Made these for the Lughnasad altar, and they were deeeelicious slathered with butter and fig preserves.
Hoe Cakes
1 cup Bob's Red Mill Pancake mix
1 cup stone ground corn meal
1/2 cup hulled hempseed
2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp sea salt
two eggs
3 tbsp honey or syrup
3/4 c to 1 cup water
oil for griddle
Blend dry ingredients, and in a seperate bowl beat the eggs with the honey and water. Heat oil on griddle or frying pan. Quickly stir the liquids into the flours, without overmixing, and cook like pancakes, a few minutes on each side. Cakes will puff up. When both sides are browned, remove the cakes to a baking sheet. Just before serving, bake 8-1o minutes at 35o to finish cooking.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Lughnasad: Reaping
We're observing Lughnasad tonight, me and my consort. In the place of its origin, it's a first harvest festival. The reaping of the first ripe grain, the earliest dug new potatoes; the foretelling of the winter to come. The clans would gather to trade and wed in the fullness of fine, hot summer. Lugh himself is only the most recent of warrior gods to lend his name to the occasion, and by his succession he presents the archetype of the new king, the new reaping; it's a time to say goodbye the old and welcome the new harvest, the new fruits of your year's work. It's said that the old king might be sacrificed, by token or effigy, and the new king crowned at Lughnasad.
Of course before Lugh came to the party, there was always the gratitude and joy of the first fresh grain of the year, the Goddess honored with dancing, loaves baked of new grain, feasting, and handfasting--a special kind of handfasting, a trial that could last a year and a day, then be dissolved by returning to the place together and agreeing to part. Deeper than that even, there is the Sun, the male principle, beginning too wane now, even in the fullness of the hottest season of the year, promising the return of coolness and long dark nights.
Here in Florida, it must be said, this is not exactly our best or most promising harvest time. Unless you are a very skilled and dedicated gardener, your tomatoes have long since burned to diseased twigs, and we dig our potatoes in spring. In fact, August is our time of dearth, when there is not much to harvest except a flourishing crop of weeds and mosquitoes. For us, the signs of coming autumn, such as the newly bronzed leaves of the sycamore, are welcome signs of relief from the heat and a new season of planting to come.
Personally, it's my own private New Year. I've just turned 45. This year I've had to come to terms with the unalterable fact that I will never bear my own child. That my family line ends with me and my sisters. There will be no more Whipples on our branch of the family tree. This is unexpectedly sad to me. I didn't see it coming, this grief. Lughnasad, with its overtones of out with the old and in with the new, seems particularly apt to my own journey this year. I'm at the full promise of my maturity, yet the end is in sight. Or so it feels to me today. I must turn my thoughts away from how I will raise my own family to how I might be a mother to my community. In token of this, I've tucked under the altar my childhood rocking chair, meant to be passed to my own daughter in her turn, now empty. With what shall I fill it?
For our Lughnasad altar, we'll have, on a green cloth, a corn cake drizzled with honey from our bees, and some seasonal selections from the yard: a head of wildflower seeds, a sprig of poke berries. We'll thank the Goddess for nourishing us, for the hot rainy summer, the cool springs, the blazing sun. Our feast will be necessarily simple, just a few things dredged from the pantry, lentils and cornmeal, supplemented with what little there is in the garden: basil, chilies, sweet potato greens, two fresh eggs. We'll share a cup of last summer's mead, and maybe talk about what we'd like to leave behind with this turn of seasons, and what we'd like to cultivate next.
Blessed be.
Of course before Lugh came to the party, there was always the gratitude and joy of the first fresh grain of the year, the Goddess honored with dancing, loaves baked of new grain, feasting, and handfasting--a special kind of handfasting, a trial that could last a year and a day, then be dissolved by returning to the place together and agreeing to part. Deeper than that even, there is the Sun, the male principle, beginning too wane now, even in the fullness of the hottest season of the year, promising the return of coolness and long dark nights.
Here in Florida, it must be said, this is not exactly our best or most promising harvest time. Unless you are a very skilled and dedicated gardener, your tomatoes have long since burned to diseased twigs, and we dig our potatoes in spring. In fact, August is our time of dearth, when there is not much to harvest except a flourishing crop of weeds and mosquitoes. For us, the signs of coming autumn, such as the newly bronzed leaves of the sycamore, are welcome signs of relief from the heat and a new season of planting to come.
Personally, it's my own private New Year. I've just turned 45. This year I've had to come to terms with the unalterable fact that I will never bear my own child. That my family line ends with me and my sisters. There will be no more Whipples on our branch of the family tree. This is unexpectedly sad to me. I didn't see it coming, this grief. Lughnasad, with its overtones of out with the old and in with the new, seems particularly apt to my own journey this year. I'm at the full promise of my maturity, yet the end is in sight. Or so it feels to me today. I must turn my thoughts away from how I will raise my own family to how I might be a mother to my community. In token of this, I've tucked under the altar my childhood rocking chair, meant to be passed to my own daughter in her turn, now empty. With what shall I fill it?
For our Lughnasad altar, we'll have, on a green cloth, a corn cake drizzled with honey from our bees, and some seasonal selections from the yard: a head of wildflower seeds, a sprig of poke berries. We'll thank the Goddess for nourishing us, for the hot rainy summer, the cool springs, the blazing sun. Our feast will be necessarily simple, just a few things dredged from the pantry, lentils and cornmeal, supplemented with what little there is in the garden: basil, chilies, sweet potato greens, two fresh eggs. We'll share a cup of last summer's mead, and maybe talk about what we'd like to leave behind with this turn of seasons, and what we'd like to cultivate next.
Blessed be.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Port is actually Starboard
It's taken us a while to reason this out but the hen that has gone broody is actually Starboard, not Port. Port, sadly was the twin RIR lost to the fox this spring.
Starboard, for her part, seems to be a slightly anxious new mom. She's up and down off the nest a lot, which is not unexpected given the hot weather--I should think it's hard to keep the eggs from getting too warm--and appears to feel threatened by the proximity of the other chickens. She calmed down somewhat when I rearranged the tarp over the nursery cage to provide more privacy.
She's definitely broody, having figured out how to make herself look very big indeed, and flew at me furiously when I went to set up her food and water this morning. Most of the times I've checked on her today she's been on the nest, but she's antsy and very watchful. We've decide she may not be doing it exactly right, but we'll give her the 21 days or so she needs to get through her broodiness, and if no baby chicks come of it, well, at least she got some practice.
Starboard, for her part, seems to be a slightly anxious new mom. She's up and down off the nest a lot, which is not unexpected given the hot weather--I should think it's hard to keep the eggs from getting too warm--and appears to feel threatened by the proximity of the other chickens. She calmed down somewhat when I rearranged the tarp over the nursery cage to provide more privacy.
She's definitely broody, having figured out how to make herself look very big indeed, and flew at me furiously when I went to set up her food and water this morning. Most of the times I've checked on her today she's been on the nest, but she's antsy and very watchful. We've decide she may not be doing it exactly right, but we'll give her the 21 days or so she needs to get through her broodiness, and if no baby chicks come of it, well, at least she got some practice.
Crunchy
I like coleslaw, but since my last encounter with food poisoning all that yucky mayonnaise is just too fraught. This slaw is tasty, crunchy, tangy and a bit sweet. Take the time to enjoy the zen of chopping everything. When you're focused on using your sharpest knife to shred a head of cabbage, you are not doing anything else at all.
Crunchy Veggie Slaw (for 2-4)
half a small head of any cabbage, shredded very fine
a small onion, preferably red or sweet, sliced thin as you can
2 or 3 carrots, grated or julienne
currants, raisins, or diced apple
medium tomato, chopped
1 tsp each of whole coriander and whole cumin seeds
apple cider vinegar
sea salt
olive oil
Place the sliced onions in a large salad bowl. Sprinkle with sea salt and about 1/4 cup vinegar. Add the cabbage , carrots, and fruit and toss to mix well.
In a small skillet, fry the spices in a couple tablespoons of olive oil. When they are browned and fragrant, pour them with the oil over the slaw. The hot oil will slightly soften the veggies. Now add the tomatoes, taste for seasoning.
Other good things to add: fresh herbs like cilantro, parsley, or oregano, jalapeno peppers, fresh sweet corn, grated zucchini or summer squash, sesame seeds, any other finely chopped summer veggies such as green beans.
Crunchy Veggie Slaw (for 2-4)
half a small head of any cabbage, shredded very fine
a small onion, preferably red or sweet, sliced thin as you can
2 or 3 carrots, grated or julienne
currants, raisins, or diced apple
medium tomato, chopped
1 tsp each of whole coriander and whole cumin seeds
apple cider vinegar
sea salt
olive oil
Place the sliced onions in a large salad bowl. Sprinkle with sea salt and about 1/4 cup vinegar. Add the cabbage , carrots, and fruit and toss to mix well.
In a small skillet, fry the spices in a couple tablespoons of olive oil. When they are browned and fragrant, pour them with the oil over the slaw. The hot oil will slightly soften the veggies. Now add the tomatoes, taste for seasoning.
Other good things to add: fresh herbs like cilantro, parsley, or oregano, jalapeno peppers, fresh sweet corn, grated zucchini or summer squash, sesame seeds, any other finely chopped summer veggies such as green beans.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
The Next Generation
There haven't been many eggs this week. This morning I finally remembered to check the bantam cage, and whoa, lots of eggs. A clutch, in fact. And then tonight Port decided it was time to set.
So we hooked her up in the nursery cage with a nice big hay nest, and she climbed back on the eggs, making those throaty little gravelly coos a broody hen makes. There are 9 eggs (I think) and it was dark when we moved her but I saw large brown, small brown, medium pinky-brown, and green eggs, so I think that's a nice sampler pack. So--she started sitting tonight, July 25th, and that makes the hatch date on or around August 15th. Wish us luck!
Planning to open the hive this Monday or Tuesday. Beedicca seems to be holding her own.
So we hooked her up in the nursery cage with a nice big hay nest, and she climbed back on the eggs, making those throaty little gravelly coos a broody hen makes. There are 9 eggs (I think) and it was dark when we moved her but I saw large brown, small brown, medium pinky-brown, and green eggs, so I think that's a nice sampler pack. So--she started sitting tonight, July 25th, and that makes the hatch date on or around August 15th. Wish us luck!
Planning to open the hive this Monday or Tuesday. Beedicca seems to be holding her own.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Devil's Walking Stick
I noticed today that in sunny areas a little south of us, the devil's walking stick (Aralia Spinosa) is starting to flower. I think the bees are going to love that, & the hive is nestled in a grove of it. Goldenrod is not far away, either.
Mark cut me some slats to slip between the honey comb bars, and that seems to be working really well.
Planted lemon grass, sweet potatoes, and malanga today, in the back yard. Pulled a couple of air potato shoots (damn things came in with a bag of scavenged mulch a couple years ago & I'm trying to stay on top of them so they don't eat my forest). The calabasa is starting to run, so I encouraged it to stop strangling my bay laurel and instead run across the ground. Picking jalapenos, thai chilies, and cayenne peppers daily. Some lilies my mom dug from the Pontchartrain lot, which James calls alligator lilies, are flowering, as is the dancing girl ginger and the passion vine. Other gingers are sending up flower spikes. The four o'clocks are especially rampant this year, and I've managed to cultivate a few more of the yellow ones so there's some variety. They're more fragrant than I recall. Pine cone ginger (awapuhi) is making cones, but I haven't seen any flowers on the night blooming jasmine yet.
Over the winter, I've decided, I'm going to finish moving the day lilies and glads to the back yard.
That blighted front area can them just have the azaleas, the native petunias, and ferns. Although there is some kind of ginger that's sprouted this year. A lovely bass wood tree has come up, but it's somewhat overshadowed by a scrubby oak that I pretty much want to cut down, yet can't bring myself to kill.
Not really any news, today. Summer holding pattern.
Mark cut me some slats to slip between the honey comb bars, and that seems to be working really well.
Planted lemon grass, sweet potatoes, and malanga today, in the back yard. Pulled a couple of air potato shoots (damn things came in with a bag of scavenged mulch a couple years ago & I'm trying to stay on top of them so they don't eat my forest). The calabasa is starting to run, so I encouraged it to stop strangling my bay laurel and instead run across the ground. Picking jalapenos, thai chilies, and cayenne peppers daily. Some lilies my mom dug from the Pontchartrain lot, which James calls alligator lilies, are flowering, as is the dancing girl ginger and the passion vine. Other gingers are sending up flower spikes. The four o'clocks are especially rampant this year, and I've managed to cultivate a few more of the yellow ones so there's some variety. They're more fragrant than I recall. Pine cone ginger (awapuhi) is making cones, but I haven't seen any flowers on the night blooming jasmine yet.
Over the winter, I've decided, I'm going to finish moving the day lilies and glads to the back yard.
That blighted front area can them just have the azaleas, the native petunias, and ferns. Although there is some kind of ginger that's sprouted this year. A lovely bass wood tree has come up, but it's somewhat overshadowed by a scrubby oak that I pretty much want to cut down, yet can't bring myself to kill.
Not really any news, today. Summer holding pattern.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Pesto
Something funny and delicious just happened when I whipped up a batch of sunflower seed pesto this afternoon. Here's the recipe, as close as I can recall:
a couple handfuls of fresh basil leaves
some sunflower seeds--1-2 cup, maybe a little more
maybe 6 or 7 cloves of garlic
olive oil, more than you intended (maybe a cup altogether)
coarse sea salt
At first, the sunnies didn't seem to be grinding up very well. I didn't take the time to soak them and my food processor is faithful, but very elderly and infirm. I drizzled in olive oil. Then more... and more...and suddenly the pesto started looking very smooth, but thick. More oil...lil more...I ended up with a creamy, fluffy, spreadable pesto butter. Incredibly, unctuously delicious. I'm going to dollop it on top of some slices of eggplant baked with sauce and feta cheese.
Alongside the eggplant, we'll have this salad:
two color quinoa
chickpeas
lots of fresh oregano
a big fat shredded zucchini
a little mince onion
a lot of tasty vine ripe tomatoes
fresh lemon juice
salt and pepper
a couple handfuls of fresh basil leaves
some sunflower seeds--1-2 cup, maybe a little more
maybe 6 or 7 cloves of garlic
olive oil, more than you intended (maybe a cup altogether)
coarse sea salt
At first, the sunnies didn't seem to be grinding up very well. I didn't take the time to soak them and my food processor is faithful, but very elderly and infirm. I drizzled in olive oil. Then more... and more...and suddenly the pesto started looking very smooth, but thick. More oil...lil more...I ended up with a creamy, fluffy, spreadable pesto butter. Incredibly, unctuously delicious. I'm going to dollop it on top of some slices of eggplant baked with sauce and feta cheese.
Alongside the eggplant, we'll have this salad:
two color quinoa
chickpeas
lots of fresh oregano
a big fat shredded zucchini
a little mince onion
a lot of tasty vine ripe tomatoes
fresh lemon juice
salt and pepper
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