This morning, Penelope & I went to the Farmer's Market. Burlington is hosting the "Quadricentennial" celebration for Lake Champlain, and the Market expanded to fit the occasion. We both felt a different energy flowing through the crowd. It seemed calm and inviting, we felt compelled to linger, not in spite of the crowds, but because of them, with them. There were vendors from all over selling all sorts of delicacies and delights.
Once we had satisfied our immediate need for fresh veggies to get us through the weekend, our wandering brought us to the wine tents. As a rule, I generally ignore all local wine. I tried a few some years back, and found the quality to be so far below my palate's standards that I subsequently have deemed any North-Eastern wine to be irrelevant. The one genre that escapes this judgement is Quebecois Ice Wine. And so, when I saw that a local Vineyard was sampling their versions, I was legitimately curious, though my expectations were very low.
We tried a cassis ice wine first. And it was good! Expecting a thick syrupy sweet sipper, we were delighted by it's refreshing lightness. Then onto an ice cider, which was frighteningly delicious, and just happened to come from West Charleston, a little town up north near our hometown of Newport. Feeling brave, we tried a white. It didn't suck! I actually tasted layers of subtle complexity, and felt humbled.
I've been thinking a lot lately about how to be grateful in the moment, and not get caught up in the little prejudices. They grow so slowly that sometimes you don't see how your vision is tinted by them, or how you make choices because of them. For example: "Ugh, I don't want to go to Farmer's Market, it'll be so crowded and this huge social ordeal and I'll spend too much money and blah blah blah." I want to be able to address my perspective and turn it around so that I can truly enjoy the beauty of every day, the gifts of this life that I've chosen. To be near my family and friends. To live in a small town where everybody knows everybody. To have the option of riding your bike or walking, depending on how much time you've got. "Let's go to Farmer's Market! We get to buy beautiful fresh food from people that we know, we get to see our friends and acquaintances in a setting infused with art and life, I can make a difference by choosing to support the local economy!"
Every day offers new gifts. If I can't see them, I should look harder, or create them. And take time to savor the surprises that teach me to forget to remember what I think I've learned. Because with every passing season, I realize more and more that I know nothing at all. And that's good, I think, because it gives me permission to try old things again as if they were new. Even if it hasn't changed, maybe I have.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Sunday, September 14, 2008
burlington farmer's market
I know I haven't posted in a while. Here's my attempt to get back on track! Nourishment is: having Colin home on a Saturday, seeing lots of beautiful things at the market, nesting.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
strength and beauty in sweetpeas and life
By Sally A. I. Wall
This afternoon, the storm clouds broke up for a few minutes, minutes enough for me to go out to the veggie patch and gently pull the newly rooted baby crab grass, which was threatening to choke out the courageous sweetpeas, who had braved the stormy blasts of May and early June. The day I planted out those tender seedlings in early May, the North wind came with a vengeance, bringing with it freezing temperatures, blasting out the life from my little sweetpeas, and laying them on the ground. Most of them succumbed. I left them alone, not believing that they'd come back, but I just didn't have the heart to turn them under. It's now the middle of June, and I'm astonished that something so fragile as a sweetpea can turn its nose up at the North wind, and with a little sunshine, plenty of rain, and some lovely muggy warmth, pick itself up by the bootstraps and start again from the ground up! That is precisely what has happened to about half the row. The roots were unscathed by Jack Frost's kiss, and they simply formed 'tillers', an Old English term meaning by-shoots, forming a stronger plant by way of a rotten trick of fate carried on the wings of the wind.
It can be that way, too, for humankind. Fate's ugly hand can come knocking at your door, and before you know it, there you are, lying alongside the fallen sweetpeas. Some really do succumb, like the little seedlings, too weakened by the blow to form 'tillers'; but many, even if they lie there for a while, will be brought back to health by the warm love of friends, the encouragement of those who have been there before, and by the grace of God find new life, stronger life, in this far friendlier environment. It's very important to make sure that this new strength is not choked out by even the tiniest, tenderest baby 'crab grass' of life; it must be kept clear and clean. Before too long, that poor devastated life has branched out, reached out, and has become far stronger than it could ever have imagined. Now that life is an encouragement to others, rather than the victim of circumstance, and people draw from that well and are nourished.
In the same way, in a month or so, I shall draw in my breath deeply, as I take in the delightful aroma of the beautiful sweetpeas, and be nourished. A scent full of memories of my childhood, so long ago, yet so present in this dear, tendrilled flower.
This afternoon, the storm clouds broke up for a few minutes, minutes enough for me to go out to the veggie patch and gently pull the newly rooted baby crab grass, which was threatening to choke out the courageous sweetpeas, who had braved the stormy blasts of May and early June. The day I planted out those tender seedlings in early May, the North wind came with a vengeance, bringing with it freezing temperatures, blasting out the life from my little sweetpeas, and laying them on the ground. Most of them succumbed. I left them alone, not believing that they'd come back, but I just didn't have the heart to turn them under. It's now the middle of June, and I'm astonished that something so fragile as a sweetpea can turn its nose up at the North wind, and with a little sunshine, plenty of rain, and some lovely muggy warmth, pick itself up by the bootstraps and start again from the ground up! That is precisely what has happened to about half the row. The roots were unscathed by Jack Frost's kiss, and they simply formed 'tillers', an Old English term meaning by-shoots, forming a stronger plant by way of a rotten trick of fate carried on the wings of the wind.
It can be that way, too, for humankind. Fate's ugly hand can come knocking at your door, and before you know it, there you are, lying alongside the fallen sweetpeas. Some really do succumb, like the little seedlings, too weakened by the blow to form 'tillers'; but many, even if they lie there for a while, will be brought back to health by the warm love of friends, the encouragement of those who have been there before, and by the grace of God find new life, stronger life, in this far friendlier environment. It's very important to make sure that this new strength is not choked out by even the tiniest, tenderest baby 'crab grass' of life; it must be kept clear and clean. Before too long, that poor devastated life has branched out, reached out, and has become far stronger than it could ever have imagined. Now that life is an encouragement to others, rather than the victim of circumstance, and people draw from that well and are nourished.
In the same way, in a month or so, I shall draw in my breath deeply, as I take in the delightful aroma of the beautiful sweetpeas, and be nourished. A scent full of memories of my childhood, so long ago, yet so present in this dear, tendrilled flower.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
café expres, a perfect date
One of my favorite things about being in Paris is the wonderful tradition of café expres (espresso). You can pop in any old place, sit with Romance at the bar, stare at fabulous people and cool your elbows on the smooth marble countertop, while you sip a little cupful of rich, fragrant coffee. It's a very romantic, European thing—to be so grandiose, so spontaneous—to make such an event of drinking a thimble-full of anything. That anybody can accomplish such a stylish, nostalgic moment for less than $2 makes it that much more appealing.
Lately, Colin and I have been making a habit—albeit spontaneous—of popping into cafes for a little restoration. In Burlington on Church Street, there are at least two good places I can think where you can experience the inexpensive luxury of espresso, elevated to an art form. But all you really need is a bar, a good atmosphere, and of course an espresso machine (there are some really wonderful restaurants in town that, sadly, do not have one).
Lake Champlain Chocolates is perfect, because not only do they serve espresso, but they also sell what is, in my mind, the best chocolate around. The two really go hand in hand (that's why in Paris and elsewhere, they always serve espresso with a chocolate-covered coffee bean or almond). It takes the edge off the dark Arabica brew. Lake Champlain Chocolates has a little bar where you can sit and enjoy your moment while watching the passersby on the street. Colin and I dropped in the other day while we were out running errands and ordered two espressos and one square of dark chocolate (to share). The entire thing cost around five dollars, but it felt much more extravagant than that.
I know I talk about Leunig's Bistro a lot, but I can't help it. We love to eat there. And while it's true that you can get a little over-the-top with the menu, some of my favorite moments there have been the simple and spontaneous ones, sitting at the bar, with just a glass of wine and Vermont cheese plate. You could just linger there all night and really feel like a neighborhood regular by the end of it (for under $10 a person). Last night, we stopped in before a movie date for some espresso and one of their amazing maple creme brulees to share—it's the best creme brulee in town, and I'm an expert.
I don't know why I'm telling you any of this. I just felt very good when I remembered these two moments. They reminded me of other espresso moments. I love that these moments are at the same time economical, romantic, and memorable. What more could you ask for in a date?
Lately, Colin and I have been making a habit—albeit spontaneous—of popping into cafes for a little restoration. In Burlington on Church Street, there are at least two good places I can think where you can experience the inexpensive luxury of espresso, elevated to an art form. But all you really need is a bar, a good atmosphere, and of course an espresso machine (there are some really wonderful restaurants in town that, sadly, do not have one).
Lake Champlain Chocolates is perfect, because not only do they serve espresso, but they also sell what is, in my mind, the best chocolate around. The two really go hand in hand (that's why in Paris and elsewhere, they always serve espresso with a chocolate-covered coffee bean or almond). It takes the edge off the dark Arabica brew. Lake Champlain Chocolates has a little bar where you can sit and enjoy your moment while watching the passersby on the street. Colin and I dropped in the other day while we were out running errands and ordered two espressos and one square of dark chocolate (to share). The entire thing cost around five dollars, but it felt much more extravagant than that.
I know I talk about Leunig's Bistro a lot, but I can't help it. We love to eat there. And while it's true that you can get a little over-the-top with the menu, some of my favorite moments there have been the simple and spontaneous ones, sitting at the bar, with just a glass of wine and Vermont cheese plate. You could just linger there all night and really feel like a neighborhood regular by the end of it (for under $10 a person). Last night, we stopped in before a movie date for some espresso and one of their amazing maple creme brulees to share—it's the best creme brulee in town, and I'm an expert.
I don't know why I'm telling you any of this. I just felt very good when I remembered these two moments. They reminded me of other espresso moments. I love that these moments are at the same time economical, romantic, and memorable. What more could you ask for in a date?
Monday, May 19, 2008
just what the doctor ordered
I came home from work tonight and found a neat little note sitting on my kitchen counter. It was from Hannah (she left this morning) and I hope she doesn't mind, but I'm writing it here, just so I can have it for always.
Dear Soupy ~
I'm so glad that we got to hang out this weekend, it really was lovely, just perfect. Thanks for having me at your sweet little home, with your cute little kitties who I adore. Can't wait for the next time to see you... in CA? Or VT? Or NY? We'll see...
Love you love you love you. Just what the Dr. Ordered—a weekend with my sistawrs...Hannah Poopy
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