Hot Rocks

My first entry into the blog is about mothering, even though Mother's Day has come and gone for this year. I know that this may appeal more to the female readers of our blog, but Jim really understood what I felt about this topic, so I'm hoping that all can relate.
I am reading a book that I bought some time ago, but never read. Now that I am retired (?) I have finally gotten around to it. It is called Simple Abundance, A Daybook of Comfort and Joy by Sarah Ban Breathnatch. I will be ready to pass this book along on February of next year as there is a reading a day to complete. It is fairly spiritual in nature. although not religious at all. Some of it I read and think, "Well, I'll never do that or that's kind of silly." But then other readings are bang on. The reading for May 13th, Honouring the Great Mother, was one of those and it moved me to tears. It is a section about Homecrafting, and Getting Your House in Order. Rather appropriate for us at the moment, don't you think? Anyway, I would like to quote two paragraphs to start.
"Many women I know share a seldom-expressed yearning to be comforted. To be mothered. This voracious need is palpable-and often unrequited. Instead, we are the ones who usually provide comfort, caught between the pressing needs of our children, our elderly parents, our partners, our friends, even our colleagues.
Though we are grown, we never outgrow the need for someone special to hold us close, stroke our hair, tuck us into bed, and reassure us that tomorrow all will be well. Perhaps we need to reacquaint ourselves with the maternal and deeply comforting dimension of Divinity in order to learn how to mother ourselves. The best way to start is to create-as an act of worship-a comfortable home that protects, nurtures, and sustains all who seek refuge within its walls."
Since Mom died and actually well before, I have struggled with allowing myself to be mothered by me or any one else. I am very much ready for that to happen now and have realized that building the new house is my permission to do so.
As we struggle through this patch of extremely cold weather and snow, my thoughts turn to Mom (and Dad too, as he always played a role in the excercise) and the hot rocks. The patience and caring they showed through the careful heating of those stones on the old wood heater, the wrapping of the stones in layers of old sheets (even though sometimes they were so hot, they singed the sheets that were on the bed) and then the delivery of those toasty warm stones to the bottom of our beds before we even got there on those chilly nights at camp was a gift beyond love. It was a lesson on creating the perfect environment for us.
I can flick on my electric blanket in the little house now (and that works unless we have a power outage), but as I plan the new Headacher, I am consciously throwing in little percs for me and those who "find refuge within its walls". I am having heated flooring in the main floor bath, and I hope a heated towel bar. May not be as good as "hair stroking" that we all remember, but something I can do for me. We are having Central Vac. And that allows me more time to do more for others.
I am so enjoying stories of gardens, canning, old clothes and bacon. I could go in any of those directions and probably will eventually. For now, I am going to enjoy bacon and eggs tomorrow morning Andrea, one of the camp specials. And I'll probably do a Granz and make a 1/2 sandwich with the piece of bacon left. Not quite an Amma sandwich, but close. How wonderful it is that everyone has memories of special people in their lives who for a space in time, makes us feel mothered.

Hmmmmm, Bacon

As a kid, staying with Amma was like being wrapped in a warm hug. No one else showered such constant affection and attention on us. In her eyes we could do no wrong and what kid does not love that! Amma was even able to tame the scariness of Grandpa Alliston.

Their house was so different from our house and the Head households. It smelled different, it looked different (is it my imagination or was there plastic on some of the furniture?) and it was filled with what seemed to be exotic and unusual objects.

One of the things that Amma did well was feed us everything that we were not allowed to eat at home. The details are a bit fuzzy but one thing I remember clearly are the breakfasts. After being allowed to sleep as long as we wanted, Amma would let us have whatever we wanted for breakfast which was a strong contrast from the healthy eating that was routine at home.

I believe that Janeen was taken with the sugary cereals that would never be found in our cupboards. As for me, I was hooked on bacon sandwiches. Three pieces of buttered toast layered with a few pieces of bacon inbetween. No egg, no lettuce, no tomato – just bacon (!?!?!?). How I came up with this for breakfast I will never know but I thought they were delicious and I was allowed to have them every day!

I am sure that a daily bacon sandwich would not pass muster today as far as child nutrition goes. I am also sure that my mom cringed when she saw what we were eating but held her tongue and let Amma spoil us. I don’t know why these sandwiches were so good. I think that it is mostly because there is something special about being spoiled as a kid and being showered with unconditional love. All I know is that although I have never had a plain bacon sandwich since and will probably never have one again, my stomach is growling at the memory.

Grampa would love this

Eliza just sent me this picture and tells me that the Viyella shirt that she has on belonged to Grampa. He gave her two shirts about fifteen years ago. She has worn the red one to tatters and has this blue one remaining to remind her of her grandfather's tender hugs.

Funny, the night that Dad died, I slept with Mom at Pinecrest. I took one of his shirts out of the closet to wear. Somehow it eased the pain and was a way for me to stay cuddled up to him for a few more hours.

It is so interesting to me that of all the men that Dad was and all the roles he played, business man, volunteer, chorister, it is the images of him as outdoors man, fisherman, gardener that remain most poignantly for me. I suppose this is because he spent his long retirement and aging years in these pursuits, but it seems to me that these are also his strongest legacies for me and my daughter, perhaps all of us. He seemed to be happiest and at peace when he was out in the clean fresh air and doing the hard labour of growing and catching food for the family table.

Today I am remembering his pride at coming through the kitchen door at camp, with some produce, dirt encrusted carrots perhaps and Mom's peeved sighs, knowing that they would need to be cleaned and cooked for dinner, even if they were iddy biddy baby ones and we would only have a taste each!

A year or so before Dad died, I think the last summer he and Mom spent any time at camp, I knelt beside him, he on is little gardening stool and we weeded and talked. It was slow going, both the weeding and the talking, but moments that I will always treasure.

Would love to hear your stories about the garden too.

Elaine

Eeewww Gross. What is that in my suit?

Anyone who has been swimming at Headacher in August knows what I am talking about. Those slimy green bits that fill the lake towards the end of summer – ALGAE. Some summers it is so thick that down the lake it looks like green pain rather than water! Not that it stop us from diving in.

Of course, you can’t just jump in. Before submersing yourself, it is best to sit on the end of the dock and using either your feet or hands, push away as much of the surface algae as possible. Deep down you know that this doesn’t really work but it sure makes it easier to get in.

Once you are in, you can’t really notice it too much, although it is probably not the best idea to be gulping water as you swim. Up to you whether you open your eyes underwater or not. I for one don’t.

It’s what happens when you get out that is the gross part… One glance down the inside of your suit reveals streaks of green slime sticking to your skin. If you happen to have an ample bosom most of it has collected beneath your breasts. You don’t want to think of the other places it may be lurking.

You need to get rid of it or you can end up with a nasty rash (just speaking from my personal experience). Typically, you have three choices:
1. Garden hose down the suit. This is a good option depending on how hot it is outside and how cold the water is from the hose.
2. The wipe down. You take care of the green stuff with your towel. This will only work for a day or two before you start to notice a ripe pungent smell wherever you go. You realize its you and your towel and you are due for a shower.
3. The shower. Sometimes, this is the only option. It seems to defeat the purpose of going for a swim to have a shower afterwards but for those of us with sensitive skin or those of us going out in public, it’s a must.

Despite the grossness and the rigmarole, a dip in the lake is somehow always worth it.

Blogging, Facebooking, Skyping and Tweeting....wow!

Hi everybody!

Well I just wanted to say that I think this is a great idea. Since we cannot get together everyweek for dinner or even see eachother during the holidays, I think this is the next best thing to share all the stories and memories we have. Though I am definitly a blogger "newbie", I think this is something that I will really enjoy; as most of you know I like to talk. Though I am only familiar with Facebook and do not have not yet entered the "Tweeting" world and do not plan to this and Skype seem to be great means of communication. I am excited to be a part of this and share my stories and memories with everyone as well.

I also wanted to reply to Andrea's post about Headacher because I could not agree with her more. I thought the tear-down would also trigger some emotion for me but I was surprised when it really didn't, it was more of an excitement. I made a comment to Rosey that without the people in it, it was just a building or structure to me. Each family member or friend that had been through the camp or stayed at the camp really made it "The Camp". When we are all there having a drink on the dock or playing cards in the living room, or just relaxing on the swinging chairs in the front porch, that is the camp to me. I know that this may be different for some people and they may not share the same feelings that I do. I know that regardless of the building we are in, the same memories and stories will be there with us. I will never forget the smells of baking in the kitchen, the smell of the shed and the smell of the bedding in early spring (you know the mothball one).

I could go on and on but it might turn into a novel of some kind and would not be good. So in closing, I am excited use this and share whatever I can. Love to everybody near and far!

Adventures in Canning

I am trying for the life of me to remember an Easter story but.... nothing. However, on the drive yesterday we were listening to Jian Gomeshi on Q interview Gordon Ramsey about his book A Healthy Appetite. They were talking about eating locally and in season. Well, that got me thinking about our canning and freezing adventures in Kamloops; summer weekends spent driving around the Okanagan picking up the fruit or vegetable in season and bringing it back to the house to be preserved. 30 years ago, Nancy was way ahead of her time and although it did not seem like a cool idea at the time, with the steam swirling around us in the kitchen in the middle of August, what we were doing was quite remarkable and let us eat naturally and locally throughout the year.

It would start with asparagus in May or June. I think that the asparagus came from Armstrong but I don't remember much about going to get it so I could be wrong (or I was in school). I do remember that we would get to have fresh asparagus on toast with cheese sauce for dinner that night. The asparagus was like a warm-up before a marathon.

As I write this, I am also realizing that I don't remember much about any of the vegetables. I guess that they were not as exciting as the fruit. The exception would be the zucchini. Let’s just say that Nancy’s Zucchini looked nothing like the ones you get in the grocery store. These were monster Zucchini and deserve an entry of their own one day.

After the asparagus there was a bit of a lull as we waited for the strawberries in late June or early July. Picking your own strawberries (or any other produce) is such a romantic notion; in reality it is back breaking, hot, dusty work. It only took one season for Nancy to quickly realize that pick your own plus preserve your own would result in strike action by her work force (us). On our part we were sure to complain as much as possible so it never happened again. After that we left the picking to the professionals.

As far as fruit goes, the strawberries were an easy way to start. They just needed to be washed and trimmed and frozen - some whole and some sliced. What I never understood is why the whole strawberries needed to be set out in perfect little rows on baking sheets and frozen individually before being put into bags. They all turned to mush anyway when they were thawed. I have since learned that its the recommended best practice but at the time I just thought that Nancy was doing that Head perfection thing. A bag of strawberries would be pulled out of the freezer periodically through the winter to be eaten plain or for a treat with a bit of ice cream.

July brought blueberries, cherries, raspberries. There had to be some vegetables that month but as I said, I can't remember - maybe beans? Blueberries and cherries were my favourites and still are to this day. Blueberries came from the Fraser Valley while the cherries required a trip down to Vernon or Kelowna. Janeen and I would sit in the back of our orange VW bus, strategically situated near the crates of fruit. We would gorge ourselves on the bounty the entire way home. I won’t describe the effect that this had on our digestive systems. Let’s just say that it wasn’t pretty but we didn't care and we did it every year.

The blueberries and raspberries were pretty easy - they just needed to be sorted and washed. The strange ritual of laying the fruit out on baking sheets was repeated. These frozen berries featured prominently in George’s Sunday morning pancake breakfasts.

The cherries required the additional step of pitting. This took forever and we were always in search of the ultimate cherry pitter. The cherries were both frozen and canned and they looked so beautiful packed into jars and sitting on the shelves of the cold storage room. Cherries jubilee around Christmas time became a tradition during this period.

So with the berries all packed away in the freezer and in jars we would head into August, lulled into a sense that this was not so bad and that we were half way through. How wrong we were because now the peaches, pears and tomatoes were ready and the hell began... We went through a lot of peaches, pears and tomatoes (especially tomatoes!) and they all had to be peeled and canned. Anyone who has blanched one of these suckers in order to get the skin off will quickly realize why, as a child, I thought it was hell.

It would be the height of summer and in Kamloops that meant HOT. All four of us would be elbow to elbow in the kitchen and there would be pots on every element on the stove plus a kettle or two filled with boiling water. It was an assembly line. Someone would be blanching the peaches and peeling the skins off, another would be cutting, pitting and slicing them to various thicknesses, someone would then be packing them into jars, filling them with juice or syrup and putting the lids and rings on that had been sitting in boiling water and finally, someone would be manning the canning pot, putting the precious jars into the bath, taking them out at the designated time and setting them on towels to cool.

Each of these positions had its drawbacks. Blanching and peeling the fruit required a high tolerance for scalding your hands; cutting and pitting the skinned fruit was messy and sticky; the jars needed to be packed just right – not too full and not too empty or you would not get a good seal; manning the bath was the most pressure as a messed up batch was an expensive and time consuming mistake. Doing some would not be so bad but we did a lot. Between the peaches and the tomatoes, it seemed like it would never end. However, it did end and after a few months, we would forget the worst of it, especially when the peach crisp came out of the oven in January.

Sometime in late September or early October we would have our ritual weekend with the apple press. For a couple of weeks building up to the big day, Nancy would be out collecting as many windfall apples as she could from local apple farmers. The apple shredder and press would arrive early one Saturday morning and we would begin. George would move the van out of the driveway to make room for the press and the shredder. This was not a small implement nor a small endeavour. Janeen and I would be tasked with throwing the apples into the shredder which was basically a wood chipper for fruit. The shredded fruit would be collected and placed into the press. Once the press was full we would put the lid on and then crank it down by circling the press and pushing on a wooden handle. Out would come a stream of the most amazing fresh apple juice. We would take it up to the kitchen where Nancy was pasteurizing the juice and sealing it in big jugs for the store room. It was hazardous work what with the wood chipper and the swarm of wasps that were attracted by the sweet smell of the apples. It was worth it though as that apple juice kept us going through the winter.

Apples marked the end of the season and I am sure we were all relieved when it was over. It was such a part of our lives at the time that I never realized how unusual it was to have a 28cu.ft. freezer filled to the brim and a cold store room with jar upon jar of fruit and vegetables that sustained us through the winter. As a result, I am sure that I was not as appreciative of my parents efforts then as I am now. Looking back with the perspective of adulthood, it was a great opportunity to bond as a family and a wonderful learning experience. I hope that someday (soon) I will have the chance do some of what we did, albeit on a (much) smaller scale.

Stairs to Heaven

As I viewed this picture all I could think of was a stairway to heaven because if we didn't jump off & fly, it would be a hard fall. However when Elaine talked about the cottage as a safe haven, memories of rainy days upstairs cuddled under the heavy dark stiped blankets with red binding on the beds came to mind. Memories of hiding in bed under the same blankets thinking I was safe from the thunder and lightening.