Lunchtime in Seattle

A 75 degree September day of sun and clear skies above Seattle downtown--heaven. Lunch at hole-in-the-wall next to De Laurenti's, offering more beans and rice than I could manage for 2.00, soda for 85 cents.

Sat on a ledge by the Hammering Man watching this demonstration of alternative technology. Went into the lobby of Seattle Art Museum and viewed these moving self-portraits by kids who are 15 and enrolled in the teen program there.

All this entertainment made the 14.00 parking charge seem like a reasonable price for admission.

September Song: Before and After

Our other house in Newport Hills is a vacation rental. We've tried this for a year and have learned so much in the process. Here's what it looked like when we first started renting it out:




And last week it got a makeover:




We went from wild abandon to low maintenance in two days:

















For over sixteen years (the longest I've lived anywhere)I attempted to mold my suburban garden into the Wallingford English cottage garden of my dreams which we couldn't afford in 1993. This house was affordable for us, and had the large yard in which I could allow full scope for my imagination. The neighbors looked on indulgently as my hard work began to take shape. And then my back went out in 1994 and I had to have the third of three back surgeries. Trying to keep up with a two year old AND what was becoming a fairly high maintenance garden was beginning to look impossibly difficult.

But I stuck with it and did what I could. We planted the fruits we loved, the flowers which would survive periodic summer droughts and the shrubs that I knew would provide scent and interest in the winter. We had parties in the backyard and robins set up housekeeping in the overgrown camellias that flourished outside our bedroom windows (although the rain never reached them under the eaves they seemed to love it there). Every spring the mama robins launched their fledglings out of their nests, sitting in the nearby sycamore tree, singing "come hither" songs and keeping a vigilant eye out for our cat.

One year it was roses. The next it was hardy geraniums. Then I wanted alliums. Lilies became my passion. We had a standing order with Cedar Grove compost. My husband graciously shovelled much gravel, compost and mulch. I became known in the neighborhood as "she who is never happiest than when she has a pile of dirt in her driveway." We began running out of room.



A dear friend built us a pergola where one could sit and watch the lilies and roses grow. Soon vines of kiwi, clematis and grape overtook the structure and a shady bower was born. We put in bird baths and fountains, patio, paths and a firepit.

Every birthday, Mother's Day, Christmas holiday, and anniversary usually brought forth something for the garden. Sticks in cardboard boxes arrived from Raintree Nursery and, when planted, became grapevines, cherry trees, fig, pear, apple and crabapple trees. Usually. I ordered roses from Old Heirlooms in Oregon with names like Jude the Obscure and Abraham Darby, planting each one in honor of a friend who was ill, infirm, moved on, and in one especially sad case, died. It was Mark, the builder of our pergola.

And then we moved. None of us really wanted to, but it was time. For a number of reasons. So we held on to the house for sentiment's sake (the best kind, in my book) and thought we'd rent to families here for weddings, reunions, work--by the week, by the month...and in summer they could enjoy fresh herbs for cooking as well as a bountiful harvest of plums, raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, cherries and grapes. Strawberries in the spring. Fresh-cut flowers. Maybe the odd fig, kiwi, apple or pear.

But trying to nurture everything through a disastrous drought between tenants during what proved to be a very busy summer season turned out to be too much.

So I let things go.



The bones of the garden remain. Most of the blossoms are gone, but they'll return as they always do. A blank slate for now.

You Say Snohomish/I Say Snoqualmie!

Saturday we spent the sunny, hot afternoon at South 47 farm learning firsthand what it was like to bring in the harvest, or, in our case, what it was like to pick a few beans for dinner, admire a gorgeous, cat-sized squash the color of celadon, pluck a huge bag of red onions from a hook in a greenhouse, and cut healthy sideshoots of basil from a very long row. Aromatic bliss! All this and some darling alpacas (not for picking!) too. Of course, early valley farmers didn't get to follow up a hard day's harvest with a late lunch in air-conditioned comfort at Racha Thai restaurant in Woodinville either. God we're spoiled!

Everything but the squash was eaten later in a quickie pasta beefed up with ripe heirloom tomatoes from our own garden.






Sunday we were back on the eastside hunting down farms in Carnation/Duvall by way of Snohomish (don't ask! but it was a lovely drive!) Again, bringing in the harvest at Fall City Farms this time--lacinato kale, Chioggia beets, lots of Bright Lights chard and broccoli. Perhaps early farmers of Snoqualmie Valley would have felt more at home dining in the friendly, goofy homestyle comfort surrounded by the kitsch collection at Armadillo BBQ in Duvall than in a suburban stripmall (like we did the day before). Next door at the antique store we picked up a bass and amp to add to the family's burgeoning collection of musical instruments.

I looked to Julia Child for inspiration in serving up the fresh-picked broccoli to the family. I made her hollandaise which was insanely easy and let's just say the kids ate all their veggies.

The chard and rest of the basil was eaten last night in a quinoa saute with onion and leftover hollandaise. Some ricotta and lot of parmesan. It was a little weird. It shoulda been pasta. But we'd eaten it all Saturday night!

Today I'm caramelizing all my onions for the freezer. I may roast the squash. The kale will be slowly simmered for a Tuscan stew. The trick is to get everything sorted out (frozen, eaten, etc.) before the next farm foray THIS weekend. Somebody's got to bring home the veggies!

Under the "gourdwalk" at Fall City Farm

We're Number 37!

This guy is extremely clever. Unfortunately, it's true. We're #37 in Health Care. And we pay 20% more than the other 36.

Where did my Spring Go? by the Kinks

What I'll be warming up to today, trying to keep up with the girls in the kilts! Thank you to the lovely and talented Megan for this!! Follow me over to my other (Red Apple Jukebox) blogfor more dance tunes.

Appelation Newport Hills

Tis the season for grapes in Newport Hills.

Neil and Yvette in Laos

Sometimes people we're lucky enough to call friends share something that puts into perspective the petty political bickering rife in our nation at the moment...Neil was my daughter's teacher for two years and we remained friends with him and his lovely wife Yvette. Together they've embarked on an incredible journey around the world. At the moment they're in Laos. The story Yvette sent via Facebook this week is one of the most heartbreaking and ultimately joyous stories I've ever had the pleasure to read, and she's kind enough to let me share it with you here. I apologize for getting some of the photos out of order--each one had to be cut and pasted individually. (Something I quickly lose patience with!)


A beautiful blessing ceremony in the little village of Ban Sai, at the corner of the Mekong River and Nam Soh River, looking west into Myanmar. The four big-men of the village including the chief—all apparently thoughtful, serious, considerate, careful, responsible, family men—each came around and tied little strings around our wrists while very respectfully chanting blessings about our good journey and good health, and then drank lots of lao lao (rice whiskey) on our behalf. The ceremony was in the home a very kind family where we slept, they were so careful and eager to make us comfortable, with many smiles, veggie food (bamboo shoot/chili soup, egg and rice nicely laid out in clean dishes on a banana-leaf-lined little bamboo table), and clean, comfy beds, and gentle massages for our exhausted bodies by beautifully dressed Tai-Lu young women from the village.


Bathing in the smaller river, including being joined by 5-6 young boy monks; though I still haven’t mastered bathing gracefully in a sarong. Feeling clean was awesome, woulda’ done it with the whole village watching if I had to. The river was fast, cool, perfectly-sized, with lots of rocks to make for non-muddy bathing.

· Though miserable, the fact that it rained on us much of the second day was also a blessing as it kept us from getting hot as we trudged up from the Mekong thru beautiful views, rice fields (lined with cucumber vines, pumpkin vines, sesame plants, etc.)—up a 1500-meter high mountain, then back down, then back up—finally reaching Ban Eurla (an Akha village) for our second night.

· Though not necessarily pleasant, we had many observations of how challenged this village is—school building run down, teacher “not yet arrived” (empty house also waiting for him/her). What seems dirtiness to us—the village itself, the homes (at least where we stayed), the dishes, the furniture, the children. Lucky for this village, their water at least seems pretty clean from a village stream. Chief was away on business, we were hosted by his family including his very-addicted father (we think?), and kid-brother (16 years old—and one of the very few in the village who speaks Lao). Are the challenges because of Akha culture? Poverty? A dysfunctional chief’s family? Bad air from Vientianne (300 miles south), as one family believes and shared with us? Or perhaps not enough sacrificed chickens, pigs, cows, water buffalo? Or the secret war that pillaged this country 30 years ago in the USA’s seemingly-ill-advised effort to combat the Red Threat? Or the opium that has been, in some way, a focus of political and economic attention in this region for centuries? Or just “fate”? Who knows . . . regardless of causal elements, depressing.
· Again—bathing at the stream, this time under the bamboo aqueduct (powerful force!!). Then dry clothes (woo-hoo!!) and warming up/drying off by the cozy fire in the Naiban’s house.


· Baby dogs, baby pigs, baby cats, baby pigs, baby chickens, baby humans, exuberant children, lots of swings erected—seemingly one of the bigger past-times for kids and adults. And a way to be out of the collective mud/poop/garbage/run-off of the village. . .
· Hearing the story of the addicted man—despite his condition (which is how it seems to be viewed), he is seemingly an influential man in the village. A former soldier who was injured by a land mine with a long scar on his leg to prove it, he gets K400,000 ($50) /month, allowing him to support his habit and his large family of two wives and nine children in style in the village and also to have his opium without police interference (despite no school for his children). His two wives were among the most dignified beautiful grandmothers, with lots of smiles, laughter, tolerance for the children (including lots of pee puddles). Then having a very PAINFUL massage by the chief's bare-breasted daughter, a 20-year-old mother of two with quite a grip.

· That the mother of the sick baby trusted us enough and was able to comfortably decide to come with us even without her husband to consult with. Observing her beautiful smile for the baby, her tender care of him, and her uncomplaining perseverance as she carried the child 5 hours on foot, and held him for 5 hours in a tractor ride—including pre-chewing his rice, breast-feeding while hiking (!!), and giving him water out of the grubby-soda-bottle-turned-water-bottle cap.


· That the 16-year-old brother who also came with us survived the hike without incident despite his respiratory infection—causing difficulty breathing, lots of coughing and hawking (a farovite national past time even in normal times). Plus sore toes from his flip flops (eventually opting for barefoot and then Neil’s Teva’s—which he swam in but which protected his feet).


· Not a positive highlight, but we all were tasty to the leeches—I think only Neil and I were persistently grossed-out by them. We pulled off probably 20-30 of them from our shoes, socks, legs, feet, of which 5-6 had managed to connect to Neil (none to me). We’ve finally found the critter that likes Neil’s blood better than mine!!
· Imagining seeing the town thru the eyes of mom and brother, as we approached the Muang Sing valley at tractor-speed from high in the mountains, and increasingly saw bicycles, trucks, shops, lights, televisions in the shop fronts, and finally the very-bright-lights of the white-tiled hospital. With a television in the waiting room.

· On arrival at the hospital here in Muang Sing, quick attention by the medical team. Although a very scant exam, within an hour they’d given the baby oral antibiotics, and anti-allergenic/anti-itch/sedative, and multivitamins. And started an IV drip plus IV-push antibiotics on the boy. Our guide, Ko, pictured here in the hospital with Neil, helped us to ensure the family was well-settled. Most poignant moment was when the staff asked mom to remove the baby’s beautiful hat. I had noted that she carefully kept the baby’s head covered even the evening before in the village, so had a gut feeling that what was under the hat wasn’t good. Indeed. Lots of impressive scabs and sores on the baby’s head—leading both mother and brother to tears.

And yes, it was very good, finally around 8:30pm, to eat a large bowl of noodle/egg/tomato/peanut soup made by the lovely, gracious Chinese lady who gets that we’re vegetarian and lets us come into her kitchen and select our ingredients every time we eat there. Plus lots of cold Fanta and water. And then home to the guest house for long hot showers, clean clothes, and “our own” (well, sorta) bed.


Friday morning we’ll be taken to the bus station around 7am by some of the young people Neil’s been working with. Quite a send-off it’ll be, I think. Love to all, we’re getting a lot of it here.