08 Mar 2013
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Garden, Ireland, Spring, Travel, winter
Tags: Anticipation, garden, ireland, Irish Daffodils, narcissus, Paperwhites, travel, Winter planting
Yesterday I discovered a paper bag with four paperwhite bulbs—forgotten and sprouting exuberantly. I tucked them in among the spent paperwhite bulbs I planted in December.
All our outdoor bulbs remain under a thick blanket of snow. The Irish daffodils are appearing in our markets and were irresistible.Their scent fills the house and nips at the tails of the woodsmoke. They increase my anticipation for a trip to Ireland only six weeks away. Travel and spring. Both worth waiting for, I think.
I’m happy to keep the perpetual flow of green indoors until our world shifts to spring. 
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28 Aug 2012
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Artisanal Living, Chickens, Eating and Cooking, Family, Farm Life, Garden, Recipes, Summer, Vermont
Tags: auracana, Bouquet Garni, chickens, chopped herbs, culinary herbs, dinner, garden, green beans, harvest, Hens, herbs, pan juices, summer cooking, wool sweaters
Tonight’s dinner of braised root vegetables was seasoned with bouquet garni—a pleasing little bundle of parsley, thyme and bay. We ate the sweet potatoes, carrots, and beets over gnocchi, drizzled with the pan juices, butter, and chopped herbs.
The wind picked up this afternoon and the air was chilly, but we still ate outside. Hints of things to come. School started yesterday, and thus the slippery slope into thoughts of wool sweaters, pumpkins, and evening fires.
The three of us picked and snapped young green beans after dinner. I’m so pleased that we caught them at just the right time—young and thin. We’ll eat some for dinner tomorrow and freeze the rest to enjoy with roast chicken or in a winter soup.
One chicken, Bluebell—an Auracana, has been getting out of the chicken run and roosting in a tree for the last few nights. We listened to her squawking as she tried to find a branch that would hold her weight in the lilacs by the kitchen. The bush was a flailing silhouette against the darkening sky—a flailing dark shape that held a single chicken orchestrating all that movement. She finally flapped her way high enough to gain a solid purchase and calmed herself to silence.
When I closed the other four in the cozy hen house I passed by and saw her there, just a shadow, barely noticeable. Eyes closed.
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04 Jul 2012
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Artisanal Living, color, Eating and Cooking, Garden, Local Food, Summer, Vermont
Tags: Blue Moon Wisteria, Fourth of July, garden, peas, peony, spearmint
You’d think it was Labor Day and not the Fourth of July for all the work we did today. I suppose a sunny day off makes us put on our small farm hats and deal with the tasks at hand. Today that meant working on the electric fence to keep one lamb—who is intent on jail break—in the proper place. And there were peas to pick and shell, chard to blanch and freeze, beets to harvest, lettuce to wash and eat before the heat turns it bitter.
This is what we wait for all year. Yet a snooze in the hammock sounded pretty appealing while I chopped rainbow chard.
Since I was in the laboring frame of mind I finally planted a Blue Moon Wisteria that I scored at a library plant sale back in late May. And since I was already into de-sodding and manure-scooping, I planted a peony and some spearmint too.
The mint is descended from Bunker Hill, my father’s childhood home. My patch was getting overrun with grass so I got new plants from my parents this week. Some people think of mint as invasive, but I hold it in the same esteem as wisteria and peonies. Especially Bunker Hill mint. The taste of childhood is priceless.
So now I am showered and feeling satisfied with the day’s efforts. My nod to the Fourth is the only red and blue combo I could scrape up in my wardrobe, but I’m quite satisfied with it. Maybe I’ll even take a snooze in the hammock before we head to Woodstock for a barbecue before the fireworks.
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05 Jun 2012
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Family, Friendship, Garden
Tags: biennials, foxgloves, garden, home, ireland, love, nature, plants, seeds, travel, wedding
I’ve been on the road. And up to my eyeballs in work and life. It’s a fine savory stew, my life, with many ingredients I wouldn’t wish to remove. If only there were more hours in the day to do all the things I long to do.
This weekend we witnessed a beautiful and moving wedding. I took part in designing the dress for the bride who is now my sister-in-law. Seeing two people profess their love helps renew your own commitments, at least it does for me. So I look at my husband with fresh eyes, not wishing to allow familiarity to turn to boredom. Look for the surprises.
We came home to a bounty of foxgloves ready to burst their pods into pinks and whites. As a gardener I’ve learned to be a little heartless with some of the flowers that seed themselves voluntarily. But I’m a wimp with foxgloves because I love them so much. They remind me of the acres of pink spires of foxglove seen in County Down, Ireland, along the edge of a lake. And more in the woodlands of County Galway and Kerry.
It’s taken me 17 years to get them to seed themselves enough for me to be satisfied. They are biennial—meaning they grow as a green plant the first summer and bloom the next. I learned that if you allow them to spread their seed enough you’ll have them blooming each summer. Even so, I have a bigger yield every other year. And this is THE big yield year. Never mind that I need to step over them in the pathways. {They seem to be particularly fond of pathways.}
I will be cutting them for the table. And watching them from the windows. I will share them with friends. And I will think of lasting love through the years. How it also has its ebbs and flows of dormancy and blooms. Many many blooms.
Pictures of the wedding dress coming soon.
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13 May 2012
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Chickens, color, Eating and Cooking, Family, Garden, Natural world, Photography, Seasons, Spring, Vermont
Tags: al fresco dining, bees, blossoms, breakfast, chickens, crabapple trees, garden, home, mother's day, motherhood, nature, outdoors
I don’t ask for much on Mother’s Day. I often share it with my husband’s birthday, and so I’ve spent the day at a few ballparks over the years, and that’s okay with me.
But this morning Mother’s Day dawned with a bit of overcast that began to clear. Birdsong through our open windows was the alarm clock we hadn’t set. It was chilly, but not so much that we didn’t take our tea and breakfast out to the table on the patio. Above us crabapple blossoms drifted down like lazy benevolent snowflakes and the buzzing of bees hummed over our heads. R let out the lambs and the chickens who gamboled about (lambs) and waddled through the gardens in search of grubs and seeds (hens). Really nothing could have made me happier—hanging out with my family and the critters under the sky eating breakfast.
It brought to mind the morning 10 years ago and my very first Mother’s Day as an, um, mother.
Mother’s Day was not on my radar at all because it was the exact day of my husband’s birthday. My parents watched the wee baby and I went with R on an hour’s jaunt south to watch him play baseball with a southern Vermont league. Back then he was a stay-at-home dad, and playing ball on the weekend was his escape from diapers and repeated readings of Goodnight Moon.
That day we got to the ball field early for warmups. I dropped him off and went to Brattleboro in search of coffee and The New York Times Sunday edition. At game time it began to sprinkle. I left the bleachers for the comfort of the car, faced the field, and worked on the crossword while keeping track of the game. The rain got heavier, but they played to the 9th inning.
Afterward, we planned to go to brunch at a favorite cafe and chocolate shop—Burdicks— in nearby Walpole, New Hampshire. The birthday boy was soaked through but found something dry to change into in the back of the car. We were on our own without the responsibility of a baby (though we were crazy ’bout that baby!) and were giddy as we heading up route 5 north. Rain or no rain, we had a birthday to celebrate!!
The parking lot at Burdicks was packed. Huh? Sunday, we guessed.
In the doorway we had our first aha moment when we saw the room packed with families in all manner of Sunday finery. We were in our damp and disheveled ballgame closes. Eek. Not a free table in site. Right, it’s Mother’s Day.
Burdick’s waitstaff could have easily turned us away with an upturned nose, but instead—to their credit, which has earned them our lifelong devotion—they invented a new seating area at the counter near the cash register, locating stools in the back kitchen, and proceeded to serve us as though we had booked a table weeks in advance.
Happy birthday. Happy Mother’s Day. And all that.
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25 Mar 2012
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Artisanal Living, Garden, Local Food, Vermont
Tags: cooking, dandelion greens, garden, rhubarb, spring soil, tarragon
Last year the deep snow kept us out of the garden until late April. This year we’ve already had a taste of summer and found ourselves in the garden as early as we can remember. Dirty hands and knees and I’m whistling. Actually I can’t whistle for beans. But if I could…
Saturday was the tail end of the week long heat wave and the shift of a cold front was in the air. Still, an overcast day is one of my favorite kinds for raking and hoeing a garden. You have a hot cup of tea to look forward to after the satisfaction of your labors. And the overcast emboldens the greens, I always think.
Garlic shoots, planted last October, were poking through the protective leaf mulch. We pulled the mulch away and hilled the new garlic slightly. Nearby tarragon poked through woody stalks from last year’s harvest. And the rhubarb is always so creepy yet beautiful as it bursts from the soil like red rubber balls that unfold into mad-scientist-like fronds with crinkly red edges.
We prepared the pea fences, the wire tunnels to protect spinach and beets, and weeded out the young dandelions. There are plenty more to harvest to sauté in olive oil and sprinkle with lemon and fleur de sel. A delicious accompaniment for fish.
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20 Mar 2012
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in color, Garden, Natural world, Spring, Vermont
Tags: Daffodils, First day of spring, garden, maple sugar, March 20, Muscari, nature, plants, seeds, wood ducks Vermont
Pinch me. It’s the first day of spring and it feels like spring. Actually, it even whiffs of summer. The last few days have been hot, with no leaves on the trees to shade us. The grass is brown and littered with twigs from winter winds. The last patch of ice on the pond melted yesterday.
The pair of wood ducks that swim on our pond every year arrived yesterday. Now I’m anxiously awaiting the chirping song of the spring peepers in the evening hours.
Seed packets await me on the table. Maybe tonight? Peas. Beets. Spinach.
Green shoots poke through the garden beds, promising spring flowers a month ahead of their normal schedule. Maple sugar makers are closing up their sugar houses after one of the earliest seasons on record. Last year we had, not inches—but feet, of snow on the ground at this time. We feel like we’re getting away with something. My daughter skipped off to school in shorts today.
Wherever you are, I hope you glimpse a bit of spring today—a robin, a petal, a ripple on water. Welcome spring.
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17 Sep 2011
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Artisanal Living, Creativity, Design, Garden, Natural world, Vermont
Tags: bathtub, dahlia fest, dahlias, garden, outdoor bath, outdoor shower, Vermont
If you travel off the paved road—which is easy to do when you visit Vermont—you may pass very near to an old farmhouse with a barn and a few outbuildings covered with vines.
If you pass by towering dahlias—in great abundance—you may be passing by Jaxon’s house, where the garden is filled with all manner of scented and edible goodness, and the paths through the tall grass lead you to a secluded pond, a performance space and—best of all—the outdoor bathtub.
Jaxon inherited a garden full of dahlias years ago when he moved to this place. And he faithfully digs up the tubers each fall and stores them properly in his basement so they stay dry and healthy. In the spring he plants them again, and in late August he invites all his friends and neighbors to come and enjoy their enormous blooms and fragrance.
This is officially called Dahlia Fest. The guests bring food to share, and the farmhouse table is a colorful display of riches from many other Vermont gardens. Salads, grains, curries, pies, breads….a feast. Afterward, the crowd moves to the hill to sing, recite, play instruments and further revel into the starry night.
I was a happy guest at Dahlia Fest this year, and I am completely enamored of Jaxon’s outdoor bathing room. It is sited beneath a cascade of dahlias this time of year. But in July, a multicolored curtain of delphiniums hang overhead. Hopvines make a living wall that hides the outdoor shower that is part of this bathing paradise. The running water is ingeniously plumbed through several hot and cold water hoses that can be drained and stored when the cold weather comes (any day now, sadly). A brick floor is earthy beneath the clawfoot tub. There are places for bottles and soap and maybe even bubbles. Lanterns and candles are tucked in and out of view.
Thinking about where I can site a secluded outdoor bathroom. Perhaps next year.
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12 Sep 2011
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Artisanal Living, Eating and Cooking, Family, Garden, Local Food, Natural world, Summer
Tags: A Midsummer Night's Sex Comedy, dinner, family, friends, garden, Lidewij Edelkoort, meadow, Trend Tablet, woody allen
photo by Elaine Skinner
Lidewij Edelkoort is a Dutch luminary trend forecaster and this beautiful photograph was featured today on her interesting web-based site called Trend Tablet.
Ever since I saw Woody Allen’s movie A Midsummer Night’s Sex Comedy in the early 1980s, I’ve hoped to serve a dinner in a meadow (the image on the right is the only one I could find of that dinner scene from the film), with friends sitting down together as the late summer light fades across the tips of the tall grasses and the fireflies begin to sparkle against the darkened woods.
The first photo enlarges that idea to a banquet, with family and friends. I love how there are books at the table, along with the food and drink, and that the many ages mingle together here within a hall of orchard trees.
I like how Lidewij describes in today’s post how our idea of family has grown in this century. After seeing how Vermont communities have pulled together to help friend, family and stranger in the aftermath of Hurricane Irene floods, I feel a part of this bigger family, and it feels good.
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