. But it cannot be a long walk: I have an appointment with the foot doc. I'd been on meds for ten days now and the foot is not totally healed. I snatched the only available appointment I could get: 3:15 pm the day before Thanksgiving. No one wanted that one! Everyone is either cooking, or driving over the river and through the woods to grandma's house for Thanksgiving. 

The doc takes one look and tells me she has to do a (minor) surgical procedure right now! Well fine, but there's Thanksgiving... Just keep the foot elevated, and soak it several times a day, and put antibiotics on it and it should be fine! What color tape would you like? Purple? Okay! Happy Thanksgiving!

 

 

And so here we are: night approaches and I've done nothing. Unbelievable, no? (Just so you know, I am buying a pie. There's no way that I was going to agree to bake a dessert for the gang. They're all over the place with their sweet preferences -- it's best to just get the one thing they can agree on -- a chocolate cream pie. Not very Thanksgiving-ish, but at least it wont go to waste and I dont have to bake it.)

With love...

family meal(s) countdown

Our family Thanksgiving varies: it can go from as low as two people at the table (last year) to as high as eleven. Typically it's just seven (this year), even though there will be food enough for twice that number. We never waste it. Leftovers last us well into the week after.

It's obvious that you need some prep work for it. In advance. 

It's equally obvious that I am terribly slow at getting to it this year. Yes, I made lists (last week). Yes, I shopped for it (yesterday). But that's hardly enough. Why my pokey attitude in 2024?

I can blame age: at 71, I'm entitled to slow down, right? But there's more to the age issue: it's also the case that I become less fussy as I get older. In life, and in cooking. Even a couple of years back, I cared deeply about keeping that bird moist. I read the year's professed wisdoms on how to accomplish that: dry brine, rub, baste, spatchcock, cover with mayo, cover with buttermilk, cover with butter, cover with oil. Start hot, then go low. Start low, then go high. I've done it all. And yes, it always seems better than the year before, which tells me that the reality is always good, even though your fears of a dry bird are stamped into your brain so firmly that you are surprised when it actually tastes wonderful. And if it doesn't? Well what's the gravy for?

It's not that I don't care anymore. But it is true that I am less likely this year to seek out new recipes, to read every Thanksgiving food article that appears in my Inbox. I know what's before me. I'll go with what worked before.

Still, I wake up in the middle of the night and start fretting: is it really true that Thanksgiving is the day after tomorrow and I've prepared nothing for it? I need to get going!

It's a cold morning. Way below freezing. I kick out the ice in the feeding bowls outside. We need to start plugging them in. Our animals have to have a steady supply of clean water.

(I our in a steaming potful on this bitter cold morning)

Yes, it's cold. But it's also sunny. Makes you not mind quite so much!

I drive then to Madison Sourdough. I've not had a sweet roll or a croissant for breakfast for a while! I miss that which appears  on my sweatshirt today!

Breakfast, with Ed. At first he takes care of something he does methodically, each time a new catalogue appears in our mailbox -- he calls the place and asks them to please remove us (usually it's my name) from their mailing list. If you simply trash all those catalogues that flood your mailbox, you should call them too. It's such a waste of paper otherwise.

Okay, done.

We then talk about the threat of tariffs. This bouncing around of added taxes on imports is horrible for small companies that try to plan for the future and that try to keep product prices low. Could this imposition of tariffs put a machine manufacturing company (like the one he started) out of business? Easily. Layoffs come first, closure follows. Listening in to his frequent calls and consults with the company CEO, I have to wonder -- who on earth believes that this tariff move is going to improve the lives of anyone? So much time wasted on trying to predict what crazy and consequential and ruinous new idea is going to come down the pipeline in the next year or two. As Ed says -- even if in the best case scenario nothing happens, no lasting tariffs are imposed, it's demoralizing to do business in this environment. Well, America voted. Let's see if his company survives the tumult. If we all survive the chaos and tumult.

 

I switch my focus then to the dinner that has to appear at our table in 48 hours. I take out the turkey. It was to be small. I note that it's 13.5 pounds. That's not small! Well, of the nearly 50 Thanksgiving dinners I've prepared in my lifetime, I swear the turkey has always come in at somewhere between 12 and 14 pounds. So I'm ready for this guy (more likely it's a hen, since tom turkeys tend to be the larger ones in the store). I read that she was pastured and that quite likely she was happy in her brief life. If we're going to dig into turkey meat, it has to be from a happy bird. (Once again Ed brings up his new idea that we should grow our own turkeys next year. I'm hoping it's just one of those ideas that goes nowhere!)

 

This year, I do a simple salt rub of the bird and stick it back in the fridge. I'll probably spatchcock it, but honestly, I haven't quite decided yet. 

Next, I make a list of what to do when. For all the fuss that this meal will require, it honestly isn't my biggest cooking challenge of the year. That comes later, around Christmas, where I do three family dinners in a row. Thanksgiving lasts one day. I need morning snacks, a lunch that kids wont grumble about, and of course the dinner. Easy peasy, right?

By the time I'm done (with the list) I have to go and pick up the kids. 

I do this only once this week -- they're off for the holiday, starting tomorrow.  This means that our usual "take turns" method of allowing each kid to pick the "treat for the week" is not going to work. One day equals one treat. Forget the fries, forget the ice cream, I tell them. Let's go to Clasens Bakery to see if they have their Christmas treats out yet. 

They do!

Each kid picks a treat...

... and I stock up on my favorite cookie of them all: chocolate covered gingerbread pieces (a.k.a. hearts, stars and moons).

These two grandkids are enough apart in age and interests that they rarely play together in their free time at the farmhouse. She reads, he builds, Or, she sets up her characters and he sets up his. Side by side, but separately. But today they spent quite a bit of time working on a (school generated) computer game together.

You can't push them to find this common ground. But when they do find it on their own, it really makes for a beautiful afternoon.

 

My evening was wasted on technical issues. I had to buy a replacement kindle reading device (having left my old one on the flight into Jackson) and it arrived today. In setting it up I found that the newest model lacked a feature that I liked quite a bit on the older devices. And so I spent a good amount of time complaining to customer service in the hope that they will eventually restore it. (It has to do with what the kindle opens to once it's been turned off.)

Yes, I should have been embarking on my Thanksgiving preparations. But, the new laid back me thinks she'll have time for it tomorrow. In the end, there will be a turkey and it will get roasted. Everything else is just a side show, right?  I knew you'd agree!

with love...

November Monday

I put away my camera with the lens that loves to seek out animals. No need for it here, on farmette lands. Indeed, it's hard to feel excitement for any camera at the moment: the landscape is bleak. Color is hard to find. Not impassible! But hard.

White chickens are less photogenic than bison and moose. And they move quickly. And they do not have soulful eyes!

Breakfast. Ed comes down, groggy from sleep. Dance joins us. Yes, of course it's good to eat with both of them again. Their presence is what gives warmth to the farmhouse. 

And afterwards, I take the time to visit with my friend through Zoom. She lives by the beach, in Florida. You know how that turned out this fall. And yet, she loves her home as much as I love the farmhouse. We grow attached to our little corners, to our communities of friends, of animals, of plants. 

The kids aren't here today (appointments and such) and this is a good thing because I have to do Thanksgiving food shopping. I think I'm early -- it's Monday. Don't most people shop on Wednesday? Apparently they do not. The store is crowded. Thanksgiving foods abound, but, too, I see that they're unloading Christmas trees. Of course they are -- this year the two holidays are squeezed closely together. Is it really the case that December comes this Sunday?

 

I did not travel that far this past weekend: the road distance from the farmhouse to Jackson, Wyoming is just over 1200 miles. And here's an even more telling factoid: if you were to drive from the farmette to Jackson, you'd pass through Iowa, then Nebraska, and then boom! You are in Wyoming. Just twp states stand between us. And yet, I may as well be returning from a trip across the ocean. I feel I've gone over many borders, and traveled many flight hours. Gone for just three nights, and yet it seems so much longer. Why? 

I suppose because the greatest similarity between Wyoming and Wisconsin is that they share a place at the tail end of the alphabet. And yes, there are lakes and forests here, and there, and tall grasses where cattle (WI) or bison (WY) roam, but the history, the landscape, the economic thrust of these two states is vastly different. And lucky them -- they have those great National Parks (Yellowstone is 95% in Wyoming and of course the Grand Teton is 100% Wyoming). The Parks and the wildlife that inhabits them -- they put Wyoming on the map for me. Being there, even for those short days, felt like being very far away.

And now I return to the usual: soup for tonight, couch time in the evening. Except that right now there's a rather large turkey in the refrigerator and a holiday dinner before me. Gulp. I have to get going on this fast approaching holiday of great food expectations. 

with love....

Jackson 4

Morning in Jackson Wyoming. Snow showers outside. Fleetingly. Then quiet.

Quiet in the Rusty Parrot dining room as well. It's me and the American Indians today for breakfast.

My flight to Salt Lake City takes off just after noon. That means I can still take a morning walk. Still explore a little. But this turns out to be not so easy here. There is a rather tall hill (or short mountain!) behind the Rusty Parrot. I ask if perhaps there's a trail to the top. I'm told -- no, you can't go there. It's private land. This is when I miss Europe. Private mountains? No hiking allowed? I'm remembering Free to Roam laws in Scotland. Go anywhere. Just leave no trace, but walk until your heart is full. Much of the land in the Alps may be private (who even knows), but you can still traverse it. Paths abound. So I am frustrated. Private mountain. Hrmph. 

 (the Rusty Parrot, with a private mountain behind it)

[Related to this is the second big drawback, from my perspective, to basing yourself in American mountain resorts: you just cannot do much without a car. How many mountain places have I visited in Europe? In my lifetime -- countless, in a half dozen different countries. I have never once felt compelled to rent a car. Not once. Public trains and buses move me around and the rest I accomplish on foot. In the U.S., Jackson isn't unusual in requiring wheels. I'd say it's the norm here.]

The kind desk people come up with an alternative: how about going up on the gondola? At the ski hill? For the view?

It's a $30 ride for views I saw for free yesterday. I'll pass.

In the alternative, at the base of that mountain with the gondola, there is a creek and I am told  can walk along there as well. The desk staff person notes -- in the summer they have a real stagecoach that you can ride along that road. I have to smile at that. Me and the stagecoach. Well, it's a destination. Let me head that way.

But I have to cross all of Jackson to reach the creek. It takes time. Hey, I'm in no hurry. I take in the sights one last time.

 

I never make it to the creek. At the base of the ski mountain, there's enough snow for kids to bring their sleds. I stop to watch for a while...

You can't see the Teton peaks from here, but you can certainly see mountains. I pause, I admire...

And then I turn back.

Leaving behind this small town that is many things to many people.

To the airport now (and here I can indeed see the Tetons one last time)...

I read somewhere that Yellowstone is more like a Broadway show, whereas Grand Teton is the ballet performance at Lincoln Center. The point, I think, is that you aren't stunned by any one phenomenon at Teton. No great geysers throwing water high into the air, no waterfalls cascading from mountaintops. Mountains and forests, wildlife and a few lakes. But isn't that just perfect? If it's a dance, it is a most beautiful one. I'd choose it over Broadway any day.

A flight to Salt Lake City, A wait there for the flight to Minneapolis. Here it gets to be a little dicey: the flight departure is delayed due to mechanical issues, which does not bode well, as I have a very short layover in the Twin Cities.

Do I make it?

Just barely! At a sprint across the entire Minneapolis airport!

I'm so very glad. Ed, cats, farmhouse bed. Kids, Thanksgiving. Wisconsin cold, Madison warmth. Heaven.

with so much love...