A special day

For a very special person.  Happy birthday, Dad.  I'm sorry we can't travel to Las Vegas to celebrate your 96th, but we'll make up for it next time with a big party on your 97th!  Stay safe, well, and keep reading those books. You are an inspiration to all your family and friends.

Hope you have a nice day with Marji and pal "Doodles." I heard pepperoni pizza and cream puffs are on the menu tonight.  You go, Dad!

Wordless Wednesday

James Tissot, “Holyday” (The Picnic), ca. 1876

A cake fit for Mozart

Fruit Kuchen is the most Teutonic of cakes. Our thrifty old German neighbors baked Kuchens with whatever fruit was in season for their morning "kaffee trinken." It tends to get soggy, so was always enjoyed warm and fresh on the same day.

Just a simple butter and egg batter, topped with fresh fruit and sprinkled with sugar. I make a plum Kuchen every year. Such a pretty dessert, you can't resist taking a picture. John did the precision slicing. Ha!

It's going to be a nice afternoon, but this early morning is dark and misty. September is suddenly here. Usually a lovely month to soak up the last warm days, but there's no fooling ourselves, summer is over. And what a strange and unforgettable one it's been.  So uneventful with everything cancelled, but feeling oddly momentous at the same time.

Harvest is just round the corner.
And now we reap what we've sowed.

 Book Of Hours Calendar

September

Odds and ends

We had a refreshing rain last night to wet things down, and this morning feels downright fall-like. But the heavenly weather continues on this week, once the clouds clear out today.

I took the time this summer to thin the Sparta apples, so we have fewer, slightly larger ones on the tree.  Maybe I'll do something with them for a change.

Being Seattle, they are, of course, moderately wormy.  I don't know anyone this side of the mountains who grows perfect backyard apples, and if they did, you wouldn't want to eat them with the all the chemicals that requires.

As expected, not a single plum on our tree this summer. I'm just happy it's still alive. Remember last fall we amputated to the point of death to get rid of the aphids?  That worked, and the top grew right back. If the new branches bloom next spring, we should be in the plum business again.

It was a busy weekend on the domestic front. Our neighbor brought over a huge shopping bag full of nice Italian plums from their tree and that started a canning marathon, with John in charge of chopping.

I was grateful for the help, because my poor old fingers can't handle long hours of fine chopping. Chutney is a snap to make once that chore is done, because everything goes into the pot at once and cooks down to a delicious concoction so good on meat, curry, cheese, etc.

We also made 5 jars of date chutney with a random recipe I found on the Internet. Got lucky and it turned out delicious.  We sampled a bit on a cracker with some special goat cheese from the Methow Valley.  Oh. My. Goodness.  And how tasty it will be on a slice of rich roast pork.

BTW, King County has been stuck at "Phase Two" reopening since June 19th, with no indication things are going to change soon. I see many winter home dinners ahead.

If you shop at Trader Joes, check out this rather weird "Harvest Grain" mix.  It makes an OK hot side dish, but a much better salad, with olives, peppers and sun-dried tomatoes, also sold there in a cheap packet. We should have stopped with that for a satisfying healthy dinner, but we also split a grilled Cornish hen. No photo, I'm sure you're tired of my dirty grill pictures.

But I never get tired of these chicken pictures, and the hens continue to bring local and long-distance pleasure.  They started laying all in a single pile on the straw, but it looks like they've figured out the private nest boxes.  Amanda said there is a huge amount of clucking and squawking to announce the eggs, then they quietly settle down to business.

This has been a wonderful 4-H project for the girls even without the 4-H. Maybe next summer. These healthy big chickens would surely win first prize at the fair.

And last but not least, a pretty smiling face to start the week.  Nova finished the puzzle we gave her for her birthday.

On the banks of the Duwamish

 Duwamish Waterway Park

These past months we've explored more gardens and parks relatively close to home, and discovered some places we never bothered to go before. It's been nice.

This large park is practically in our backyard, a few minutes from the house. Living in West Seattle, we drive over and along the Duwamish River and passed by the park thousands of times.

Yesterday I stopped at Safeway for some chicken wings, and we took a picnic down to check it out.

The river has an interesting and complex history. Seattle is a young city, and 200 years ago the Duwamish wetlands were enormous, a complex of waterways draining major area rivers (White, Cedar, Green, etc.) into Puget Sound.

The wet delta consisted of thousands of acres of habitat, bursting with wildlife and fish. Before the white settlers arrived in 1850 and claimed the land, this was the home of the Duwamish people.

Seattle grew quickly. In 1900, the city dredged a deep trench to straighten the river bed and create an artificial shipping canal.

Square miles of "useless swamps" were filled in and soon covered with houses and farms. The new, narrow Duwamish channel lined with polluting industries for the next century.

The lower Duwamish was proclaimed a Superfund Site by the EPA in 2001, and the long, complicated process of cleaning up the river began, aided by a robust volunteer program.

Kellogg Island, along with this bit of natural shoreline, is all that remains of the natural upper Duwamish River.

However, the evolution of the Duwamish is well-documented with historical images.

We found an extensive network of clean hiking trails in the park, and surprisingly little evidence of homeless camping.

Many interesting views of the Seattle skyline, shipping and industrialization.

As you can see, it was a beautiful day, and very few people around.

The bottom fish and shellfish are seriously polluted with PCB's and heavy metals, and should not be consumed by humans.  And this guy didn't read the warning signs.

Nevertheless, we've seen people fishing in the river for years. Way back when, people would fish off the old lower drawbridge to West Seattle. 

Anyway, we had an enjoyable walk after lunch.  Interesting birds everywhere, including a large, noisy flock of Caspian Terns feeding on a sandbar.

Friday again

And another beautiful Seattle weekend with nowhere in particular to go.  Such a strange summer and now suddenly drawing to a close. August is the month of fairs, and even the beloved Seattle institution Seafair, featuring the hydro races on Lake Washington and the Blue Angels air show, is cancelled for the first time.

After 6 months of relative isolation, fall is time for a change. The problem is, I'm at a loss where to start. I actually envy people who have a job (volunteer or paid) that gets them out of the house. Speaking for myself, there has to be more to life this winter than planning the next fancy meal and drinking wine.

Travel still looks far in the future, and in the meantime, finding meaningful work is so important for mental well-being, not to mention, usefulness.

Here's an old poem about work I've always liked, written by Marge Piercy.  You can also hear her read it on her blog. 


To Be of Use

The people I love the best jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
The black sleek heads of seals bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge in the task
Who go into the fields to harvest,
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
But move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil
Hopi vases that held corn – are put in museums
But ya’ know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
And a person - for work that is real.