raspberries + sangria

I took Otis and Theodore berry picking to Hoot N Howl, a farm in Boulder, once before. It was about 10 months ago, and as I reflect back on the time that has passed between then and now, I can't believe that we were able to make all the pieces of our life come together. We are finally living the life that we had dreamed of in Colorado...and yes, we still love to go berry picking.

Two weeks ago my friend Kelly came over to my place to pick us up, as we were taking our play date on the road. We wanted to talk and swap weekly stories, so we decided it would be better to pile into one car instead of caravanning over to the farm. We squeezed three car seats in the back, strapped the boys in (her son is good friends with my kids), and set off in the direction of Boulder. Aware of potential traffic jams along Highway 36, we armed ourselves with water bottles and good music.
When we got to the farm the boys ran around, as boys usually do. 

About a week later, my husband and I found some old videos which were filmed long before we married and long before we had kids. We were so carefree and goofy. Quite silly, really. It made me realize that somewhere along this journey called motherhood (and maybe adding a few years to my life) I've become too serious and maybe I even feel a bit rigid. I no longer spontaneously cartwheel down the street or do Olympic-floor routines on the grass of our local park. Why not? Is it age? Motherhood? Am I worn down or stressed out? I came to the conclusion that I very rarely just completely let go.

I'll admit that some habits are best forgotten and I've matured quite a bit in the decade that has past, but there's a frivolousness, a carefree-ness and a silliness in myself that I miss. I really do. And I've been thinking about that a lot these past few days, especially after looking at the boys having fun at the farm.
I came to the conclusion that I need to spend less time yelling in frustration and more time laughing, tickling and being goofy. You know, I need to be more playful!
As a mother I want to teach my children about kindness, and the values of being inquisitive, knowledgeable, positive, and thoughtful. There's a time for correction and instruction too. But I think that having a mother who is a little bit more spontaneous and just a little bit silly (in a yell-free zone) is just as important, don't you?

Draw a crazy picture, 
Write a nutty poem,
Sing a mumble-gumble song,
Whistle through your comb. 
Do a loony-goony dance 
'Cross the kitchen floor, 
Put something silly in the world 
That ain't been there before.” 
― Shel Silverstein

  

Raspberry Sangria

My friend Mizzy made this for us last week. Like most recipes, it is meant to be adjusted to suit your preferences. But very loosely, this is what we did:
Ingredients
1 bottle of red wine (Merlot)
1 pint of raspberries
1 cup of pure pomegranate juice
2-3 tablespoons agave
1 cup (or more) seltzer water or soda (like 7-Up)
Preparation
In a blender, combine the raspberries and the pomegranate juice. Then strain the mixture if you mind the seeds. Add the red wine. Add the agave and seltzer water (or soda). Mix it all up. Serve over ice.

george saunders's convocation speech (an excerpt)

As a mother who is trying to teach her children many things, kindness is at the top of the list.

...excerpted from George Saunders's Convocation speech to the 2013 graduating class of Syracuse University. 

Now, one useful thing you can do with an old person, in addition to borrowing money from them, or asking them to do one of their old-time “dances,” so you can watch, while laughing, is ask: “Looking back, what do you regret?”  And they’ll tell you.  Sometimes, as you know, they’ll tell you even if you haven’t asked.  Sometimes, even when you’ve specifically requested they not tell you, they’ll tell you.

So: What do I regret?  Being poor from time to time?  Not really.  Working terrible jobs, like “knuckle-puller in a slaughterhouse?”  (And don’t even ASK what that entails.)  No.  I don’t regret that.  Skinny-dipping in a river in Sumatra, a little buzzed, and looking up and seeing like 300 monkeys sitting on a pipeline, pooping down into the river, the river in which I was swimming, with my mouth open, naked?  And getting deathly ill afterwards, and staying sick for the next seven months?  Not so much.  Do I regret the occasional humiliation?  Like once, playing hockey in front of a big crowd, including this girl I really liked, I somehow managed, while falling and emitting this weird whooping noise, to score on my own goalie, while also sending my stick flying into the crowd, nearly hitting that girl?  No.  I don’t even regret that.

But here’s something I do regret:

In seventh grade, this new kid joined our class.  In the interest of confidentiality, her Convocation Speech name will be “ELLEN.”  ELLEN was small, shy.  She wore these blue cat’s-eye glasses that, at the time, only old ladies wore.  When nervous, which was pretty much always, she had a habit of taking a strand of hair into her mouth and chewing on it.

So she came to our school and our neighborhood, and was mostly ignored, occasionally teased (“Your hair taste good?” – that sort of thing).  I could see this hurt her.  I still remember the way she’d look after such an insult: eyes cast down, a little gut-kicked, as if, having just been reminded of her place in things, she was trying, as much as possible, to disappear.  After awhile she’d drift away, hair-strand still in her mouth.  At home, I imagined, after school, her mother would say, you know: “How was your day, sweetie?” and she’d say, “Oh, fine.”  And her mother would say, “Making any friends?” and she’d go, “Sure, lots.”

Sometimes I’d see her hanging around alone in her front yard, as if afraid to leave it.

And then – they moved.  That was it.  No tragedy, no big final hazing.

One day she was there, next day she wasn’t.

End of story.

Now, why do I regret that?  Why, forty-two years later, am I still thinking about it?  Relative to most of the other kids, I was actually pretty nice to her.  I never said an unkind word to her.  In fact, I sometimes even (mildly) defended her.

But still.  It bothers me.

So here’s something I know to be true, although it’s a little corny, and I don’t quite know what to do with it:

What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness. 

 the rest of the speech.

cherry picking at berry patch farms (+cherry compote)

Otis, who turns 4 in the fall, has already committed himself to being a firefighter, a surgeon, a train conductor, a man who studies planets, a dinosaur expert and a farmer when he grows up.
I told him, "Well Otis, those are all very hard and worth while jobs. You can do any one of those things so long as you put in a lot of hard work..." He nodded his head like he understood.

But hard work doesn't always guarantee success. On a trip to Berry Patch Farms we learned that even hard work can result in a total crop failure, as was the case for the farm's first round of strawberries which were non-existent due to late snowstorms in April. Yet the farmers remain determined; they are hopeful that another crop will come around in August and they say the fruits are looking good so far... 
I was impressed that even while acknowledging "some years this sort of thing, it just happens," the farmers remain so optimistic. 

That's when I realized that I'd probably make a terrible farmer. I don't mind hard work (and the drenching sweat that comes from spending long hours in the hot sun), but the stress that comes with the territory and the strength you must posses in order to accept things that are beyond your control (like nature) well, that would be too much.   

When we moved into our new house, I thought that we would finally be able to "live off the land." Despite our small urban plot, I was thinking we'd be able to grow enough tomatoes (heirloom, beefsteak and cherry), jalapeno peppers, cilantro, basil, dill, cauliflower, and strawberries to take us through the summer months. 
But luck was not on our side and I didn't anticipate the bellicose bunch of squirrels who are constantly making war with me and my garden. To make matters worse, I planted almost everything in what-was-then (April) the sunniest part of the garden, but what-is-now the shadiest part of the garden (July). So unfortunately everything except for a few tomatoes and some basil is pretty much dead. Yup, my own personal crop failure. (But I will carry on...)


I already know what went wrong. I planted things too quickly. I rushed to get things into the ground. I didn't do my research. And I should have calculated the risk of having hungry squirrels and little boys on the premises. But live and learn, as they say...

There are billy goats, chickens, turkeys, a pot bellied pig and a donkey on the grounds. This had me thinking about how great it would be to have a chicken coop in our backyard. But then I thought about our neighbors who live in the old carriage house behind our home, and maybe they wouldn't be so keen on the noise and such. So we will have take a wait and see approach...




I think there's a nice take-away from the farm that benefits both me and my children: work hard, stay the course, and when things head south remain hopeful and always (try to) have a smile on your face. That's what I saw at Berry Patch. 


When we got back to Denver (which is about 25 minute away), I was craving cheesecake, which does happen from time-to-time (okay, more often than not). This cherry compote took just a few minutes to make and it went right on top of my upstate cheesecake. There are very few pairings that I like more than this one...(but this one comes close).
Happy day, now go hug a farmer.
xo,
Batya

***

Cherry Compote (by Smitten Kitchen adapted from the now-defunct (weep, weep) Gourmet Magazine)
Ingredients
10 ounces sweet or sour cherries, pitted
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1/4 cup sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1/2 cup water
Making the cherry topping: Place all ingredients together in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil. Once it is boiling, cook it for an additional one to two minutes then remove from heat. Cool completely.
Spread topping over chilled cheesecake.

***

cherry recipes from across the interwebs:
cherry, arugula and quinoa salad by cookie + kate
cherry pie by lottie + doof
red fruit salad by heidi swanson of 101cookbooks

hiking mondays: road trip to hanging lake + glenwood hot springs and a summer caprese

Before we started a family, my husband and I used to travel a lot. There were camping trips in Africa, boating adventures in the Galapagos Islands, hosteling in Europe, zip-lining in Central America and excursions through parts of the Middle East and South East Asia. Travel was just something we did. And we loved it. 
When Otis was born we weren't completely ready to stop traveling all together. So, much to the surprise of almost everyone around us, we boarded a plane when he was just 6 weeks old and spent 2 weeks in Spain. It was a gamble, but it was one we were willing to take and it tuned out well. A few months later we took Otis to Jerusalem (with a side trip to Petra) and at 6 months old he flew with us to Mexico for the wedding of two very close friends.
When I became pregnant with Theodore we still had a bit of wanderlust, and so Otis spent 5 days with my in-laws (his grandparents) while Matt and I went to Puerto Rico on a second baby-moon of sorts... 
Theodore arrived 22 months after Otis, born in the same hospital in lower Manhattan. We were still living in our teeny-tiny apartment in Brooklyn and we were starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. Family trips following the birth of our second? Drum roll, please...New Jersey. I think we went Connecticut too. Then we moved to Colorado...

\\These days we travel back to New York about 2 times a year, but we haven't taken any big family vacation outside of the Tri-State area, or even stayed at a hotel together as one unit. That is, until last week.
Denver is a great jumping-off point for some spectacular hikes and scenery, but we really wanted to get deep into the mountains. We would settle for anyplace on the other side of the continental divide. That, however, would require spending an overnight in a hotel, because 6 hours of round-trip driving in the car with 2 young kids isn't exactly a good time. So we booked a hotel in Glenwood Springs, Colorado.

Before getting into the car, we ran the boys around a bit, and then we set our departure time for nap time. Otis and Theodore fell asleep immediately. When they woke up we were well past Vail and just a short distance from Glenwood Springs- a really great place that has enormous pools fed by natural hot springs. 

We checked into our sleeping quarters, which were perfect- two twin beds, air conditioning and a pool- and set out for dinner. 

\\The next morning we went to the Hot Springs and we spent about 3 hours in the pool. I ventured into the therapeutic baths for a bit and came out feeling like jello (super relaxed)...and my feet were so soft! It was awesome.
\\Heading back on I-70 in the direction toward Denver and the Continental Divide, you hit the exit for Hanging Lake, a magnificent lake at about 10,000 feet in elevation that is a pristine ecosystem with aqua blue waters.






\\When we got to the trail head I was thinking it would be a relatively easy hike. It's only about 1 1/4 miles to the top of the trail and the lake, and we routinely take our kids on 3 mile hikes. Unfortunately for us, I didn't exactly do the research that I should have done. And the hike it turns out, while only 1 1/4 miles long, has a 1000 foot incline. It's basically like hiking straight up a mountain. Literally.









\\But we persevered and slowly made our way to the top...and finally got to the last of the 7 bridges that we needed to cross...

\\By the time we got to the lake we were incredibly exhausted, but it was spectacular and the canyon views were GORGEOUS...(see that, I'm using CAPS-- that's how beautiful this hike was!)






\\Then it was time to go back down the trail...


notes on the hike:
Getting there from Denver: About 3 hours. I recommend staying in Glenwood Springs for a night or two. It's about 10 miles from the hot springs on I-70 heading east.
Difficulty: Strenuous, especially with young kids.
Distance: 1 1/4 miles.
Duration: Plan to spent between 2-3 hours getting to the lake. It took us less than 45 minutes to get back down.
Pack: sunscreen, a hat and lots of water!

\\ I was wiped out by the time we got back to Denver, so a simple caprese salad did it for dinner (I really couldn't find enough energy to cook and make a big mess). I cut up a few tomatoes and a few balls of fresh mozzarella. Usually I make my own pesto, but I happened to have some leftover store-bought because I prefer it for my pesto minestrone. I put a big dollop of pesto in between the tomato and mozzarella. Then I drizzled it with some balsamic vinegar reduction and a few pinches of large flake salt. 
Simple. Summer. Enjoy!