My favorite strip in the ol’ daily commute is in full bloom: Dogwood Row aka the false flat of Nairn Falls. When this magical time finally happens I know spring has officially arrived. These native beauties symbolizes this time of the year perfectly: rebirth and resurrection, durability and reliability, strength and resilience.
So, life has felt a little backwards lately and I’ve been dormant like the bulbs I planted in the fall: slowly growing in hibernation, slowly surfacing to flower. While the green glow of spring delivers a healthy dose of new beginnings there will always be things that don’t survive the winter.
The beauty is, you can always replant.
Spring offers up a chance to do over everything from last year… literally, start fresh, change the pattern and do it better. Prune away the dead to promote new growth, leaving some things the same (they’re called perennials for a reason) and don’t forget to tend to your evergreens as they are there for you every season.
It’s not always as simple as it seems: a large puzzle with small pieces. Sometimes you’re rewarded beyond expectation in an instant and sometimes patience is a virtue.
But by saying yes to growing new things and experimenting with new varieties we can create a new palette to work with.
There is little risk in gardening if you’re willing to fail and get your hands dirty. Notable and new to my garden this year are Jerusalem artichokes, shiso and fennel (which will actually be nowhere near my garden because it’s friends with no one). Oh, and way more flowers! Because why not? And pollination is key to life. Other plants are bound to sneak their way in too.
When supported by a cast of usual suspects: beets, carrots, cabbage, cauliflower, cucumber, tomatoes, brussel sprouts, squash, cantaloupe, onions, garlic, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, peppers, peas, beans, all the herbs, chard, radish, daikon, celery, kale, romaine, greens, kohlrabi, leeks etc, one can be nourished and flourish quite well.
There is a good chance I’ve already said this but I’m just going to keep saying it:
Grow what you love, try new things, revisit old favourites and savour the process.
On my desk right now is a gorgeous little collection of essays called Wonder and Other Survival Skills, put together by the editors of Orion magazine. On its cover, a young girl presses her hand against the surface of a lake: skin of girl meeting skin of lake. From this meeting, a ripple moves.
“Is wonder a survival skill?” H. Emerson Blake asks in the foreword. “The din of modern life pulls our attention away from anything that is slight, or subtle, or ephemeral. We might look briefly at a slant of light in the sky while walking through a parking lot, but then we’re on to the next thing: the next appointment, the next flickering headline, the next task…Maybe it’s just for that reason—how busy we are and distracted and disconnected we are—that wonder really is a survival skill. It might be the thing that reminds us of what really matters, and of the greater systems that our lives are completely dependant on. It might be the thing that helps us build an emotional connection—an intimacy—with our surroundings that, in turn, would make us want to do anything we can to protect them.”
By my own definition, wonder is the ability to travel beyond attention, beyond mindfulness–to truly make an encounter with the world in a way that, for the slenderest of moments, lifts us out of ourselves and returns us back with something more. Something of the ‘other’ we’ve encountered travels with us. A little of the world comes into the interiority of us and lodges there. Permeates.
Winter is a season of rest for most of us land-based folks. A season of living in a place of dreams and visioning (literally, as we get caught up on sleep, and plan for the year ahead.) This is the first season I’ve stopped teaching completely. I felt the need to let the work do a deep dive into silence, and (beyond the day-to-day chores of keeping animals, which never go away), to truly let myself drop out of time. I sleep when I’m tired. I wake up when I wake up. I have breakfast and a cup of coffee, before I go out to do chores. Which sometimes makes me feel like a slacker, but it also feels… luxurious. Luxurious in a simple way I haven’t allowed into my life before. A spaciousness that holds its own kind of wonder.
The other reason I decided to stop teaching completely once the snow hit in December, was I wanted my horses to feel like they belonged to me again. 2018 was our busiest year teaching together (THANK YOU, PEMBERTON!) but I wanted a chance to ride when I wanted to again, instead of working a horse so they would be ready to say ‘yes’ to a student. I wanted to WANT to ride again. To wander about aimlessly bareback with nothing but a lead rope joining me to my horse’s mind. I wanted the horses to be able to choose who came out to play with me, whenever I showed up at the gate with a halter or a bridle.
What’s emerged out of this unravelling is that I was finally able to back Besa, my big paint/Friesian mare. When she came to me 18 months ago, she was an untrained 6-year-old, freshly weaned from being a mamma to a feisty filly. She made it very clear to me- in her lack of desire to be caught and her extreme reactivity, power and athleticism- that I’d have to take my time with her. Given space and the permission to approach me (instead of me expecting to approach her and do what I wanted), she decided that humans were worth being curious about. Her curiosity flowered into full-blown affection. She’s the first horse to come to anyone out of the field now, and she sometimes chooses to pull me (or whoever I’m accompanying into the field) in against her chest with her muzzle, the closest a horse can come to giving a hug.
Besa’s been asking me to do things with her for months (Proper things! With a bridle and tack like all the other horses!) and all summer and fall I just didn’t have the capacity. But these last few weeks I’ve slipped onto her back and let her carry me around our little maze of snow paths in a mutual exchange of trust: I will trust you with my body, if you will trust me with your body. The ‘training’ part of it can come later. For now, all I want is her to turn her head to me, so she can look at me fully out of her huge dark eye: Oh. So now you’re up there now. So that she can yawn and snort and let all the tension go out of her nervous system, and get used to this strange new way that horses and humans can be together.
Perhaps it’s me she’s been waiting for all along. Perhaps I needed to drop into this spaciousness for us to find this way to trust each other.
There’s one essay that stands out for me in this slim little collection that sits on my desk. It’s Chris Dombrowski’s Kana: a father grasps at the nature of wonder. In it, he defines Kana as “a word or figure the Japanese haiku poets used as a kind of wonder-inducing syllable (it translates loosely into English as an exclamation point.)… that heart-stutter we receive when an image of the world takes root in us…”
His essay shares the spell of a day spent morel hunting with his twenty month old son. The way the boy wanders across the face of the burn, trailing a whitetail’s antler behind him, carelessly decapitating the very mushrooms he’s hunting for:
…he is either in a daze of boredom or he is walking kana, penetrated each step by the world, not penetrating it. It’s tempting to call this spirit naïveté, but it’s not: it’s wisdom we lose along the way.”
Perhaps that’s what I’ve been courting this winter: wisdom I’ve lost along the way as I’ve been coerced into ascribing to linear time, to capitalism, to the many demands the constructs of being human impose upon us. There is gentleness here, in this wonder, that doesn’t feel rushed or imposed. A hand resting against the surface of a lake.
I’ve wanted to broaden the scope of my horse and nature based teaching practice to include workshops for adults since I started Mountain Horse School in 2012, but I’ve shied away for a long time. I’ve always felt comfortable with kids because they’re so immediate, so open still to this touch of the world upon them. Grown-ups’ responses are layered. More conditioned. We need more language to access understanding, and experiences that can operate like keys opening the locks of ways of perceiving we’ve long put away. Grown-ups want reasons to pacify our rational, linear ways of thinking, and we want to know if playing with opening the doors to wonder, if walking Kana is ‘worth the investment’ of our time. We’ve become used to being sold meditation through a list of its benefits. A walk in the woods has become a thing we could pay for. Forest bathing, it’s called in the brochures.
What if wonder is the gateway to possibility? What if it’s the only skill that will give us the tools, insight, and power we need to move into (here I am, throwing another book title at you!) The More Beautiful World That our Hearts Know is Possible? What if the benefits of wonder—similar to its more lauded cousin, gratitude—might be the resurrection of a life woven into belonging with the wider world that sustains us?
Small watercolour of a whale’s ear bone from the intergalactic spaceship that is my desk. Because of the complexity of their hearing, whales’ inner ear bones are contained within a separate chamber, not encased inside the skull as ours are. It amazes me how much this bone looks like a shell. If I held it to my ear, would I hear the sound of the sea?
It’s not up to me to answer these questions. I can only speak from the lens of my own experience, my own perceptions. In lieu of that, I can say with certainty that this winter’s dreaming I’ve been luxuriating in, this kana I’ve been walking in my own life, feels absolutely essential to the future that comes next. I can say—if I may speak with authority based on the way things feel from the intergalactic spaceship that is my writing desk this afternoon—that it HAS been absolutely necessary. That nothing is currently more important. Oh, the great irony that ‘doing the work’ this winter has actually meant ‘doing less work—!’ (Is that an exclamation mark or is it kana? You decide.)
So, in the spirit of wonder being the gateway to possibility, I’m issuing a little dare to myself. Actually, it’s not little at all. On Feb 17, I’m offering a one day workshop called Lightning Seeds: Opening the Gateway of what’s Possible, in collaboration with my dear friend, animal listener and translator Guliz Unlu. Come play with us as we walk kana in the company of the horses and other animals at Mountain Horse School, and court wonder through a combination of equine guided learning, animal communication, intuitive herbalism, earth wisdom, and soul craft. Curious to know more? Please visit our website or facebook page for all the juicy details!
“Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get.” Forrest Gump
Without a shadow of a doubt I can say this has been one of my most challenging years to date.
Thus, I’ve been quick to say, “Peace out 2018, thanks for nothing!” But really, deep down I’m actually saying, “Thanks for everything. “
Having suffered a bad concussion earlier this spring I was forced to slow down and smell the roses. My garden became my sanity through it all and I re-kindled my love affair with the soil under my nails. (If only the confidence I feel within those walls projected throughout all aspects of my life.)
But if kale can weather harsh conditions and continue to grow then so can I. My roots are strong; I’m just feeling bound. All I need to do is prune back some dead shit, be re-potted and I’ll bloom.
For years I’ve reached for the cheat sheet in a box of chocolates because I wanted to know what I was getting (otherwise known as the Comfort Zone). Bite into something “gross”: no thank you. But life for the most part doesn’t give us something to follow and you just have to be ready to ingest anything.
All of this being said; learning will nourish my new year as I deepen my love for all things horticulture. The second step is sharing it with those who need some inspiration or want to learn more or just need a little nudge.
Here are your first tips:
Grow your own food: it’s the best way to get what you want.
Experiment: maybe you’ll discover that something you thought you hated you actually love.
As we grow in the life we’ve been gifted we begin to learn we love some flavors more then others. Breaking away from the comfort of our favourite flavors is when we will be most rewarded but it’s key to keep some classics in your back pocket.
In the end if we keep sowing our own seeds, growth is inevitable.
Lately I’m having a hard time drawing the line between what should get more attention: my new Le Creuset Dutch oven or planning out my garden for next year. What to cook vs what to plant. Either way both schools of thought provide me with a constant mind game and humor my co-workers. Not to mention, a day wandering through the Van Duesen Gardens, tackling Julia Child’s ‘Beef Bourguignon’, absorbing the concepts I’ve been studying in an ‘Intro to Landscape Design’ course and an evening with Stevie (MF’in) Nicks – basically, my mind has been on overload.
Stimulation: it’s a blessing and a curse.
The Internet was slow as molasses for Cyber Monday sales as people consumed their lives away. It’s also made my normal routine of scouring through sites for new recipes to cook during the week near impossible. So, I decided to kick it old school and take to my graph paper, apply some new design techniques and start planning out my garden. Nothing like thinking in colour on a grey day: Julia Child inspirations can wait… lasagna is on the menu tonight and that recipe is engraved in my mind.
The process for me starts by making a list of what I loved and what did well, knowing full well that next year might bring completely different growing conditions. But I don’t dwell on that. Just like I’m not dwelling on the fact that last year we were shredding deep snow at this time and this year it’s warm and wet with the lowest base we’ve seen in years. Gross – but c’est la vie.
The second list I make is what’s sucked or I just don’t want to grow anymore. This is largely based on the fact that I can get it from someone local like Laughing Crow Organics or Helmer’s or without sacrificing my own garden space. Supporting our local farmers is equally as important in the grand equation and should not be left out!
The third list is the experimental list AKA: my favourite.
The other lists include; herbs, flowers and things that grow on the deck. This list will change and grow which is part of the glory of working in pencil.
Second step of the layout plan is to draft your garden space on paper, preferably graph (enter a hint of obsession here), to somewhat of an exact scale in 2D form and trace the outline with permanent marker. Then the fun begins – what grew where and where do they go next: the power of rotation.
Be sure to sharpen your HB2 pencil and prepare your eraser for this stage. Start plopping your veggies, flowers and herbs in as you see fit. Ideas will come and go as fast as you think them and are on to the next. And to be completely honest, by the time you go to plant they’ve probably changed but hey, remember, it’s just as much fun to colour outside of the lines as within.
Third step… sit and wait. It’s winter – the ground is frozen, you can’t plant shit but somehow your kale still seems to grow; roll with it. Pour yourself a tasty beverage, dream up new ideas, play around with your design, your ideas and aspirations. No thought is too small or unachievable. Remember, I started my current garden with nothing but a “green house”.
To obsess over what you want to grow and eat is a healthy, sustainable step in the right direction – you just have to be willing to try.
The rainy days of fall have come at last and today even a bit of the white stuff. But thanks to our extended August weather my garden saw yet another expansion complete with an Asian pear tree, perennials, and flowering bulbs; plus I finally got the garlic planted. My focus has taken a small hiatus from planning out next year to filling my freezer with quick dinner options for the dark hibernating nights of winter.
I don’t have kids but I ended up with pumpkins and carving them didn’t happen. I also had potatoes – go figure. So, I thought I’d channel my inner nonna, combine the two and make some gnocchi. To say I followed a single recipe would be far from the truth… more like scoured through a ton of websites and drew on certain elements from each to make one. Biased opinion or not I think it turned out pretty delicious. They are in no way gluten-free or dairy-free but rich in flavour and love.
Step Uno: Roast your pumpkin – cook your potatoes
Cut your pumpkin into half, gut it and then cut it into wedges (save the seeds to roast). Place on a cookie sheet skin side down, drizzle with a bit of olive oil and season with salt & pepper. Bake at 350°F for about an hour then remove from the oven and set aside to cool. Scoop out all the flesh and keep aside 1½ cups – freeze the rest for a rainy day. While your pumpkin is cooking place 3 medium sized russet potatoes into a pot and start to boil them. There is no need to cut or take the skin off just place them in whole! This will help you achieve the perfect texture – fork tender no more no less. Remove them from the water and allow to cool completely. When they’re ready peel the skin off and either grate the potatoes or use a potato ricer to process them.
Step Two: Prepare your dough
In a large bowl add your pumpkin, prepared potato, 2 egg yolks, some fresh grated nutmeg, 1 cup of ricotta, ¼ cup grated parmesan, salt and approximately ½ cup+ of oo Italian flour. Now some of you are probably wondering; what the hell is oo flour? Basically, it’s more refined then normal flour and while it’s not necessary for this recipe I think it creates a superior, silkier dough and helps the pasta maintain chewiness once cooked. But use whatever you have on hand. I’d also like to mention that the flour amount will vary and this is where “channeling your inner nonna” comes in. As a friend recounted to me from her recent trip to Italy where she learnt to make pasta with a real live nonna, “they don’t measure – they feel; and just know when it’s enough.” Start with only ½ cup of flour and use a wooden spoon to bring all the mixture together, adding in flour as you go until the dough does not feel wet any more. Turn the dough onto a floured surface and knead until smooth.
Step 3: Make your gnocchi
Cut a slice of dough off and roll it out into a rope about ½” thick. Using a sharp knife cut your rope into 1” pieces. Keep flour on hand for this stage as well, you don’t want your gnocchi sticking to the counter. Use a fork or a gnocchi board to gently roll your pieces, creating texture on top and a small indent on the bottom to catch your sauce. Continue this formula until all the dough is used.
Step Quatro: Cook & eat!
Bring some salted water up to a boil, working in small batches to cook your gnocchi. When they float to the surface they are done… it does not take long – do not leave them unattended. At this point the rest is up to you: skies the limit. Sauce them up with whatever your heart is craving. For this round I used A LOT of butter then some sage, chili pepper, garlic and toasted hazelnuts (plus a little extra pancetta I had on hand). Like with pasta I added a bit of the water the gnocchi was cooked in to make it extra saucy.
Step 5: Freeze your extras
This recipe produces a lot of little gnocchi so I froze the extras in a single layer on cookie sheet lined with parchment (as seen in the featured image).
In my kitchen I experiment just as much, if not more, as I do in my garden. I did not nail this recipe on the first try and it’s still not nonna’s gnocchi but it’s mine. It’s really about how the more I cook, the more I learn, the more I love to do it and the more I eat! And, let’s be honest, there are way worse problems to have then a full stomach and heart.
Mother Nature is neat. She gives and she takes: it comes down to how we choose react to each facet in our open relationship with her that matters. Seems odd to me that we’re becoming more accepting the smoke shows each summer and that the map of BC resembles the Lite-Brite I used to play with as a kid. Yet, there are still folks out there that say climate change isn’t real.
This is only one of the reasons why I feel so strongly about the importance of growing our own food, saving seeds, choosing local and preserving. By teaching people easier ways to manage what they grow we can prepare for any surprises thrown at us, have a taste of summer all winter long and make difference.
We are so lucky to live in a valley rich in good dirt for growing and farmers that know how to use it. Every time I pedal out the meadows for a meander I am in awe of the beautiful fields full of vegetables. The Slow Food Cycle that is hosted here every August come rain, shine or smoke is great for educating us on who grows what and other local goods available. Every year there are new and exciting vendors showing us what’s possible if you experiment a little in your backyard. But it’s in these simple connections where the subconscious is fueled with ideas and relationships are forged.
So buy a big bag of carrots from Helmer’s, buy a bag of pickling cucumbers from Laughing Crow, go to the garlic festival this weekend, fill your growlers up at the breweries, stop at the food stands on the side of the road, heck, why not just join the Pemberton Food and Farm Facebook page to see who has surplus of fruit and veggies and take full advantage. Stock your freezer, stock your pantry and feel good about where your food has come from. You can definitely believe if it’s come from anywhere in this valley it’s grown with love and that my friends will leave the best taste in your mouth.
I am grateful that I love to garden (and seem to be good at it) and have the want to share my knowledge and I am so in love with this community… and, I am very grateful for Hazy IPAs on hazy days.
For me the art of slowing down and smelling the roses has turned into taking advantage of the surplus of this native shrub behind my house, plucking their petals and creating something delicious. As it is in my garden where I rarely follow my planting plans the same holds true to my style of cooking; recipes are but a base. I’ll admit my first batch, from a recipe I followed, did not set. This led me to taking matters into my own hands, going with the flow and trusting my strong sense of jamming. So, queue up some Bob Marley as I guide you to making your very own wild rose jelly.
INGREDIENTS
≈4 cups wild rose petals, lightly packed
4½ cups boiling water
¼ cup fresh lemon juice
5½ cups sugar
2 pkgs liquid pectin
Other: cheesecloth, jars, lids, tops, a big pot & lots of love
Start by foraging for rose petals: try to pick in areas away from the roadside and pick higher then a dog may pee! Give them a small bath in the sink to get rid of the majority of bigger bugs and pick out any of the greens. Don’t stress too much about getting everything, as you’ll end up straining the lot later. Place them in a nonreactive bowl, cover with the boiling water and allow steep for 1-2hrs. The petals will lose their colour and look quite dull but patience is key here.
While your petals are steeping prepare your jelly vessels. This recipe makes approximately 8-9 cups of liquid gold; I use a mishmash of 125ml and 250ml jars and usually prepare a few more then what’s needed, just incase. Wash every thing then put the lids and tops in a pot submerged in water and place on the stove over medium-high heat. Jars can go on a cookie sheet in the oven at 250°F. You want these to sit in their respective mediums for at least an hour.
When you’re satisfied with how long the petals have steeped or you can’t wait any longer get ready for some magic. Add the lemon juice and watch the water go from blah to vibrant pink! It’s science.
Pour the petals and water through a strainer lined with cheesecloth straight into a big pot squeezing all the liquid out that you can. You want 4 cups of rose water; if you’re a bit short just add a bit of filtered water. I found this recipe made the right amount of water so you should be fine but feel free to measure if you’re not sure. I like to wing things. Add the sugar and bring up to a boil, stirring to ensure all the sugar incorporates into the rose water. Once at a hard boil keep it here for 2 minutes skimming any foam off the top. After the time has elapsed remove from the heat, add the pectin and stir to combine for 5-6 minutes – no less – more is okay but no less.
Now you’re ready to put your creation into jars and await the sweet satisfying sound of popping lids. Some recipes call for a water bath to finish the canning process but I’ve never done that. I just go with what my mom taught me, which is what’s outlined here, and it’s never failed me just like her.
This simple tasty treat can be enjoyed may ways but my favourite thus far is on coconut ice cream or straight out of the jar… Happy jammin’!
There are essentially a couple groups you would’ve fallen into this past weekend: camping, working or planting your garden (ideally a combo). No doubt in my younger years I was way more into packing the truck with a tent, sleeping material, coolers full of beer, sausages, buns, ketchup, cans of beans and chips – lots of chips – and getting the hell outta of Dodge. Now as I age “gracefully” my focus has changed or maybe temporarily wandered and there is also that work thing. The exception is chips; there will always be lots of chips.
But let’s focus on gardening… What is it about the May long weekend, no matter where you are in Canada, it’s viewed as “the time to plant your garden”? Surely it’s some sort of phenomenon or maybe a myth.
Firstly, I’d like to draw your attention to a key fact. Our growing zone here in Pemberton is radically different from that of my family in Kenora, Ontario and those in Nova Scotia and Newfoundland. Yet, we all assume it’s totally kosher to plant tomatoes and basically everything else outside the same weekend. We can all also agree that one of our garden’s biggest nemeses is frost. So really, by accepting this planting time frame we are all pretty much assuming that frost is off the plate as of May long weekend. Hereby committing our plants to a life outside producing us a bountiful harvest.
It’s as if the universe is giving us a chance to all exist on the same plane for a mere moment in time; I’ll take it.
Here in Pemberton the mercury levels on our thermometers have been reading higher then normal for May. Which has made it easy to get crazy and just start sowing things. And, of course, I am all for this and 100% participated. It speaks to that whole experimental element in gardening that I love. You just have to be ready to face the fact that some things may not survive. Like a game of Monopoly; sometime you pass go and collect $200 and sometime you go to jail. I’m willing to bet the vegetables that prefer the cooler growing season of spring are probably wondering this year like the rest of us why it’s July’ing in May.
Early direct sow experiment with Borage… Status: alive & thriving. Stoked to have this gem in my garden this season.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about the sunshine and the extra early lake dips but I am hot and bothered that my garden already needs to be watered twice a day… I genuinely miss Spring – She was super cool.
Traced Elements 