Greenboots

Winning combinations of goodness

There are a few things that are virtually inseperable in my mind. One of these inseperables are my grandmother's butter tarts *made from scratch* and the Pètes de Soeurs that naturally follow. Since I've been baking, I've taken an interest in the recipes that once filled my wee heart with gladness as a child. One of the biggees was the buttertart recipe. My grandmother would use one raw egg in the filling --I would marvel at her ability to fold it in without cooking it--something I inevitably did for a very long time because I was too impatient to let it cool down. Now I am the one baking them: cutting the shortening into the flour, chilling it for a while before rolling it out on the table; melting the butter and brown sugar together until the crystals are saturated and I can add the condensed milk.  It's become a bit of a thing for me, baking these tarts. My mom, lawd love her, has taken to buying store bought pastry cups and I can't get over why. It's like losing the language of kin when you casually toss tradition aside. And that language is delicious.

So she handed me, in her fine cursive, her "recipe nouveau" and, way at the bottom, Grandma's. 

Grandma's Butter Tarts

1/3 C butter

1 cup brown sugar

2 tbsp condensed cream

(Eagle Brand is lovely and I always let it slop over the sides because it's so GD good)

1 egg beaten

1 tsp pure vanilla extract (please splurge on the real)

Fill pastry shells and bake at 375' for twenty minutes

When the brown sugar and butter are nicely together in sin, remove the pot from the stove to cool. This is important or else you'll have cooked egg to pick out.

Now to Les Pètes de Soeurs.

These, directly translated, are Nun's Farts, a deliciously sacriligious and festive cookie that I make out of the remainder of the pastry. Mix together brown sugar and cinnamon and cover the rolled out pastry. Roll it back up like a tube and cut it into cookies. 

Voilà. A fecking awesome combination of tradition and taste. 

And will you check out those plates I thrifted? Johnson Bros. white pine and pincone motif. I know! I have the matching bowls and I love love them. 

Happy Baking.

 

 

 

 

 

Two city mice (and a country fair)

I spent the best two bucks of my life. For 99 cents a piece, I bought two stuffed mice for Harrison. Since he had endured the long ride to Toronto AND a stop at Ikea, I figured it was the least I could do. 

We were, after all, staying in a big old hotel. Didn't that practically demand two mice? (If you have no real idea to what I'm referring, I suggest a copy of The Witches by Roald Dahl).

Well, the two mice each found their way into the pockets of Bus and Harrison, who carted them around the city for the weekend visit. 

You can just make out their tails...

Our weekend in Toronto happily coincided with the famous Royal Winter Fair. At this fair, there are the best looking heifers (those with goitered necks stay happily in the barn back home), the shortest horses, the stealthiest jumpers, the softest angoras, the tallest bean stalk, the most rotund squash. We, among literally thousands of other interested city slickers, flocked to the expo in search of a pastoral experience.

Elbow to elbow, we snapped pictures of the kids handing off bits of hay to the buck-toothed alpaca; we stopped to smell pre-packaged bags of lavender, a moment that was all too fleeting, before lining up for pizza at the “family kiosk”, where a disgruntled toddler would be tolerated and boisterous boys could expel the heat of their youth in front of the clown stage.

The largest squash sat surreally behind a roped off area. The kids swarmed its girth, marveling at the thousand-pound vegetable. Did I suppose we could grow one next year, maw? I supposed we couldn’t, unless it was the only vegetable we decided to grow. Would they enjoy eating squash all winter long, in a variety of forms? They supposed not and we proceeded to the heirloom carrots that looked in need of a watering; lovely, but limp. The horse jumpers were, by far, the most enjoyable to behold. The riders rush forth from the gates, a-top their capable steeds and presume to bound over a series of blockades. Hoping to avoid a fault, they become one with their animal and soar over the fences. The audience clicks sympathetically to a nervous horse or sighs regretfully when a fault is made. But pass over a fence without fault? Soaring praise! Whistles! Hoots of approval. Weren’t we all atop that horse? Couldn’t we all feel that victory? I certainly could, boy.

A visit to the Royal Winter Fair wouldn’t be the same without forming lines at the petting zoo. Here the urban youth can sink their fingertips into the back of a freshly shorn lamb. There’s nothing like it! The piglets-behind-glass were a hit, and their tender suckling made me regret my breakfast earlier.  There were shouts around the sheep’s pen-it seemed a natural urge to defecate was a thrilling moment. Ah, Nature and her processes.

After a stop at the hand-sanitizing station, we fought our way back outside where the air was free from floating straw and cedar mulch.  The sky above was blue, so we decided to walk for a stretch.

Once out of the busy downtown, we decided to find a park, which was easy enough. Down a typically pretty, tree-lined residential street, we passed some delightful front yard vegetable gardens. The soil had been freshly turned, but there were thriving chard and brussel sprouts. So they weren’t the tallest. They certainly lacked in luster what the squash had in girth. But out here, on the mean streets, there was no competition. Just a desire to grow healthy food. 

In the city, and my photographs were of farm animals and gardens. You can take the girl out of the garden…

 

 

 

what fall looks like from here

This weekend felt the first chills of autumn--it rained mercilessly for two days and nights, and then, graciously stopped today, giving us time to get things done. 

We ordered a cord of wood which is being delivered tonight, so John built a structure to hold it under the car port. 

Meanwhile, I cleaned up the old flower pots, raked and bagged the leaves (and the white flies); I tidied up the garden tools, and acquired an antique dresser/wardrobe from a neighbour. Then I cleaned out the fire pit in anticipation of a fire tonight to test the wood.

We broke for some turkey stew and a lovely port cheddar from Le Fromagerie. 

What does fall look like for you?

 

Autumn and a half

An unexpected and totally welcomed warm weather pattern has graced the north in what seems like one long and youthful love-affair with summer, but with the colouring and wisdom of Fall. It is cause for celebration, for as we all know, the leaves, once red, fall quickly. Autumn is fleeting at best; a gorgeous fall is unrivalled, particularly when there are frostier months ahead.

Each night, we've had a fire.

We've had sparklers

We've had bikerides to the Farmer's Market to pick up more apples

and chrysanthemums.

We've had treasure hunts that have ended with a new school house lamp...

And I continue to have an incredible commute to work on my bike. Not a bad time to be grateful for it all, I'd say.

For if you missed the Harvest Moon...

http://www.northernlife.ca/news/columns/guests/15-harvest-moon-sudbury.aspx

breathless

as I juggle my three jobs--two teaching, one admin--and make time for Harrison and his needs in school and out, and close down the gardens and make movies with John, I am remembering how important it is to make time to write! 

 So here's my two minutes of writing before I've got to make a lunch (night before? Pshaw!), walk H to school, hop on my bike and cycle my butt to the university. Here's us having a life.

 

Farmer's Market apple picking...

Cinefest Film Festival Schmoozing...

Clematis rescuing (from frost, that is).

Until the next sliver of time, I bid you adieu!

 

we know how to pack it in

Really, it's true. This week--the week I started three jobs--saw the creative side of things crescendo towards Friday. 

John got our film's promo cards ready

and Mel came by with a plum tart--the plums plucked straight off her tree out her back door--it's the best pie ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. 

Ever.

Then a friend had an exhibit, so Harrison came as my date and impressed the crowd with his real knowledge of cheese. 

We thought the extra old smoked gouda from Timmins was by far the tastiest. Steph, the incredible artist, knew Harrison from River and Sky, where she sold popcorn for Peter--she also sold her stunning handmade jewelry.  Harrison worked her for a deal on a bracelet for his new *friend*. So it was good for him to see Steph in another interesting context. 

And if this wasn't enough, me mum came by and gave Harrison a piano lesson.

Ever the host, he prepared for her a cup of tea in gratitude.

And if this wasn't enough, we went skating at the arena, which was turning 60 years old--the CBC radio was hosting the birthday party and did their afternoon show while we all skated past. 

This was significant for Harrison, as his great-grandfather Sutton was the architect on the arena. 

Jam-packed--just like we like it. 

 

Back to it

but before I turn my face forward to the coming jobs, and new responsibilities, here's a few favourites from our summer days...

visits

making a short visit with John's mum count; 

sharing the stage with Carlos in honour of an old friend who passed;

 and spending a good afternoon in laughter with Sarah.

kids

adventuring down at the lake and fighting for their place on the beach;

becoming characters of their own imagination; 

camping, bravely, overnight for a whole week;  

enjoying the freedom of being young and learning what it feels like to love for the first time;

and parading through town in support of a growing arts organization that loves a good mask and drum.

friends

helping to make our movie;

making music and heaving big babies; 

sharing meals and avoiding visits from bears.

projects

finishing the fire pit;

restoring a garden table; 

preparing, well in advance for winter with a new James Bay Coat; 

and writing a new script set in an old Inn.

A good summer, this one.

 

the city mouse and the country mouse

Since Bus has moved to Toronto, we got to enjoy a week with him back in Sudbury. We went hiking and swimming and spent most of our time outdoors.

During a particularly good hike, Bus piped up that "this is what real survivor men do."

So he and Harrison picked berries, caught frogs and splashed in puddles.

And then we went to Toronto.

Harrison is becoming quite the foodie. In Kensington Market, he decided which stores we would visit. They were either delis, bakeries, fisheries or spice stores. And he looked at and smelled everything.

And then he found a fedora. 

The city mouse and the country mouse. I can't decide which is which.

Growing like a tall tree, good as gold...

That boy of mine.  He's growing up. Take this morning...

He fixed his own breakfast...

composed an astonishingly well thought-through "horror song for a film". The tempo built slowly and the tone was tense.

And our tea party yesterday? Ripe with gossip and pinkie-waggling.

He's growing. And I'm enjoying.