Just reflecting recently on all the years, when the kids were school age, that I canned everything in sight. I filled my freezer with fall harvest. I can still visualize the vibrantly colourful shelf in the laundry room made so as a result of the neatly lined up mason jars filled with peaches, pears, cherries, pickles, pickled beets, homemade salsa and spaghetti sauce. The freezer bulging with homemade apple pies, frozen blueberries, saskatoons, strawberries, rhubarb and raspberries. I blanched and froze corn-on-the-cob. We bought sides of beef from a friends brothers cattle farm and roasting chickens from the Hutterites. We were set for the long cold winter. I always found such satisfaction, purpose and joy preparing whole, healthy food for my family. Proverbs 31:14-15 still reverberates in my conscious. ‘She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar. She gets up while it is still night; she provides food for her family.”

I have fond memories of doing exactly that. Waking up while it was still night. 5:00 am. To get ready to go wait in line at Heritage Park with wagons and carts, to purchase fresh produce at rock bottom prices. We stopped first at Starbucks and then off to get a decent parking spot at the park. We laughed and joked and made designs in the air with our breath. The chill of fall nipping at our noses this early in the morning. When the gates of the park were finally opened wide, it was as if the people just fell in as a result of leaning on them. It was a mad rush for case lots of apples, peaches and corn and all other marvelous food fresh from the earth.

This harvest trip usually resulted in getting together with a friend the following weekend to spend a Saturday making salsa. I was always excited to have my house smell like an Italian restaurant (even though salsa is technically Mexican). We always made sure we had plenty of taco chips on hand so we could feast on the rich warm tomatoey substance before we filled all the jars. The aroma filled the kitchen and permeated my hair (as I found out in the shower). I could smell the salsa in the steam emanating from the water as it ran through my hair.

I felt like such a farm wife and I loved it. I had a very similar feeling yesterday when I decided to drive out to the Saskatoon farm to pick a few buckets of berries. The drive out was gorgeous. The rolling hills, ranch fences and fields of green and yellow lined with trees were layered in hazy tones of green and blue. It was going to be a hot one. I tried to arrive right on the dot of 9:00 when the farm opened its gates but wasn’t standing in front of my first Saskatoon bush until 10:30. The lady at the register informed me that I might have to go deeper into the orchard to find bushes still ripe with berries as these were the last days of the Saskatoon harvest. But I stopped at the first section of Saskatoons I saw and was amazed at how many awesome branches of berries had been  overlooked by previous pickers and I  set out to fill my first bucket. If it was too hot and buggy and sparse my goal was just one bucket. I found branches loaded with perfect purple and wine berries towards the middle of the bushes and low to the ground where they weren’t as obvious. I had a full bucket in no time and I was enjoying myself immensely.

As I listened to other mothers who brought their children along to pick I was reminded of the time I brought my own kids along to pick berries. They were not enthusiastic. It was the hottest day of the summer if I remember correctly and we were out at midday. There were bugs and it was hard work. All I heard was complaining. I think I finally has to bribe them to fill a bucket and I’m pretty sure that neither of them were even that fond of Saskatoon berries.

Yesterday I could hear one very patient and loving mom, on the other side of my aisle, instructing her toddler, Maria, on the perfect color of berry to pick and to get the ones close to the ground. All the while the mother kept saying to Maria ‘isn’t berry picking fun?’ and Maria agreed. Smart mom. Next time she says she is going berry picking Maria will probably cry if she doesn’t get to come. Soon after they left I heard another mom with a couple of little boys picking and talking to them. At one point the older brother wondered up to his mom and she asked where Jacob was and he said ‘Jacobs in the next row and he’s taken off his shorts and underwear’ and the mother set her pail down and ran to find Jacob and redress him. I was glad I hadn’t brought children along.

I filled my first bucket so quickly I decided to get another bucket for mom. It wasn’t really that quick but I was enjoying myself so….I did not realize the sun was burning a design on my back exactly the outline of my racerback tank top. The white portion of my white and black espadrilles was filthy as was I. But I just kept picking. The activity of picking berries made me feel like all was well with the world. I mean, I had time to pick berries. And clearly didn’t have any other crisis preventing me from doing so. I found it quite cathartic actually. It was reminiscent of the cotton plantations and the pickers singing to make the work go by. Not that I was there but I’ve seen a lot of movies. I know what they are referring to when they talk about back breaking work but no problem, I’m married to a back healer.

Once I had filled two buckets I tore myself away and proceeded to pay for my berries. At this point one is very possessive of ‘their’ berries. I was extremely grateful when the gal at the checkout tied a bag around each of my buckets easing my nervousness at spilling the lot.

Saskatoon berries are very near and dear to the hearts of my mom, myself and my siblings. The morning of my dad’s fatal heart attack he had been out on a walk around the reservoir and had picked a handful of Saskatoons to show mom they were ready for picking, with the intention of going back later that day to get enough for a pie. He returned home and showed mom the berries and that was his last act. As therapy, in the days following his memorial,  we all ended up at the reservoir picking Saskatoons and making pies and reminiscing about our dear father. Saskatoons still remind me of dad.

Once home I washed the berries and sorted them to remove the shrivelled ones and pieces of sticks and branches, not to mention spiders. I measured them into bags and placed them in the freezer. I think I’m getting the bug again. Now I want to can peaches.

After days and days of heat, when no one much feels like eating or cooking, even I was starting to get hangry. I decided I’d give roasted corn and tomato salad a whirl. It looked very enticing and healthy on my favorite authors Instagram feed. As it so happens she was featured in the last Magnolia magazine and shared the very same recipe. You can get most of the ingredients at the farmers market making it a natural summertime choice. And healthy too. So after I picked up a couple of things at the market and a drink at Starbucks,  I slipped into something cool topped off with my favorite red plaid apron, turned on the music and set my mind and hands to making some delectable food.

You’re actually  supposed to roast corn on the cob and then shave the kernels off but I cheated and bought frozen corn and sautéed it. I tossed cherry tomatoe halves into my favorite salad bowl along with some roasted cauliflower bits, green onion, cilantro, feta cheese crumbles , salt and pepper and of course, the corn. A treat for the taste buds and a feast for the soul. Thought I’d toss together another whole 30 greek salad as Lexie and I like to have that at the ready. We douse both salads with our default dressing -olive oil, balsamic vinaigrette and mustard. For optimum health we needed to injest some protein so I grilled some chicken breasts in my grill press for that BBQ flavor and we gathered round for some scrumptious hot weather sustenance.

I was on a summer menu roll so I decided to make some fresh peach pie and while I was at it, why not some homemade lemon ice cream? The tartness of the lemon perfectly complimenting the sweetness of the peach pie. Just slicing up the peaches was a gift for the senses. The scent of peach as well as the ombré color from the pit outwards. I cooked this into my own pie filling and filled the crusted pie plate to over flowing with the bright orange concoction. Nothing I like better than to play with my pie crust and invent unique designs for the top crust.

I grated the rind off four lemons and then juiced the lemons, using both juice and lemon rind in my ice cream. Working with lemons is so refreshing. I end up with about 1 cup of lemon juice and that seems to be just the right amount of tartness and color. We were invited out for dinner the next evening so a perfect chance to share our spoils with friends. Actually I just had another taste of the lemony goodness and am tempted not to share anymore but I will, as this is real food, full fat ice cream and I don’t want to be wearing it in the weeks to come.

Spending an evening putzing around in my kitchen creating nourishment for my family is extremely cathartic and satisfying. I guess you could say cooking is one of my hobbies and life’s loves. Putting separate ingredients together, that would not taste good alone, and churning out something delicious and nutritious is my  kind of magic.

 

The euphoria of walking in crunchy, colorful, fallen autumn leaves. I feel the frost in the air so I pull my sweater and scarf a little tighter creating a warm wooly hug and breathe deeply. My nostrils expand as I inhale someone’s smokey fire pit and I imagine the taste of popcorn. And s’mores. And pumpkin spice lattes that usually round out this season of transition. It feels so lovely to reunite with all my cozy sweaters and take my toes indoors for a few months. I nostagically watch all the children in their new clothes, with new backpacks and running shoes chatting and bouncing their way home from schools first days. I anticipate a visit to the farmers market for corn on the cob, peaches for pie and beautiful orange pumpkins to adorn my front steps. My days of canning the fall harvest come to mind. Why did I stop doing that? I may take it up again.

The warmth of the fireplace as I snuggle in with my cinnamon hot chocolate and fur blanket that I bought at an after Christmas sale last year. I’m settled in with a good book and some Frank and Ella but find myself drifting in and out of sweet slumber. When I open my eyes I witness winters first snow. Soft snowflakes falling past the illuminated street lamp. All is quiet and dark and I can hear Natalie Cole singing Noel in the memories in my mind. Not many things make me as giddy as walking in the snow on evenings like these, so I tear myself away from the fireplace and slide on my uggs and puffer coat and tip toe out of the house onto the unshoveled driveway covered in virgin snow. The crunch of my steps seems unusually loud breaking the absolute peace of the snowy darkness. My mind drifts to apple pie and a hearty stew with soft buttery biscuits. I am reminded that my favorite season is just around the corner. Christmas is a season all its own.

Spring holds its promise of warmer days, greener foliage, new life springing forth after the long cold dead that winter has become after 4 or 5 months. That first morning I wake up and hear birds chirping outside our window brings joy to my soul. Blades of green grass emerging through the remaining snow. I’m starting to dream about open toe shoes again and easier driving conditions. I change up the CDs in my vehicle and revert back to crooners who sing of spring and love. And for those of us who believe there is the promise and hope that the Easter message brings. We are reminded once again or what it means to be resurrected… risen. Full of life once again.

And finally the leaves come out in full force and everything is 50 shades of green. The flowers are blooming pink and mauve and yellow and I  run out the door in my shirt sleeves only to feel the warmth of the sun on skin. I hear the children squealing and running from the school on that last day as the bell rings ‘schools out for summer’. The neighborhood gets strangely quiet as families head out for summer vacation to the mountains, the cottage, Grandma’s, Europe and Disney land. A few stragglers can be found riding their bikes to the corner store for big gulps and popsicles to combat the summer heat.

At this juncture, summer feels like it’s lacking. I want to sit on a porch with a dear friend and while away the evenings with an ice tea listening to crickets sing their song and reminisce about gentler times. I long to live in the country during summer in a big old farm house that needs painting with a wrap around veranda where we could dance at midnight. Or at the lake surrounded by water, listening to motor boats by day and sitting on the pier with our feet dangling in the water at dusk. Fireflies completing the ambience. Summer in the city just doesn’t cut it for me. Im not interested in being surrounded by hot pavement desperately trying to catch a breeze. Sitting on dry land in a confining backyard and dreaming about being on a sailboat with the water spraying refreshingly past my face is making me yearn to be somewhere else. Even the excitement and nostalgia of sitting in the bleachers at a live baseball game eating those delicious hotdogs would do the trick for me.

But for now i’ll have to be content with small pleasures and huge blessings. Ice cold peach green tea lemonades from our happy place. A beautiful deck and backyard. Gorgeous blooms brought home by Lexie and the ones growing in my own personal garden. My whole family home for the summer. Late night chats on the deck as we endeavour to keep cool. Salads and fruit. Local Chapters to hang out at – bring a sweater. Endless opportunities to read and write and create. Impromptu parties for no reason. Movie and date night. Making homemade ice cream and then decadently savoring it to cool down. Early morning power walks to clear the head and induce optimal health. Laying on top of the covers at night with the windows wide open listening to my husbands snoring, the kids laughing in the TV room and the leaves rustling in our new climate change -wind! or the rain falling on the ceiling of the deck reminiscent of rain falling on our tent when I was a child… soothing and rhythmic and alive.

Recently I was assaulted by media pictures of what is going on in Mosul. I, seriously, cannot even imagine being in the midst of those circumstances. Cannot even!

The chaos of destruction in the streets. The glazed looks of the survivors. The odd child sitting in dirt absolutely scared and confused as to what is going on around them. They will need a lifetime of counselling to heal from these horrors if they survive. The haze and fog of dust, gun smoke and bombs. The overall greyness to absolutely everything. The hanging and tangled electrical wires. The mountains of vehicles blown up and impaired. The rubble of buildings. Nothing left really. Everything devastated and completely ruined. Not fit for human existence and yet…. humans are existing in this horrifying war torn zone. I can see the fear as I look at these pictures. My heart weeps as I read the reports of devestation and terror here and it leaps for joy at the acts of heroes trying to be Christ with skin on.

The people of Mosul (the victims… which I must clarify as it’s a civil war) are not concerned about whether they eat vegan or gluten free they are just desperate for sustenance. They don’t give a crap as to whether their hair is turning grey (and it most likely is) they are fighting to stay alive. Latest fashion… please? They don’t know what Valentino rockstuds are and they don’t care. Starbucks? Don’t make me laugh. Clean water or any water would make their day. I’m sure they’d love to go on a vacation. A vacation to anywhere but there. Their photos are being taken as they run for their lives and are posted all over social media -that’s how I happened upon them – Having the perfect pout or the right staging or the latest style or gaining followers isn’t even on their radar.

Seriously? How was I so blessed to be born into a country that has, thus far, known peace and freedom and respect for human life?? And I am ashamed to admit the incidents that make me frustrated and angry. The barista made my $5 drink wrong-again. I can’t get the red wine stain out of my new white t-shirt. Is it time to do my roots again. I’m late because my luxury car ran out of gas. I’m too busy… I have to work at my awesome job and then go shop for food that I actually have money to buy and implies that my family will be eating again this week, then I have to go to the gym to workout (implying we did too much eating) and then race home to make a cake for my husbands birthday-implying we have the mindset and the means to engage in a celebration. I got laid off and now have to learn to live on less. Boohoo. I have too much stuff and have to purge again. I have to clean my comfortable cozy safe house, yet again.

We know there are many other locations, outside of Mosul, dealing with similar terrors and tragedies. Obviously we have serious loss and devastation over here in North America too. We have loved ones dying of diseases and a homeless population and unnecessary crime (is any crime necessary?). Mental illness and inconvenient and sometimes scary weather patterns not to mention drunk drivers and corrupt politicians etc. This is our reality, but we are not dealing with these tradegies with the added context of war and terrorism.

I had to bite the bullet this morning and force myself out of my comfy bed out into the brilliant sunshine and warm rays to embark on my daily walk. This was going to be a drudgery in my mind. And what to my wondering eyes should appear? Beautiful homes with manicured lawns and landscaping. Luxury cars parked in the driveways. Children laughing while freely and safely riding their bikes in the park. Elegant, fragrant flowers of all species and colors, music playing as cars pass by with windows open. Our friendly neighborhood Starbucks teaming with life and relationship, mothers pushing prams and strollers, joggers checking their fitbits, builders constructing beautiful mountain condos. Bright blue sky and rich green grass and trees. (Well the grass is looking a little like straw lately but let’s not confuse the issue with details) . Not once did I have worry about getting bombed or shot. The thought didn’t enter my mind. My greatest concern was making it home in time to indulge Mother Nature.

We are not entitled to these realities and privileges. We are blessed! Plain and simple. Blessed beyond belief.

 

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