Clean.

Happy Birthday, Sage August.

Nine years ago today I became a mama with the homebirth of my first child. Sage has taught me lessons that can never be measured. I treasure his humor, his sensitivity, his mind, and his heart. I treasure this boy.

Happy birthday, Sage. We love you so.

(P.S. if you are inclined to buy the organic body care I make, LuSa Organics, feel free to use the coupon code "Happy Birthday Sage!" in the comments field of any order placed before midnight tonight. That comment will score you some free LuSa goodies. Sage, after all, is the "Sa" in LuSa and he was the sensitive-skinned newborn who inspired Booty Balm, Baby Wipe Juice, and the rest of our gentle baby care products.)

 

Foraging is Good For My Soul.

When I go up north to my parents cabin, I think a lot about my mom's mom and dad, Grandma Lee and Grandpa Les. They lived next door to the cabin for almost all of my memories of them, retired alongside the Wolf River. My grandpa and I would pick blackberries until the backs of his hands bled, his skin thin with age, and the brambles so amazingly sharp. While we were at the cabin, I crept into his old backyard, now a summer cottage for some folks from the city, and picked his blackberries myself. Grandpa would have approved, and berries don't last so we went for it. I even found the seed pods from some Lupines that he and I planted decades ago, part of the reason we named our girl what we did. It was lovely.

But he and I didn't just pick berries. We also picked apples. There was an old farm just down the road, loaded with wild apple trees. We use to go there and fill the bed of his truck with apples for the deer, and plenty for ourselves. That old farm has changed hands a few times now, and every September I drive by staring wistfully past the "No Trespassing" signs to my favorite apples ever that grow along side the drive.

I decided this weekend to find out who owns the farm. Heck, maybe they'd let me pick. And I wanted to ask about taking a cutting someday when I have established trees of my own to graft onto. Clearly no one was picking the apples, as the ground was covered with them. I stopped and asked a neighbor who owns the old farm. "They moved out west. They never come back anymore." I told them about the apples and about my grandpa. "Pick all you want. The owners are friends and if anyone troubles you tell them we gave you permission to pick."

My heart lept. My apples!

Right then and there I jumped the fence and picked one from my favorite (now elderly) tree. It was just as good as I imagined. I tossed one to Lupine and she bit in, then closed her eyes and said, "It tastes like cake!" Yellow skin, pink blush, and medium-soft sweet-sour flesh. Yum.

I went back twice this wekeend and picked apples from the trees inside the farm fence. Lupine and I spend an afternoon there together. We picked apples, found a bird's nest full of babies, then found wild white sage, tansy, red, black, and white gooseberries, raspberry leaves and rose hips. We were both in our bliss. It was truly a perfect day with my girl. She loves it as much as I do.

I went back a second time, alone, and I picked and I picked and I picked. Apples for apple butter, storage, and for sauce. Heck, maybe even a crisp or two.

With wild apples like these (planted from seeds, not from garden starts) you have to taste your first apple to see if it is worth hauling any home. Hard? Soft? Really soft? Sweet? Chalky? Sour? And then take what you want. One tree, laden with perfect looking fruit gave apples that were so soft (even when under-ripe) I could stick my thumb in them. Gross.

But most were perfectly delicious. I kept marveling at how people actually buy apples, when driving by such (free!) abundance each day.

In all, this weekend alone we foraged:

• Wild Plums (questionable, but worth experimenting with)
• Rose Hips (for tea and jam)
• Raspberry Leaves (for tea)
• Sumac (for fiber dyes and for "lemonade")
• 50-plus pounds of wild apples
• Red, black, and white gooseberries
• White Sage, tansy, and yarrow for a wreath
• Blackberries (for fresh eating and jam)

I also saw plenty of our-of-season treats in the woods, including wild strawberries and raspberries. The abundance was amazing.

I'll share what we do with the bounty in the coming days!

Long, Sweet, Wandering Weekend.

 

Sometimes we slip away for four days and pretend that the weekend begins on Thursday afternoon and ends sometime around dinner on Monday. Because why not? We don't have school or 9-5 jobs to tie us down, so we ebrace the anarchy of it all and relax.

We headed to the cabin to celebrate Sage's birthday (Coming up on Wednesday. Nine!) with my parents. We intended to come home on Sunday but as we started packing up I was glancing towards the woods and thinking about sneaking away to forage for a couple of hours and Pete was picking up his fly rod and creeping towards the river and the kids were wading and... we decided to have leftover cheesecake for dinner and stay an extra night.

No back-to-school waiting, no boss wondering where we were come Monday morning. Let's live it up for goodness sake. No one will miss us but us and the seventeen-year old who teaching my kids how to swim. (And we had his number.)

And what a good idea it was.

Now we're home, and only a bit further behind than if we had been "reasonable" and been gone only from Friday until Sunday.

We fished. We played. We swam. We paddled. We foraged. (And foraged. And foraged!) We sat 'round the fire. We laughed. We ate fabulous food. We stargazed.

And now we're back, ready to give this week-that-Sage-turns-nine our all. It's going to be a good one.

Love to you all,

Rachel

How We Roll - In Real Life (take two).

This is a re-post from early 2010. Some of you have read it, some of you have not. It's worth the re-read in my opinion, even if you've seen it already.

I chose to share it again because yesterday I was thinking about what I share here and what I don't and I had this realization that there are ups and there are downs to everyday and sharing the ups is more elevating for us all than the latter. So that's what I do here. I tell you that I'm canning pickles but no that at midnight last night I muttered something about "buying my food at the coop like normal people" and contemplated dumping those damn cucumbers in the compost and going to bed. I tell you that I made cheese last week, but not that today I thought I made cheese but I just really made a big ol mess out of some cream and milk.

Yes, despite the pretty picture I am painting, it is an incomplete one at best. Despite the Abraham-Hicks quote of the day (look down and to the right to read it each morning), despite my searching for the silver lining or the inspiring sparkle in each day, sometimes things go haywire. Sometimes we all have one-of-those-days - or weeks. Yes, sometimes we walk in to our glorious new body care production space to find that the ceiling has full on collapsed. For example. Just off the top of my head.

Yes, I have those days too. Just like you.

(Yes - I am serious. No - I don't have pictures of aforementioned ceiling disaster Yes - everyone is okay, And no - we weren't moved in yet. But whew. What a mess. Note to contractors: don't skimp on the ceiling support wire or you'll have a dropped ceiling. Literally.)

Have a beautiful weekend ya'll. And know that regardless of the scope of the messes you are cleaning up over the next three days, they are nothing compared to an entire ceiling and its associated lighting once it meets a concrete floor. Even if that concrete floor is a cheerful yellow.

Love,
Rachel

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

I have been receiving some heartwarming thank-you emails, comments, and even actual notes (and gifts!) for this blog. Thank you for taking the time to let me know how the blog has inspired you. Thank you for simply coming here to see what I have to say.

I recently received an email from a reader who is loving the blog but also mentioned that my life and her life look very little alike. My life (a swirling blend of homeschooling/home business/obscene amounts of crafting/baking/other projects) isn't where she - or many others who visit here - is at. Her note was very sweet and it made me wonder what my world looks like from the other side of the monitor.

This is a peek into my life. It is the sparkly bits and none of the mess. I usually leave out the screaming, fighting, and crying, the icy sidewalk, and the recycling that didn't get taken out (again). I normally don't mention the dirty dishes (unless they seem relevant), nor the hideous brown shag carpeting in my family room or the plywood in the dining room (see both above). In most posts I will leave out tooth decay, stomach aches, fevers, and vomit pertaining to all members of our family.

Because, frankly, that isn't very fun to read about. It isn't what I am here to write about. But that doesn't mean it isn't going on. 

Yes, I do allot of hands-on living here at home (baking, homeschooling, crafting, sewing), but I also don't work a 9-5 job. If you squeeze crafting into a weekend or two a year, rock on sister. You're making it happen!

I am here to bring a few simple ideas to light:

1. This life is brilliantly fun,

2. Family is (and children are) magical and to be cherished,

3. Making things is completely rad, and

4. There is always, always a bright spot in each day.

I love being present in this everyday of mine and writing here helps me do that.

So I hope that you come here to be inspired and I hope that inspiration arrives without any feelings of intimidation or inadequacy or "I don't live in that world so forget it". Because you do. We all do. It's just your version. And it should be - it is your life after all.

Thank you all for coming back day after day and week after week to see what I have to say. I appreciate your visits, your words, your support of LuSa Organics, and your inspiration. Thousands of visits every month. Thousands. That feels pretty good. (Who are you people anyway?  Mom? Who else?)

I love your comments. I love your emails. I love seeing that you come here, day after day to join me on this journey. (And Sara, I love your "Gratitude Packages" of delicious organic fabric. Mwah!)

Find inspiration here, but don't look for the whole story. (That would ruin some of the magic, don't you think?) And I'm smiling through this blog at your own version of life, however different it may be from the one I'm in over here. 

 

So. Much. Love.

Joyful Participation.

I told Pete yesterday that I wasn't sure how I was going to get it all done before bedtime. The kids were outside and I had a little grumble session, rattling off a list of all that I needed to do in the next 24 hours. At the top of the list was peel and seed - and then can - the tomatoes, stem and process the green beans, and make pickles. Somehow I had bushels of produce piling up on my porch and in my kitchen and I needed to put the time in to deal with them. The fruit flies were starting to gather.

And then the kids came in for lunch.

When Sage got to the kitchen he saw the big pot of water simmering away on the stove. "Whatcha doin'? Are you peeling tomatoes? I'll do it. I want to peel tomatoes!" And before I knew what had happened my kids had set up two work stations at the table and peeled, cored, and seeded a half-bushel of our garden tomatoes.

I was both grateful and amazed. You see, a long time ago we stopped forcing chores. When I'm overwhelmed I experiment with it once in a while, but it always leaves a bad taste in everyone's mouth. Forcing participation in the day-to-day workings of the family teaches that everyone must participate for the family to function (a good lesson) but it also teaches that participating in said work really sucks. Helping is not fun when you are forced to help, so I believe the positive lessons are mostly missed. So I stopped doing it.

My kids do help - every day even - but they usually get to choose how. Lupine hates clearing and washing her dishes, but she likes setting the table and wiping it down. She also loves mopping, cleaning the bathroom, and folding laundry. Do I really need to force her to wash her plate? If so, to what end?

And by preserving the notion that helping is fun, they don't hesitate to jump in and participate in our life - simply for the joy of it. And to me that's the best lesson of all.

Oh, and as for that messy work of processing tomatoes? Both my kids are pretty sensitive when it comes to anything tactile. Lupine couldn't seed a tomato with her eyes open. But tomato after tomato she kept at it, simultaneously amused and disgusted. It was awesome.

 

Sometimes You Make Brownies at Bedtime.

We were tired. It had been a full day, and promises to be a long week. There were dished to do and laundry to fold and another bushel of green beans (and a half-bushel of cucumbers) out on the porch to be attended to. I should start stemming beans, I thought.

And then Lupine approached me, an apron in each hand. "Let's make zuh-urt, mama!" (Dessert is a rare treat in our house. Definately not an everyday affair.)

The aprons belonged to my mother's mother's mother. Great-Grandma Nellie. Lupine's Great-Great-Grandmother.

And so, zuh-urt? Yes. In the spirit of grandma Lee and Grandma Nellie, yes to zuh-urt. Sometimes it feels really good to surprise even yourself with a big and joy-filled yes.

Sage set to work whipping raw cream and homemade vanilla into peaks, and Lupine and I gathered almond butter, eggs, and honey to make almond-butter brownies. When they were cool we piled them with "frosting" and dug in.

What a sweet finish to a busy day.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The recipe for the brownies is adapted from The Specific Carbohydrate Diet and I've had it memorized for about 6 years, since my first journey into no-carb gut-healing foods. 1 C nut butter; 1/2 C (scant) honey; 1 egg; 1 tsp baking soda (optional). Combine well with a whisk and spread in a well buttered pan (or several small ones). Bake at 350 for 15-25 minutes, or until browned on the edges and not gooey in the middle. These will collapse some when cool, but you can just fill the divet with something yummy.