(Barbara) Ruth and Angela (Jean) are two friends with a lot in common. Sort of. Follow along as we discuss the trivial and not so trivial things in life.
Today is Friday the 13th, and around here that means a lot of motorcycles on the road, heading toward Port Dover. The date had completely slipped my mind, but as soon as we hit the road for today's Field Trip, we were reminded. Amelia noticed first. "Mama! Look! A million motorcycles!!" It was all very exciting.
The original focus of the Field Trip was a trip to my sister's farm (or homestead, the term they prefer). My sister, along with her husband and 4 young children, moved to a 19 acre property a few months ago. Neither of them are what you would call 'country folk', but they are energetic, enthusiastic and willing to learn what they need to know to have the kind of live they envision for their family. From what I understand, the plan is to work toward becoming as self-sufficient as possible, starting with raising and growing their own food.
Not only is it fun to visit our cousins, the drive to get there is peaceful, and chocked full of fun little towns and inspiring vistas.
Any town with a Watermelon Festival is worth a visit, in our opinion.
Gesundheit
Where the letters to the Corinthians are sent, I presume.
The first time we visited was in February.
We toured the house and property and got a feel for what their new life was going to be like. We even got to meet Minew, the cat that belonged to the previous owners of the property. They were in a temporary location for a few months, so they thought it would be best for the kitty if she stayed on the farm until they were settled. She incredibly friendly and followed us everywhere we went.
Mimi was enchanted.
Minew's humans came to collect her a few weeks ago, and I'm sure she's happy and settled into her new home. I must say though, I was sad not to see her run up to the car when we arrived this morning.
Today's visit was all about spring!
This is their first year on the property so they are just getting started with acquiring livestock and planting fruit trees and other edibles. The property already has some fruit trees, and other fruit bearing shrubs like raspberries and blueberries. My sister is so excited to see the plant life begin to come alive and all around the property.
It's too early to get started in the vegetable garden, but the forest is alive with wildflowers.
The sides of the wooded ravine are blanketed with trilliums...a mesmerizing site. I have spotted trilliums here and there on forest floors before, (you cannot have attended a school field trip in Southwestern Ontario and not hunted for them....I think it's in the curriculum, or something....) but this was just extraordinary! There were so many, you had to be very careful not to stomp on them.
Most of the flowers were white, but we did spot a few dark purple as well.
Dotted among the trilliums were a few, delicate Dogtooth Violets.
Erythronium dens-canis, 'dogtooth violet'
The first time we visited, the chicken coop was cold and void of chickens,
posing by the chicken coop in February
but now it is filled with 6 laying hens.....
They seem quite happy, and I think they're pretty cute....for chickens.
But if it's cuteness you're after, you really can't top ducklings.
Muscovy ducklings, 4 days old.
These two little ducklings (tentatively named Duck-Duck, and Goose) are 4 day old, Muscovies. They are cute now, but from what I've learned that won't last too long. They best quote I read on the internets tonight was "what kind of duck is that, and what is WRONG with it's face!"
Adult Muscovy
Let's just enjoy them while they are gorgeous, shall we?
We had a great day exploring the country life. I can't wait to go back and help plant the veggie garden!
Winter has always been a celebrated season in my family. We Hendersons are fond of shovelling and carving perfectly smooth snowbanks, making forts, skating, skiing, and hiking. We get this from a long line of hardy Scotch, Irish, and English descendants, used to cold winters and "making the best of it". My Mum and Dad grew up in Ottawa and Moncton, respectively, and both of those cities are known for fantastic snow and serious winters.
Me, outside our home in Hawkesbury, ON. c1967
Grampy (Dad's Dad) with my three sisters, most likely in Hawkesbury, ON. c 1960
Elizabeth, skier extraordinaire. c 1967
My sisters and I skate on the pond in Monroe, NY. Check out my ankles - to this day I can't skate!
Oh, and Janet is the one posing. c. 1972
My sisters making a fort in Monroe, NY. c 1970
Elizabeth looking wintry cute in Hawkesbury, ON. c. 1960
A few months ago I posted (here) a story my Dad wrote about Remembrance Day. Today I'd like to share with you his recollection of the joy of the first snowfall when he was a boy. From this recollection, you'll understand the love of winter that my sisters and I inherited.
Written in 1994, this story takes place when Dad was 8 or 10 years old (1936 or 1938). Before the ravages of dementia robbed my Dad of his skills with the spoken and written word, I think he was almost poetic in his style. If you've ever read (or better yet, heard) Dylan Thomas' "A Child's Christmas in Wales", you'll see similarities in descriptive style. (Thomas' famous short story is one of my Dad's and my favourites - you'll find it here.)
I hope you enjoy this memory on this wintry February day.
In Toronto, or perhaps more accurately here in Mississauga, winter usually comes shyly, advancing and retreating, and when it does come, the snow raises havoc and tempers. It is not often a respectable snow that swirls at your feet, that can be shaken off your coat or stamped off your boots and shaken out of your hair. Rather, it lies heavy and sodden on the road and sidewalks, often quickly becoming either a sloppy sodden mess accumulating in the gutters, or at the corners of the street where passing cars can be sure to splash it up and drench the people waiting to cross the street or board a bus.
By contrast, I remember in November or December, how winter always seemed to come when I was a boy in New Brunswick. There was nothing timid about THAT snow - no sir! Sometimes it came in great storms, blanketing the frozen ground with heaps and mounds of beautiful shapes that kids could explore and create all kinds of possible structures - forts, and caves and slides, or traps carefully constructed to capture your dog.
Chum, my dog, was always there watching you and he always seemed to be able to avoid, or if he didn't, to unpack the carefully packed dungeon as he tumbled down the slide and then ran over and licked your face, often so hard I generally fell over and ruined the whole affair.
We never did catch the truant officer.
My friend Art and I never found out why the truant officer - a big tall, thin, severe looking gentleman - always on the lookout for misbehaving school boys - was never seen walking out in the field where the snow was deep, and where our trap lay, and never seemed to be after us anyway. Well, we were ready for him.
The first snow was more apt to be less boisterous, but not timid. I remember clearly my first recollection of winter coming. It was on a dark gray afternoon. It must have been cold, but I was not. I had gone on an errand down to our corner grocery store for Aunt Jean who lived in the flat upstairs in our house. I walked home across St. George street, up through the girls' playground of the King George School. The snow began. It was getting dark, and the single light bulb, with its flat green reflector over the door of the school, cast a light which seemed to make the tiny flakes into swirling sparks, silently and swiftly covering the sidewalk and me.
It seemed that in only a few seconds, the bare, drab street was covered with sparkling white, and my footprints were the first! I passed the school through the lane-way behind Mr. Leblanc's shed, and emerged into the boys' playground. It was smaller than the girls'. I could look up and see my cousin Muriel getting supper in their kitchen, then on to Mountain Road, around the corner a couple of hundred feet, and I was home.
"Mother, it's snowing fast and soon we won't be able to see the sidewalk." I don't remember what she said. Parents weren't generally excited by snow, as I remember. Anyway, Dad wasn't home just yet, so the supper wouldn't be ready until later. I delivered the parcel of groceries to Aunt Jean and hurried downstairs into the snow.
Some time earlier, Dad had made me a snowplow. It was a marvellous affair - two pieces of rough-sawn board, nailed together in a V with a cross brace on the top and a stout cord nailed on so you could plow the deepest snow. I took it off the veranda, put it on the walk, and began to clear the sidewalk of snow, now over 1/2 inch deep. I traveled back with the plow almost to Robichaud's Grocery, clearing a nice path as I went.
On my way back, I found the sidewalk totally covered again with the new snow coming down faster than ever. It was illuminated by the streetlights making cones of yellow light agains the black sky. The plow worked well - but I could see that it couldn't make much of a difference in this snow. When I got home I left the plow on the our narrow completely snow-covered lawn, and went inside. I guess we may have had nearly a foot of snow by morning, and we cleaned the walk with shovels the rest of the winter.
I was very excited for this week's FTF. We were meeting our friends at the Art Gallery of Ontario and had planned to spend the day with them there. It was going to be Mimi and Otie's first trip to the AGO and I couldn't wait....I really couldn't wait, because by the time we arrived at the Spadina exit of the Gardiner Expressway, it dawned on me that we had planned this trip for next Friday.
Well, we were already in the city and I had enough snacks packed to last us all day, so I decided to give my kids a guided tour of our old neighbourhood. (It's funny because Mimi likes to brag to her brother about how she used to live in Toronto-she was 7 months old when we moved-but he never did.)
We drove all the way up Spadina and I told Mimi I had a surprise for her....we drove around a bend, and up a hill and guess what?A REAL Castle.
She was amazed.
We'll come back another day and tour the inside, but for today a walk around the outside was fun enough.
We jumped back in the car and headed back up Bathurst Street to Vaughan Road. We passed Dutch Dreams, the crazy ice cream place Shawn and I frequented regularly (especially that scorching summer I was pregnant with Mimi).
We continued up Vaughan, and then headed to our old street to see our old apartment.
I lived in that top floor apartment for 11 years. Still looks exactly the same. Good to know some things don't change.
At this point, Mimi took charge of the agenda (quel surprise) and said she wanted to go to High Park.
Last year on Friday mornings her Dad took her to Dalcroze class at a music school on Roncesvalles. Each week before class they would stop to play at the park. She misses that a lot.
I don't blame her, it's an amazing playground.
It was a very chilly day, and I was not really prepared for outdoor play...we didn't even have mitts or proper footwear, but we went with the flow and had a great morning anyway.
At least I brought snacks....lots of snacks.
If there's one thing I've learned about parenting so far, it's that most situations can be improved with either a snack or a nap. After running around the playground for an hour, the kids had both, in the car, on the way home.
Today may not have been what I was expecting, but we made some memories, so I'm happy.
Not everyone looks forward to Mondays, but we sure do.
Monday is the day when the Rascals and I have a standing play & lunch date with my friend Sarah and her daughter Madeleine. Sarah and I have been friends since we met in Grade 5, back in our hometown. We even lived together for a few years when we first moved to Toronto. Sarah and I had a lot of fun in that apartment on Winnett. I clearly remember sitting across the kitchen table from her one day, venting my frustration about the crumby guys I had been dating. I told her that I was done with stupid boys. I believe my exact words were "Why can't there be more guys like Shawn? (my good friend at the time, who was dating someone else) My next boyfriend will be exactly like him. If I meet a guy and he is not as great as Shawn, I won't date him!" (And as you've probably figured out, Shawn and I have now been married for going on 10 years). Sarah was one of the readers at our wedding. I was a bridesmaid at hers. Now, years later, and with 5 children between us, we live just around the corner from each other. Serendipitously, we are both at home full-time now, and we get to spend time together, weekly. Sometimes I shake my head at how things work out....I am so lucky....
This week's play date was at Sarah's house, and she had a craft planned for us. Since it's so close, and Shawn takes our car to work, we walk. When we arrived, and I saw how pretty the craft area looked I borrowed Sarah's van and quickly drove to our house to get my camera.
Sarah had grated some crayons with a rasp, until they were in little piles of colourful goodness.
The kids each had a rectangle of waxed paper, and dropped bits of the colourful crayon-shavings onto them. They used their fingers to create their designs.
Another piece of waxed paper was placed over top, and then newspaper on top of that. Sarah ironed the stacks, one at a time, with a warm iron (not hot!).
The final results were beautiful, especially when hung on a window, so the light could shine through.
I had to include this one because of its alarming resemblance to the MRI image I once saw of my own uterus. Perhaps Amelia was drawing it from memory?
One of the things for which I will be forever thankful is the love of music instilled in me by my parents. As you could tell if you read last summer's posting called "Mood Music", I like all kinds of music. On my radio presets right now I have pop, easy listening, alternative rock, country, 40s, 70s, 80s, 90s, Broadway, Christian, folk and classical. That last one, classical, is especially suited to rainy days, winter afternoons, and the holidays.
Both my parents were musical before they lost their hearing. Dad sang in barbershop quartets and in the church choir, and also played the ukelele (really!) and banjo. Mum played the piano, had perfect pitch, and sang in the church choir. When I was in my teens in New York they joined the "Classic Chorale Society" and dragged me to various concerts featuring works by Bach, Brahms, Mozart and Mendelssohn. I didn't like some of the pieces, but I remember one piece - Festival Te Deum, by Britten - that I hated. Mum said to me, some things are just more fun to sing than to listen to, and I should give it a try.
So the next fall I tried out for the choir. The Director, Walter Latzko (who was a well known arranger of barbershop music), was so kind to me, and was happy to have a young person join in. I was 16. (Side note of interest: Mr. Latzko arranged music for The Chordettes, the group who sang "Lollipop" and "Mr. Sandman". He ended up marrying one of them, Marjorie Needham. She was lovely, and I thought it was pretty cool to know someone who had been on the radio. If you don't know the song I mean, then you are very young and you should click here.)
I really had no idea what I was about to experience. We spent the fall learning a number of Christmas choral arrangements, and focused particularly on the choral pieces from Handel's Messiah. Mr. Latzko announced that our choir was to be part of a group that would perform the Messiah at the West Point Cadet Chapel, about 10 miles from where I lived.
If you have been to West Point, go ahead and skip the next couple of paragraphs. If you haven't, then feast your eyes on this glorious "chapel" that sits at the mouth of the Hudson River:
My parents and I went to church here quite frequently when I was growing up. We really liked the Minister, the history, the ambiance, and especially the music. I used to tilt my head waaaaaay back to stare at the flags that are hung down either side of the aisle - they are all real and from many historical battles. Some are tattered and torn, and all represent loss and victory and sadness and pride.
In the picture above you can see the long straight aisle. At the beginning of church the Cadet Choir would stand at the back and sing the call to worship, the booming male voices (this is before women were allowed, if you can believe it) glorifying God and echoing off the arches. They would then march kind of a slow march down the aisle, swishing their feet in perfect time. I loved the pomp and circumstance associated with this place, and have many fond memories of going to church there. I even remember a sermon or two... but that's another story.
So you can imagine that I was pretty excited and impressed when I heard we were to be part of a 500 voice choir that would perform here during the Christmas season, accompanied by a baroque orchestra and the world's largest church organ (no kidding - it's huge - look):
The Messiah was composed in 1741 by George F. Handel, and is divided into three parts - the first is the Christmas story, the second is the Easter story and ends with the glorious Hallelujah chorus (which is oddly associated with Christmas), and the third is about the final Resurrection and the victory over sin and death. It ends with the most glorious Amen that never fails to give me goosebumps - in fact, I found one quotation that says the last Amen should "be delivered as though through the aisles and ambulatories of some great church."
Indeed the West Point Cadet Chapel is "some great church". Singing the Messiah for the first time was an important moment in my life. Not only for the bonding time with my parents (my mother and I were both altos), but also for the spiritual reinforcement of my faith and the meaning of Christmas.
Today I try to go to a performance of the Messiah every year - whether the Toronto Mendelssohn Choir, the Taflemusik Choir, or even the sing-along Tafelmusik version (which is great fun) - and if I can't go, I certainly listen and sign along by myself! This year I heard Tafelmusik's performance at the beautiful Koerner Hall at Toronto's Royal Conservatory of Music. The venue was stunning, and the performance moved me to tears. The thought of my parents being unable to hear this glorious work made sad tears, the nostalgia of many many years of happy memories singing this with friends and family created wistful tears, and of course the beautiful and comforting words like
Come unto Him, all ye that labour, come unto Him that are heavy laden, and He will give you rest. Take his yoke upon you, and learn of Him, for He is meek and lowly of heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
made me remember that everything will be all right and so I shed a few happy tears.
The final Amen is too moving for words. Click below and listen and maybe go hear it for yourself if you have time this year. If not, mark it down for December 2012. You'll be glad you did!
I'm a pretty nostalgic person on the average day, and at this time of year I kick into overdrive with tradition. I have Christmas lights from the '30s, glass ornaments from the '50s, my stocking from the '60s, record albums from the '70s, and many many other traditions and memories as far back as I can remember.
Like many of your families I'm sure, food is a huge part of our family Christmas traditions. From Mum's savory stuffing to old-fashioned ribbon candy to "Mrs. Santa's butter", we Hendersons enjoy a myriad of festive treats, and try really hard not to worry about our waistlines!
As a baker, I'd like to share the three most special baked treats that make my Christmas every single year. They're not particularly difficult, and I enjoy making them almost as much as I enjoy eating them!
Christmas Plum Loaf
This recipe is over 100 years old, so I'm told. Originally it was made with lard, and yeast cake, and flour that had to be heated, and a few other ingredients that are either extinct or unhealthy or both, so I know it's been modified over the years. I don't have my grandmother's old hand-written recipe, but I have a transcribed version told to me by my Auntie Janet, and it's a good one!
This is a heavy bread made with fat seedless raisins (I assume it used to have plums) and a lot of nutmeg. It is fragrant and delicious and even good stale when toasted. Sitting down with a slice of this and a clementine is nothing short of Christmas morning heaven.
My mother hated to make this. It's a pain and requires lots of stirring and kneading and three risings and patience and exactly the right baking juju to make it work. Some years I have been more successful than others, but I consider it a personal challenge to channel my grandmother and give it a shot. When I was a teenager and discovered my love of baking, I rescued Mum from this job, and Dad and I would make this together.
I plan on taking a slice to him tomorrow in his nursing home to see if the spices and scents reach him like music does.
Fruit Jewels
I have no clue where this recipe comes from - all I have is my own teenaged scribble on an index card, and memories of making this ridiculously easy batch of cookies with my Mum. She would always tell me that I made the cookies too big, but I have never enjoyed bite-sized cookies. Go big or go home!
These are full of chocolate chips and candied fruit, and require a minimum of fuss and cleanup. They look really pretty on a plate, and are as bad as potato chips in that you "can't eat just one". I tried to hide them in the freezer one year so I'd stop eating them. Sadly, they are VERY good frozen.
Light Fruitcake
Now don't roll your eyes, or say "blech". I know many people do not like fruitcake, and I can only guess that it's because they've never had a properly made one. This recipe is from the old Better Homes & Gardens red & white checked recipe book published in 1968 (this was the 3rd printing. It was originally published in 1930 - very interesting history here.)
This recipe is simple and the batter is DELICIOUS. We used this recipe for my sister Elizabeth's wedding cake - I remember my mother substituting fancy nuts like brazil nuts and hazel nuts for the occasion. And every year we made a batch of this cake or the other version, "Dark Fruitcake" (the difference being molasses and the addition of a variety of spices like nutmeg and cinnammon). I like light fruitcake a lot better, and I'm not offended if people don't want any. It lasts forever in the fridge and makes me very happy on a cold winter afternoon with a cup of tea.
Recipes:
Christmas Plum Loaf
Mix together 2 T of yeast with 1/2C warm water and 1 tsp sugar.
Scald 2C of milk and cool to lukewarm.
Combine the yeast mixture with the lukewarm milk, 1C of brown sugar, 1 tsp of salt, and 3C of white flour. Mix well and let rise until light and bubbly (about 1.5 hours).
Melt 1/2C butter and 1/2C shortening. Add 1C brown sugar, 1-2 whole nutmegs grated (this year I added about 3 large nutmegs - we loooove nutmeg), 1 tsp baking soda, 1 tsp lemon flavouring, 2-3C of seedless raisins (I add more like 3C), and 1 egg beaten.
Beat down the risen dough from step 3, and add the mixture from step 4. Mix thoroughly and add 4-5C flour (and no, I can't be more exact... you need enough flour to make a soft, but not sticky dough).
Turn dough out onto a floured board and knead until smooth, adding flour as necessary. (This is tricky. Just enough so it isn't sticky. Any more than that and it will be dry and crumbly.)
Place the dough in a ball and cover with a cloth, and let it rise until doubled (about 2.5 hours).
Punch down the dough and divide into two. Knead each and shape into loaves. Place in greased pans (I spray with Pam), cover and let rise again (about 1.5 hours).
Bake at 350 for about an hour. Check after 30 minutes and if the bread is browning too quickly, cover with tin foil for the last half hour. Tapping the loaves should sound hollow when it's done.
Turn out on cooling rack and let cool completely. Wrap well to store.
