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The sky above as seen from beneath the pergola. From a walk with a dear friend during last week's sudden visit to the cities. Reminding me of connection and tangledness. Of life and loss. Of the unexpected and unexplained. Of just where I am on my journey.
Today we picked big chubby drunk-on-the-sun berries; raspberries bigger than my thumb above the knuckle. Almost better than the berries (and the pints of jam that are presently
cooling in the kitchen) is the fact that the little miss entertained
herself for over forty minutes, picking berries of all
ripenesses and dutifully filling flats. This is a child who has
demanded constant coddling over the past four weeks as four molars -
one after the other - pushed through her little pink gums, wreaking
utter havoc in both her mouth and our home. Needless to say, I'm cheering both fresh picked raspberries and newly ripened molars.
As a child I believed that rocks balanced upon one another that were often found at the beach were 'skunk rocks' -- sculptural works done in the night by families of skunks that called our island home. Later, while living in the southwest, I came to know these piled rocks as trail markers, leading the way down into and through canyons.
This weekend, as I walked a beach known for its skipping stones, I gathered many flat smooth rocks, feeling the desire to stack stones and bring a little cairn into my life. I'm yearning for more of a sense balance in the day to day wrestle between the seemingly adverse components of my life. Parenting and working and creating and connecting and living life fully should fit together but often I feel like there's just not enough time or energy to do even one of these things well or with mindfulness.
As I finished stacking the stones this morning the little one toddled over and swiftly dismantled them. The lesson? When many parts are moving at once, each requiring great attention and focus, actual balance between these all parts will often be fleeting. Canyon cairns aren't permanent trail markers, rather guides for the moment. And skunk rocks? There's magic there that reminds me that in each moment - balanced or not - there is wonder.
Oh to be mesmerized by the simple turning of wheels.
This seems to be the only bit of 'concentration face' seen around here this weekend. This is the exact look I would have had (minus the drool) if I were to have worked on finishing that cardigan, or baked that bread, or sewed those cushions.
But instead we played outside, took long naps, ate raspberries and sugar snap peas from the CSA and read new Barbara Kingslover. A weekend without a furrowed brow is a good one.
Here's the scene at my dining room table tonight. When the rest of the neighborhood was surely celebrating the blackout by eating all of the ice cream in their freezers, I was amongst as many candles as I could find with housing studies and comprehensive plans and market analyses, trying to finish the grant proposal that is due tomorrow. Perfect timing for the procrastinator extraordinaire! Okay, I was eating ice cream too, but not really savoring it, as I was panicked about exactly how I'd complete this task with the juice that remained in my laptop's battery. Luckily the power just came back on. Finished, you ask? Of course not! The night is young and I've got power, so why not fritter away a few more moments?
At long last I've found the perfect way to make berry jams. In the past I've made jam that has turned out too runny, too clumpy and way way too sweet. These batches were edible, but not exactly what I had envisioned while picking and mashing berries. Another time I had to pitch an entire pot of raspberries after realizing that sucanat leaves its molasses flavor if too much is added - not a taste I was looking to slather my toast with. But now I've been introduced to Pomona and I'm certain that jam-making is forever changed in my home. I can't seem to get berry picking off my mind. I might even plan the rest of my summer around the ripening of berries. I'm so grateful that there is an abundance of pesticide-free and organic berry patches nearby -- not to mention the woods, where we'll compete with black bears later in the season. But before I get swept up entirely by visions of berries, here's the recipe for a not too sweet strawberry jam. It was adapted from Pomona's Low Sugar Cooked Recipe. Enjoy!
Only Slightly Sweet Strawberry Jam
6 quarts ripe strawberries
2 T lemon juice
2 1/4 cups unrefined cane sugar (our co-op just started carrying Fair Trade cane sugar in bulk!)
2 T Pomona's Universal Pectin
2 T Pomona's Calcium Water (comes with the pectin)
If you're not familiar with canning, check out any edition of the classic Putting Food By or the National Center for Home Food Preservation before you get started.
Prepare boiling water bath. Sterilize canning jars and lids. Hull and mash strawberries. You should have approximately 12 to 13 cups of mashed berries with their juices. Add strawberries, lemon juice and calcium water to a large soup pot. Bring berries to boil, stirring frequently. Meanwhile, in a separate bowl, mix sugar and pectin well. Once berries have come to a boil, add sugar mixture. Stir vigorously for 1 minute or so, until the sugar has dissolved. Bring berry mixture back to a boil. Once it has boiled the second time, remove from heat. Put jam in hot sterile jars, filling to 1/4-inch from top (yes, the jam will still seem runny - it jells up as it cools). Wipe rims clean. Screw on two-piece lids. Process jars in boiling water bath for five minutes. Remove jars from water bath and let cool on a wire rack. Once cool, check to enusre that the lids are vacuum sealed. Yield: 15 cups.
Seven years ago I happened upon a fantastic teak chair with a canvas sling seat at a yard sale. A few dollars later it became one of my favorite fair weather spots. I've spent many hours in this chair: reading, snoozing, chatting, watching the shadows move across the yard. This year I realized that the canvas was just too tired to make it through another season. A tiny rip was growing by the minute and its off-white color had become more of an off-grey in the lower part of the sling where leaves and such gather when a person -- or cat -- isn't planted in the chair. I hadn't ever looked carefully at its construction, but when I did, I realized that I could replace the canvas in a snap. And I had just the fabric.
Recently I purchased some striped canvas to recover the cushions on a wicker couch. The weight of the fabric and the fact that the cushions had zippers completely intimidated me - so much so that the fabric sat untouched in the bag, as I quickly convinced myself that the fabric was all wrong and I wouldn't be able to tackle the cushions after all. Well, the fabric was revisted this weekend with the sling chair in mind, and lo and behold, it's not at all the thick, unyielding cloth that my fear had let myself believe it to be! The chair is successfully recovered, as was the first of six couch cushions (yes, the easiest first). More exciting though is that I think I too have recovered -- at least a bit -- from the paralysis that often grabs me when I'm at my edge.
We picked twenty quarts this afternoon at Finke's Berry Farm.
I'm not sure how many we ate while picking, but it became immediately apparent when we had had our fill.
And, as if these weren't going to keep us busy enough, our CSA share included another half quart today.
If you have any strawberry jam tips and tricks, please do share!
I've been experimenting with sunlight, shadow and plants from the garden. Cyanotypes have intrigued me for years, especially the simple process and delicate detail. Making some images this way has been on my list of things to try for ages. Earlier this week I got my hands on some light sensitive paper and gave it a go. 
I especially like the queen anne's lace. There's an ethereal quality to the detail that I find to be almost haunting. I'm certain that there will be more of these images to come. I keep looking at leaves, flowers and branches imagining how their shadows would reveal themselves on blue.
More often than not, we've found ourselves by the lake shore collecting beach glass during that window between dinner and bedtime. It seems to be the perfect way for me to unwind and for the little one to get out those last bits of energy. 
Maybe it's the rocky shore or our proximity to populated areas and passing ships, but there seems to be an abundance of glass to be found. My sweet seems to have the best eye -- he's found three marbles in the last few weeks. Tumbled and worn orbs that are supposedly very rare in the world of beach glass. A recent favorite for me is the half of the bottom of a beer bottle with the impression "do not litter" -- it's not exactly "ready", that is the edges aren't completely smooth; but the message was too good to toss back into the waves.
