SUMMER!

From Spring into Summer : A Photo Essay

 

Calvin is right, as usual

Spring wreath for the front door

A summertime twig wreath, with natural sea stars and sand dollars

The summer solstice is barely past, and we are enjoying the longest days of the year in the Northern Hemisphere. The change of seasons is an occasion to enjoy some simple pleasures: the feel of warm sun on bare skin, the taste of the first grilled meats and vegetables of the year, a sweet nap on a warm afternoon, and the multiple sensory stimuli of a well-kept garden.

Oh, and of course, changing the outdoor decor to fit the new season ...

A wispy springtime wreath for the side door

A summery wreath of seashells and oats

A well-kept-garden? Well, sometimes it is. Right now, roses are coming into bloom, the peonies are making a glorious show, and we are about to harvest the first sugar-snap peas. Arugula has already been re-planted and the French breakfast radishes have gone by. Here is a photo of the just-rising peas and their supports, taken about a month and a half  ago:

Sugar-snap peas, surrounded by leaf lettuce and arugula. The support structure is made from red-birch poles, salvaged from tree-thinning in the woods. They are bound together by garden twine. The finial is a terra-cotta beehive!

The spring was glorious in its own way. After the awful winter - 5-6 feet of snow from storms in late January and February - it seemed like forever until the first spring flowers made their appearance. Of course, once they did, their season was over in a flash. Long winters often mean short, delayed springs. To help recall that quick burst of spring brilliance, here are some photos from late April and early May:

Woodland daffodils 

A profusion of bluets in the lawn

Delicate late narcissus; delphinium and white quince in the background

Pansies and multicolored violas for the side entry

Darwin tulips and grape hyacinths clustered in front of a northern magnolia

More tulips, backed by beach roses and a cat who thinks he's hiding

Late-blooming lilacs outside the front door

And into Summer ...

Naturally, early summer's blooms aren't staying long enough, either. The iris have come and gone: 

A really lovely pink German iris

 

White Siberian iris, with pink peony buds and the last of the Solomon's Seal

And now the peonies and the roses are making their show. Can there be anything more splendid than a lush centerpiece bouquet of peonies? My German grandmother only cultivated two types of flowers in her garden (well, yes, there was the spirea and the bleeding heart, but those didn't count), because she only loved those two types of flowers: gladiolus and peonies. And she grew them expertly. Early-summer dinners in Duluth always featured a bowl of her pink peonies at the center of the table - their fleeting scent somehow gave the fried chicken and green beans and homemade bread an extra savor.  In late August, we celebrated my brother's birthday with a homemade iced white layer cake and a huge crystal vase of multicolored glads.  When I began to work as a florist during high school and college, I was disappointed to find that the floral trade relegated gladiolus to funeral arrangements, or the occasional altar arrangement for a wedding. To me, they always meant high, hot, heady Midwestern summers that were just beginning to fade towards September, school, and schedules. Celebrations, and never sadness. To this day, if I send a funeral arrangement, I will always specify that glads not be used. They are possessed of too much joy for the occasion.

 My grandmother was definitely an artist in the kitchen, and in her gardens. I swear she could make anything from scratch, and delighted in doing so. And her flowers were always the talk of the neighborhood. But she dreamed of being a visual artist. Salvador Dali and Pablo Picasso were her heroes,  and she enjoyed sharing her artistic sensibilities with her (stunned) daughters-in-law (two of whom were  - and still are - splendid artists in their own right).  I, too, was absolutely amazed to discover this about my elegant, thrifty, and (so I thought) strictly proper grandmother. My (artist) aunt told me one evening when I was visiting her in North Carolina that my grandmother's sense of color, proportion, and composition were impeccable - and that her love for Dali stemmed from the fact that he had all of those same sensibilities, and upended every one of them in his paintings.  It allowed me to appreciate my grandmother as someone as rebellious as I had always been. Maybe that's why she stayed with me, hellion that I was as a girl. I think she may have seen herself in my wildness and stubborn nature. 

So, Grandma, here are some of my peonies and roses. For you. Thank you.

First bloom of the year for Sir Paul McCartney (how can you NOT grow a rose with that name, with that beauty?)

 

Yellow Chinese tree peony. Just the one, in a treasured glass bowl. It's about 10 inches in diameter.

Beach roses, looking down the greensward.

More beach roses, closer to the house.

Roses and peonies. With a Thai metal rice bowl.

An early-summer treat

I went looking for rhubarb recipes after I scored some local stalks at the supermarket.  I wanted to go beyond the usual strawberry-rhubarb pie (which is delicious, don't get me wrong ...) and found an easy and straightforward recipe for rhubarb sorbet. I'd had rhubarb sorbet with a version of chess pie at a restaurant in Boston recently, and it was the sorbet I had remembered most. Why not give it a try? 

I found this recipe in an old Gourmet magazine (June 2005, for you collectors out there), and it fit the bill nicely. Easy, dairy-free, and luscious. I served it to guests next to a slice of lemon chess pie and a couple of fresh local strawberries. June on a plate! 

Wash, trim, and chop one pound of rhubarb (about 3-4 cups). Add to the fruit 1/2 cup plus 1/3 cup sugar, and one tablespoon light corn syrup. Stir, and allow to macerate for 30 minutes. Then, bring to a slow boil over moderate heat, and simmer until the fruit is very tender, stirring often. This will take 10 to 15 minutes. Puree the mixture in a blender (Take care! It's very hot!) until almost perfectly smooth. Depending on the color of your rhubarb, you may wish to add a small drop of red gel color to the puree; it turns the final sorbet an appetizing light pink. Pour the puree into a metal bowl, and set into a larger bowl of ice and water to cool quickly.  Stir the puree often until it has cooled completely; this may take up to 20 minutes.  Freeze the sorbet in an ice-cream freezer. This takes a while; the change in the texture of the mixture is astonishing - it gets thick and very smooth. When the sorbet is frozen, pack it into a freezer container and allow to ripen for about an hour before serving. The taste is pure sweet rhubarb, but the texture will make you think of the richest ice cream ... all without a drop of milk! 

P.S. : Obscure Literary Reference. Bonus points for those who get it. 

 

Enter, reading on a book

Occasional reviews of books and such

What's a blog supposed to be? It's a question I've been thinking about about now and again, particularly during the Fall of 2014 when I found neither time nor inspiration enough to write regularly in this space. I will not promise to do more or better in the future - such resolutions are meant to be broken. But I also think that this blog - initially designed to showcase a particular place and its bounty through changing seasons - can also accommodate more than photos of places and things and descriptions of daily life.  Perhaps things such as books and essays, and other items of interest. So this post will inaugurate an occasional series on things I've read, and thought about. I hope that you might be moved to write and comment.

So - here goes.

Since Off Mill features recipes along with photos, it shouldn't surprise anyone that I like to read about cooking and about food. Heck, cookbooks, particularly old ones, are like novels to me: settings of particular places and times. The cookbook writer's characters are the choices of the recipes themselves, and descriptions of the methods and (sometimes) the photos of the finished products provide the plot and drama and resolution.

I am sure I am not the only reader who views cookbooks this way. The proof? The increasing number of memoirs-with-recipes that populate the cookbook shelves at the bookstore and library. The best, of course, are the two collections of essays written by the late Laurie Colwin. Home Cooking and More Home Cooking are not  - strictly speaking - memoirs, but the essays are miniature windows that permit us detailed views of Colwin the writer, the cook, and the sensitive observer of everyday domestic life. These books occupy the pride of place in my cookbook collection; they are (justly) celebrated enough to ensure their reprinting for years to come. If you have not already made their acquaintance, I beg you to do so.

Besides, the writing in these books is the model, in many ways, for the newer entries in the memoir-with-recipes genre. It has been the model for my own food writing, to be sure. I used to write a monthly column for my hometown newspaper (north of Boston) and Laurie's work was always on my desk as I wrote.

I'm sure Molly Wizenberg has done something like this. Ms. Wizenberg's blog Orangette (http://orangette.blogspot.com/) is one of those miraculous sites that consistently deliver on their promises, whether tacit or overt. I've been a fan for years, although I've known about the blog more than visited it, courtesy of Ms. Wizenberg's (can I just call her Molly? Privilege of age, and all that ...) now-defunct column in Bon Appetit. The fact that Bon Appetit no longer carries Molly's column, and instead seems to have become an aggressively testosterone-fueled cooking smashdown (as bizarre as that sounds, the reality is worse. More on that later.) is one reason I began to sample the blog. And then search for - and read - her memoirs. There are two of them. The first, A Homemade Life, sounds like a Home Cooking re-run by a twenty-something who has just discovered Laurie Colwin, until you begin to understand that this is a deeply-felt and beautifully-constructed paean to Molly's late father, and to the family life she shared with him and with her quite remarkable mother.

Molly is definitely a good cook. She's adventurous and experimental (qualities that are not the same, although they are frequently used as synonyms. One can be adventurous and just plain sloppy. One can also be experimental and precise, but never venture out of one's comfort zone of favorite tastes.) She works at the craft of writing as avidly as she pursues as the art of cookery. And she's really got a way with the first line that nails the reader's interest to the page. Consider this, from the chapter in A Homemade Life titled "Quite That Magnificent":

               To most people, I guess, turning twenty-one is all about booze. To me, turning twenty-one was all about coconut. Booze is nice, but coconut is chewable, and when push comes to shove, I will always like eating better than drinking. Everyone has their priorities. 

Try putting the book down after THAT elegant reversal of Ogden Nash's storied maxim.

Molly's memoir is written in a style that could be called casual, if it were not so evident that she's labored and rewritten and probably cried over her work. No one can possibly write with such seeming ease on such devastating subjects as the lingering death of a beloved parent - and follow such telling with the precise and bloodless language of a favored recipe - without some serious writing chops. She's not as open about the fact that she knows and delivers good writing as is Gabrielle Hamilton, but that bit of modesty is another of Molly's charms. She's as artless in her self-revelation as she is careful about her sentence construction.

The tale she tells is a very good one, although it's evident about halfway through the book that this will be only the first installment of a series. And the recipes? I'll make all of them. In time.

If Molly's first memoir is tinged with melancholy and terror (leaving a doctoral program! Focusing on a blog for a career, for Pete's sake! Meeting her future husband online! Who does THAT? [snicker]) and grace, her second is a virtual how-to manual for making a restaurant work, from the ground up.

After all, we have all heard the statistic: over half of all new restaurants fail in their first year. There are problems with location, financing, cash flow and budgeting, and of course the vision that makes the great new place in town into the favorite neighborhood haunt.  Well, in Delancey, Molly and her new husband Brandon take on the nay-sayers and create a pizza place that is a smash hit from the first night.

Oh, right, like that happens, you snort. Well, it does. I'd be more skeptical if it were not for the remarkable neighborhood place a mile down the road from me (The Village Tavern, if you want to look it up) that was a sellout on its first night, and has only been building its delicious business ever since. It happens. But it takes a lot of research, work, experimentation, and planning. And every bit of that work - along with all the pitfalls, and (yes) the obsessive focus on getting things right is distilled into the prose of this fast-paced second memoir.

That pacing is only one of the things that sets this book apart from the first. There are also photos in this book, welcome glimpses of the place that becomes the focus as well as the title of the book. And the photos become necessary - since I live across the country from Delancey, it's doubtful I'll ever get to actually see that immense pizza oven.

There are also many fewer recipes in this book. That's a shame, but it also (I think) is a reflection of the fact that Molly's life became much faster-paced as she got married to Brandon, opened a new restaurant, and had their daughter (in that order). We must permit that. But I really longed for the seemingly-casual but careful style of A Homemade Life. I'll return to that book over and over. Yes, much like my treasured books by Laurie Colwin.

Laurie Colwin's and Molly Wizenberg's books are available on Amazon.com as well as in your favorite bricks-and-mortar bookstore. Try the latter first.


P.S.: Extra credit to those who correctly identify the source for the title of this post.

A New Year - and a New Season

A New Year - and a New Season

Yes, again it's that magic time of the year, between the Christmas holidays and mud season ... a Maine winter! And although we have had only about enough snow this winter yet to track a Woozle (see above ...) it's dark and it's cold, and it's blowing - and it's coming. Whatever it turns out to be.  I think I'd prefer a Woozle.

It's also - because the calendar page has turned - a New Year, and that requires some looking back and wondering forward. Photos will help.

Fall was glorious this year -the colors! The temperate weather! I managed to spend Halloween in Maine, and the entryway was primed to be a magnet for young candy-seekers:

Pumpkins, mums, and lanterns - and even a few geraniums hanging on from the summer!

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November was all about concerts, harvesting trees, and preparation for Thanksgiving. We had to postpone the family dinner because of an early storm that brought 8 inches of heavy snow and made roads treacherous on the day before the holiday. No matter! We celebrated an intimate dinner on the Day, and enjoyed a family gathering on Saturday.

Table set for an intimate Thanksgiving Day dinner. The family dinner table was no less beautiful but much more crowded!

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Paul had helped cut, sort, and bale the harvest on his family's Christmas tree farm in mid-November. He brought home our (gorgeous) Christmas tree, as well as a lovely vireo's nest he discovered in a lane nearby the farm. Here it is:

Vireo nest. To be placed in the Christmas tree!

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The snow that fell just before Thanksgiving brought down a number of branches from our white pines, and provided some early Christmas decor for the front step!

Downed branches from a white pine form the basis of a Christmas decoration for the entryway.

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The snow, in the beginning, also frosted the stone seat and birdbath on the back patio:

Early in the snowstorm - just a light frosting!

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Our Christmas tree went up late, as our annual weekend in Boston came at the end of the semester and the middle of the month. But when it went up, it was the best ever! (as per usual ...). Here is a photo of the ornament that my good friend Cathy Sky sent this year. She finds ornaments of astonishing beauty each year, and our tree is full of her marvelous, and generous, gifts.

A wonderful wire ornament! How inventive. 

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Here are a couple of other shots of Christmas decor around the house. First, a gorgeous pink poinsettia:

Poinsettia. More pixellated than I'd hoped the shot to be ... no, I really keep the hall table better dusted than it looks!

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And my grand trumpeting angel on the mantel:

Large angel sculpture - about 3.5 feet tall! The wings and trumpet are gilded.

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An Arrangement

And last - one of my favorite gifts, from my dear friend Mary Mathis. She has a marvelous eye for blown glass, and this small but beautifully designed vase will be just right for my desk. But here, filled with sea lavender and set on a crisp white tablecloth, it absolutely glows:

Small blown glass vase and sea lavender, left over from the Christmas centerpiece

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Some seasonal recipes

Everyone has a favorite holiday recipe or two. I seem to have too many. When December rolls around, I delight in getting out the carefully-saved issues of Gourmet and the specialized cookbooks and idea-filled publications. Their suggestions and my tried-and-true favorites would fill a cookbook, by themselves (now, THERE's an idea ...!) But instead of the indulgences of Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, I will instead offer here my most welcome cookbook find of the past couple of months, as well as a delicious and easy citrus dessert from the annals of Gourmet.

(and I'll keep thinking about that Christmas cookbook!)

The first recipe comes from a venerable source, the Southern Junior League Cookbook. My copy has a bit of a tale associated with it. Sometime in 2012 or 2013 (and I will have to look it up to find when) the food magazine Bon Appetit (a poor substitute for Gourmet, but there's slim pickings in the food magazine offerings right now) ran a kind of snarky-hip article about its writers' favorite ... food things. One such thing was the Southern Junior League Cookbook. Now, the cookbook had long been on my radar. I'd run into lots of copies at very reasonable prices at my favorite used book shops, but never had succumbed. It's actually a compendium of a number of publications produced by this particular women's club all over the American south. It contains - as you might expect - the curious mixture of "gracious" entrees (of the chafing-dish variety), cocktail nibbles, outlandish desserts and convenience meals that seem to inhabit most cookbooks produced for school or church fund-raisers. But this book also has some unique and even bizarre recipes.

So this snarky article raved about the cookbook, and I thought to myself - why not? Maybe now is the time to add it to my collection. And I went to peruse several used-book sites to order a copy.

Well. The magazine had to have been on the newsstands for several weeks before I got around to reading this story, and suddenly every used copy of this cookbook (hardback or paperback) was listed at astronomical prices. There was a copy offered on eBay for over $500.00. The better-preserved used copies on Alibris ran up to over $1000.00. Had THAT many people read the article? Hard to believe ... but still.

I placed an order for a book that was listed at a reasonable price on one of the sites - and was informed, after the order had been accepted, that the copy had already been sold. The same thing happened three more times.  Okay, sez I, the book will have to wait.

And wait it did, until this September, when I ventured back on to Alibris to check out the listings for the Southern Junior League Cookbook again. Lo and behold! I could get a very good copy for about $3.00. The craze had passed - and the book was mine.

It's as good as I'd hoped. Real  - um - meaty bedside reading!! And I found a recipe that I just HAD to try: something called Saxapahash. What in the world? It's basically a baked pasta dish with sour cream added.  I can find no etymology for the name on Google, but it is awfully intriguing. Of course, the name became Saxaphone Hash as soon as I made it and served it to my visiting brother-in-law and his wife. But it all got eaten - in a hurry!  You must try it:

Saxaphone Hash (or Saxapahash, from the Southern Junior League Cookbook)

Brown 1 pound of ground chuck in a large skillet, and pour off the liquid water and fat. To the beef, add 1 tsp. salt and 1 tsp. sugar, a couple of shakes of garlic salt (Penzey's is the best), and a 15-oz. can of tomato sauce, and simmer the mix for about 10 minutes. Chop 6 scallions (the white and light green parts) and blend into 1 cup sour cream and about 4 oz. softened cream cheese. Cook 8 oz. small shaped pasta, such as small shells or elbow macaroni, and drain. In a buttered casserole dish (such as a 13" x 9" baking pan) spread half the cooked pasta, followed by half the cream-cheese mixture, and topped by half of the meat mixture. Repeat the layering. Sprinkle shredded cheddar cheese over the top of the casserole and bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes.

A winter salad of - say - escarole, red onion, and oranges would make an excellent accompaniment to this simple and delicious hot dish.

But what to have for dessert? Here's a recent find from my precious stash of preserved Gourmet magazines. It's simple and quick, as well as delicious:

Orange Sour Cream Cake (from Gourmet, January 2004)

Cream 1 stick softened butter with 3/4 cup sugar until the sugar is dissolved, about 2 minutes. Add 4 tsp. grated orange rind, and 2 eggs (one at a time), beating after each addition. Mix in 1/2 cup sour cream and 1/4 cup freshly-squeezed orange juice.  Mix in 1 1/2 cups flour, 1 tsp. baking powder, 1/2 tsp. baking soda, and 1/2 tsp. salt. Mix only until just combined, and pour into a buttered 8" -square baking pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 35 to 40 minutes. Sprinkle the top with 10x sugar before serving.

Here's to a bright New Year, full of possibilities! Even if we have to make it through a Maine winter first ...

 

The First Weeks of September

September does not come quietly. It elbows its way into the last of summer and shakes you to your foundations with its sudden requirements, quickened pace, and unyielding schedules. The beginning of the academic year is awkward and jarring - who ARE all these new students? What are their hopes, aspirations, and energies - and can I guide them gently but surely through their courses of study? What am I doing here, on stage, in lecture, when only a few weeks ago I was walking the warm sand on a Maine beach, enjoying the interplay of sky and cloud?

Even the solitary places are shaken by the changes brought by September. I found time today for a fast hike at Audubon's Broadmoor Wildlife Sanctuary,  and it was apparent that summer was fading fast in the woods, ponds, and meadows. The angle of the sun's rays encouraged haste, not relaxation. A comfortable stroll was impossible.  Jog down the path, clamber up the rocks, don't linger too long at the overgrown pond. The river, low and sluggish in its course, seemed oily and forbidding in the growing dusk.

No doubt about it, I am not making an easy transition this year to the post-summer academic life. Yes, there is joy to be found in the renewed energy of college life. Campuses once again are places of promise and excitement. But I long for Maine.

Life in Maine is changing too, rapidly changing. There is a palpable nip in the air in the morning, and sweaters need to be layered over t-shirts. In the garden, some annuals have already given up the ghost. I have cleaned the remnants of the cucumber vines and the green bean bushes out of the vegetable garden raised beds. The sunflowers, alas, will be next. Hot peppers are almost finished, as is the miniature sweet corn. But the zinnias, the wonderful tomatoes, and the mixed leaf lettuce are still producing abundantly. Some of summer still remains!

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A few recent photographs

Near Scarborough Marsh in Maine, a road leading into a farmer's field. 

Scarborough Marsh, again. The geometric shapes and contrasting colors of this scene really attracted my attention. 

The Marsh, in full sunlight.


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Some backyard blooms

Here's a small centerpiece arrangement in an Irish crystal candy dish (I broke the lid to the dish years ago, and it serves well as a small vase). Late Knockout roses are combined with fuchsia New England asters, multicolored zinnias, and purple viburnum berries.

But nothing beats the stunning simplicity of a single dinner-plate sized dahlia! This is on my kitchen window sill. 

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A bit of fall color near the side door

An old milk can from Paul's family farm gets a new cap of mums. More mums, small lanterns,  and pumpkins  help the sumer planter of geranium (pelargonium) and lobelia transition to fall.


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Late summer tomatoes! 

There's probably no summer crop I anticipate more avidly than ripe, homegrown tomatoes. They are just coming into their own now in the garden, and may - with luck - continue for some time yet. 

This late-summer abundance makes possible one of my all-time favorite breakfasts. So simple: ripe tomato slices on hot, freshly-buttered sourdough toast. With a sprinkle of sea salt and a grind of pepper. So luscious! I could eat that meal every day.  And for the past week or so, I have been treating myself often. 

Tomato time also encourages me to make some favorite recipes. I have already made a batch of green tomato chutney, which is splendid with roasted meats such as pork. And there are tomatoes roasted in the oven with olive oil, garlic cloves, and salt and pepper. A baking pan of roasted tomatoes can easily be frozen, and will form the basis of marinara, pizza, and cacciatore during the winter. 

But my favorite tomato time recipe is one originally published in the late, lamented Gourmet magazine in an essay by Laurie Colwin. It's a recipe for a fresh tomato pie in a homemade biscuit crust. It is so delicious that I have seen people go back for thirds and frown if there isn't just a smidgen left for fourths. Laurie was a prodigiously talented writer of fiction, and remains my favorite food writer of all time. Her essays for Gourmet, collected in two volumes with the unassuming titles Home Cooking and More Home Cooking, are classics that belong in every serious cook's collection. 

Laure's recipe for Tomato Pie is almost as scrumptious to read as it is to taste - so I will allow her to tell the recipe:

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TOMATO PIE from Laurie Colwin

"I have never yet encountered tomatoes in any form unloved by me. Often at night I find myself ruminating about two previously mysterious tomato dishes, which I was brazen enough to get the recipes for. One is Tomato Pie and is a staple of a tea shop called Chaiwalla, owned by Mary O'Brien, in Salisbury, Connecticut. According to Mary, the original recipe was found in a cookbook put out by the nearby Hotchkiss School, but she has changed it sufficiently to claim it as her own. The pie has a double biscuit-dough crust, made by blending 2 cups flour, 1 stick butter, 4 teaspoons baking powder, and approximately 3/4 cup milk, either by hand or in a food processor. You roll out half the dough on a floured surface and line a 9-inch pie plate with it. Then you add the tomatoes. Mary makes this pie year round and uses first-quality canned tomatoes, but at this time of year 2 pounds peeled fresh tomatoes are fine, too. Drain well and slice thin two 28-ounce can plum tomatoes, then lay the slices over the crust and scatter them with chopped basil, chives, or scallions, depending on their availability and your mood. Grate 1-1/2 cups sharp Cheddar and sprinkle 1 cup of it on top of the tomatoes. Then over this drizzle 1/3 cup mayonnaise that has been thinned with 2 tablespoons lemon juice, and top everything with the rest of the grated Cheddar. Roll out the remaining dough, fit it over the filling, and pinch the edges of the dough together to seal them. Cut several steam vents in the top crust and bake the pie at 400 degrees for about 25 minutes. The secret of this pie, according to Mary, is to reheat it before serving, which among other things ensures that the cheese is soft and gooey. She usually bakes it early in the morning , then reheats it in the evening in a 350 degree oven until it is hot.

It is hard to describe how delicious this is, especially on a hot day with a glass of magnificent iced tea in a beautiful setting, but it would doubtless be just as scrumptious on a cold day in your warm kitchen with a cup of coffee."

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I usually don't bother to peel the tomatoes, by the way. Extra fiber and flavor! 

I beg you to make this pie - you will not regret it, and you will definitely remember it the next time tomatoes ripen by the boxful in late summer. 

Third Week in August

Late August already - and turning the corner towards the start of the new academic year, and the fresh season of autumn.  This time of year is always really difficult for me.  On the one hand, I am looking forward to the feeling of renewal and purpose that the beginning of the semester instills, along with the new rhythms of the academic schedule. There is a heady feeling to it - almost as if anything is possible and every day can being new accomplishment and fulfillment.

But then there is the letting go of summer. And that is what is hard.

Leaving Southern Maine is leaving home. There is no mistaking that. Taking up life (for most of the week, anyway) in the city is exhilarating, but my soul resides in Kennebunk, off Mill Street.

The last couple of weeks of August must therefore be celebrated.

And that's exactly what happened, at the end of the week! Paul and I went off to Cummington, Massachusetts to visit family, to renew acquaintance with his family farm, and (most of all) to enjoy the Cummington Fair!

The Fair is almost 150 years old, and still going strong. It's at once a celebration of agricultural life and an end-of-summer revel, complete with corny entertainment, a cheesy midway, and tons of junk food. Fresh french fries with malt vinegar are a must, as is soft-serve ice cream and greasy sandwiches.  The oxen and horse draws are prime attractions. The soft bleats of the sheep and moos of the cows in the barns during the daytime give way to the crashes and screams of the crowd at the nightly demolition derbies. The antique tractor and car parade draws the largest crowds of all, it seems. What fun!!

The first day of classes is still days and days away.  There's still time to enjoy the green hills and blue cloud-filled skies, or the pop of a campfire as the stars appear overhead. Time to wish on a shooting star and listen for the hoot of an owl. Time to eat and laugh and relax in the shelter of family.

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Some of the color of the Cummington Fair

Looking east from the farm. The glow of the sunset on the opposite side of the sky is reflected in the clouds.

The Garden

This week's best flowers

These aren't from my garden, but they are certainly lovely. This is a border of bright zinnias at the observation building on Mt. Sugarloaf, in South Deerfield, Massachusetts.

The phlox in bloom.

Lovely roses, in my favorite color, in their second bloom.

Not a lot going on in the garden at the moment, so here is a shot of my pet orchid, a phalaenopsis, which has recently come into bloom again. These blooms will last weeks if I'm careful not to overwater the plant.

Blue lobelia continues to bloom in a Nantucket basket on the porch.

It's clear fall is coming! Small pansies are beginning to bloom again in the midst of the salad greens in this blue bowl.

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An arrangement of backyard flowers: 

For this large arrangement, I chose a shallow birchbark container, fitted with a glass bowl. Since sunflowers and hydrangea are heavy, I used a chunk of well-soaked Oasis and taped it securely into the glass bowl. I keep a block of Oasis around for those times when flowers need to be well-anchored in their container.  In addition to the white hydrangeas and golden "teddy bear" sunflowers, I used two small ears of sweet corn, partially shucked,  from my miniature corn patch as accents. The lines of the arrangement are defined by branches of white rose of sharon (which look and smell like small gardenias) and the linear, airy blooms of clethra, or sweet pepper bush.

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Recipes for the Week

Gourmet: A Love Story 

The demise of the venerable, splendid, food and lifestyle magazine Gourmet in November of 2009, has been widely mourned, but allow me to add a belated tear or two more to the general lamentation. I loved that magazine. I first encountered it when I lived in what amounted to a rooming house for young women in Boston's Back Bay, when I attended medical/grad school. I was cat-sitting for a neighbor whilst she vacationed in France one spring, and I soon was spending all my free time on her couch (far more comfy than mine) reading her collection of back issues of Gourmet. The magazine changed my entire approach to cooking. Cooking was, until that time, a necessity - something I did two or three times a day to feed my Dad and two brothers, when I still lived at home. But Gourmet slyly suggested that cooking could be more: luxurious, sensuous, an activity that offered the possibility of creativity and accomplishment. Okay, I'm in. 

After my first marriage, I subscribed to Gourmet as a gift to myself and my new husband. My subscription never ended, but my December 2009 issue just - well - never came. It was as if a trusted friend had passed away. 

I have saved many of my favorite issues. Not all - that would be foolish - but many. And every month, I look forward once again to the Gourmet invitation to the culinary life, well-lived. Here's a menu from this summer's back issues. All three recipes are easy and  - yes - luxurious and sensuous. Enjoy. 

Basil Caesar Salad:  Cut several pieces of leftover bread (ciabatta works well) into chunks. Toss the bread chunks with 2 Tbsp. olive oil and salt, and bake in a 375 degree oven until crusty. Stir the croutons once or twice while they are baking.  Meanwhile, process one garlic clove in a food processor until it's chopped. Add one egg, 2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice, 1 Tbsp. anchovy paste, 1 cup chopped basil, and 1/2 cup chopped parsley. Process, and with the motor running, drizzle 6 Tbsp. olive oil into the bowl. Process basil dressing until emulsified. Chop heads of romaine lettuce, and toss lettuce with croutons, dressing, and 1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese. Serve immediately. 

Salmon with Citrus-Yogurt Sauce:  For sauce, mix 1 cup plain Greek yogurt, 2 Tbsp. olive oil, 2 Tbsp. water, 1 Tbsp. fresh lime juice, 1 tsp. fresh orange juice, 1 tsp. grated lime zest, 1/2 tsp. grated orange zest, 3/4 tsp. kosher salt, and 1/2 tsp. honey.  This sauce is superb with any grilled or baked fish!  Grill or slow-roast one large salmon filet or four salmon steaks, and serve with the sauce.  For slow-roasting (a superior way of cooking salmon, in my opinion), rub the fish with olive oil, and season well with salt and pepper. Cover the fish tightly with foil, and roast in a pre-heated 300 degree oven for about 30-40 minutes, depending on the size of the filets. The fish should be opaque, but should not be dry.

Raspberry (or Blueberry) Buttermilk Cake:  Preheat oven to 400 degrees, and buter and flour one 9-inch round cake pan. Whisk together 1 cup flour, 1/2 tsp. baking powder, 1/2 tsp. baking soda, and 1/4 tsp. fine salt.  Cream 1 stick softened butter and 2/3 cup granulated sugar until fluffy and pale-colored. A stand mixer will do this best. Beat in 1/2 tsp. vanilla, and then 1 large egg. Add flour mixture alternately with 1 cup well-shaken buttermilk, beginning and ending with the flour. Mix until just combined. Scrape into prepared pan, and scatter 1 cup fresh raspberries (or blueberries) over the top. Sprinkle fruit with 1 1/2 Tbsp. sugar. Bake until a tester comes out clean, about 25 to 30 mintes. Cool slightly, and (if possible) serve while still warm. 

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Late August Repose