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.
Showing posts with label Hannah Wall. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hannah Wall. Show all posts
Saturday, July 11, 2009
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
Monday, March 10, 2008
how to have breakfast at "hom"
By Hannah Wall
"Hom."
That's the name of the house that Granny and Gaffa used to stay in when they came to visit us in Pawlet, Vermont, the little town we grew up in. The house was shingled with red and green trim, and sat on the curve of a hill with a river running behind it.
This morning I had a breakfast that reminded me of home. First, I woke to the sound of Alexis' voice, which was strange, because I was dreaming about her at that very moment. So her voice pulled me out and away from her voice.
Second, I had an orange to eat from the tree in the back yard, and for me right now, this is the essence of the house I live in, and a big part of what makes it a home. We've had a lot of wind lately and there are oranges all over the back yard. I looked them over, trying to find one that hadn't been damaged by the fall, or succumbed to those weird potato bugs that also love the sweet treat inside. I found one, it was covered it dirt and webs, there are a lot of spiders living in that tree... but once rinsed it looked like a miniature sunshine, and it was warm from sitting in the morning heat. I've learned that the very best oranges are the ones that the tree gives me. Those are the ones that are at their peak of sweetness. The ones that I pick are always good, but they have less sugar.
Third, coffee. Need I say more? Well, I will anyway. I have found the most wonderful coffee shop where they roast their own coffee. I hate to say this, you know that I do, but I think it might be better than speeder's. They roast it in the same style, full city roast, to the point of the best flavor highlights for the bean, but not so dark that the bean is burnt. And, I re-confiscated my little sugar jar from Brian that he'd been using for q-tips. It's one of my favorite pieces I ever made. That and the mug I'm drinking the coffee out of...
Fourth, and the inspiration for this piece, Wasa rye crackers with butter, and honey on one, Marmite on the other. When I was staying with Granny in the summer after 7th grade, every morning consisted of this combination for us. She would make toast and place the pieces neatly in the little toast rack on the table. The we would butter each one and choose between all of these wonderful options: Marmalade, thick cut in the white jar and appointed by Her Majesty the Queen. Marmite: one of my favorite things in the entire world. So wonderful to have a cucumber and tomato sandwich with Marmite, veggies fresh picked from the garden, still warm from the sun, in the afternoon. So comforting to know that even when the bank was empty, the garden was always full of the very best of the best.
And honey: all of my life I've had a love affair with honey. We had friends up on the hill in Pawlet, the Winpennys, they kept bees and had the BEST honey! Their bees were happy bees, and the honey was raw and unfiltered, like cream. (pause for coffee refill) There is a wonderful apiary in Ferrisburg, Vermont—Honey Gardens—that makes all kinds of honey products. I fell in love with their cough syrup one year when I was very sick for a long time. I don't know how effective it was medicinally, but it was soothing and tasted like heaven. Good thing you can't really o.d. on that stuff! Guess what? I found a jar of raw honey from Honey Gardens apiary at the local market! And I am savoring it like the rarest jewel, like golden flowers from that tree that grew underground where the Twelve Dancing Princesses would go every night.
Fifth, I have my Meow, Mister the Terrible, nesting at my feet in a pile of freshly hand-washed sweaters. His ear is FINALLY healing. And we are happy and content this morning.
This post was originally published on Hanushka's blog.
"Hom."
That's the name of the house that Granny and Gaffa used to stay in when they came to visit us in Pawlet, Vermont, the little town we grew up in. The house was shingled with red and green trim, and sat on the curve of a hill with a river running behind it.
This morning I had a breakfast that reminded me of home. First, I woke to the sound of Alexis' voice, which was strange, because I was dreaming about her at that very moment. So her voice pulled me out and away from her voice.
Second, I had an orange to eat from the tree in the back yard, and for me right now, this is the essence of the house I live in, and a big part of what makes it a home. We've had a lot of wind lately and there are oranges all over the back yard. I looked them over, trying to find one that hadn't been damaged by the fall, or succumbed to those weird potato bugs that also love the sweet treat inside. I found one, it was covered it dirt and webs, there are a lot of spiders living in that tree... but once rinsed it looked like a miniature sunshine, and it was warm from sitting in the morning heat. I've learned that the very best oranges are the ones that the tree gives me. Those are the ones that are at their peak of sweetness. The ones that I pick are always good, but they have less sugar.
Third, coffee. Need I say more? Well, I will anyway. I have found the most wonderful coffee shop where they roast their own coffee. I hate to say this, you know that I do, but I think it might be better than speeder's. They roast it in the same style, full city roast, to the point of the best flavor highlights for the bean, but not so dark that the bean is burnt. And, I re-confiscated my little sugar jar from Brian that he'd been using for q-tips. It's one of my favorite pieces I ever made. That and the mug I'm drinking the coffee out of...
Fourth, and the inspiration for this piece, Wasa rye crackers with butter, and honey on one, Marmite on the other. When I was staying with Granny in the summer after 7th grade, every morning consisted of this combination for us. She would make toast and place the pieces neatly in the little toast rack on the table. The we would butter each one and choose between all of these wonderful options: Marmalade, thick cut in the white jar and appointed by Her Majesty the Queen. Marmite: one of my favorite things in the entire world. So wonderful to have a cucumber and tomato sandwich with Marmite, veggies fresh picked from the garden, still warm from the sun, in the afternoon. So comforting to know that even when the bank was empty, the garden was always full of the very best of the best.
And honey: all of my life I've had a love affair with honey. We had friends up on the hill in Pawlet, the Winpennys, they kept bees and had the BEST honey! Their bees were happy bees, and the honey was raw and unfiltered, like cream. (pause for coffee refill) There is a wonderful apiary in Ferrisburg, Vermont—Honey Gardens—that makes all kinds of honey products. I fell in love with their cough syrup one year when I was very sick for a long time. I don't know how effective it was medicinally, but it was soothing and tasted like heaven. Good thing you can't really o.d. on that stuff! Guess what? I found a jar of raw honey from Honey Gardens apiary at the local market! And I am savoring it like the rarest jewel, like golden flowers from that tree that grew underground where the Twelve Dancing Princesses would go every night.
Fifth, I have my Meow, Mister the Terrible, nesting at my feet in a pile of freshly hand-washed sweaters. His ear is FINALLY healing. And we are happy and content this morning.
This post was originally published on Hanushka's blog.
Monday, September 17, 2007
family on nourishment
When I think of what nourishment as a concept means to me, I think of my family. And so, in undertaking this project—of asking others to contribute their ideas on nourishment—I went first to my mother and sisters.
The first one who responded was Hannah, my oldest sister. Three time zones and three thousands miles away, it turns out we had the same exact thing on our minds. Her response:
That's whack. I wrote this poem yesterday:
If we measure the time between our meeting
by the rotting of tomatoes and
avocados,
I would hope that these pieces
and our movement
is organic,
So they'll rot quicker
And no one goes hungry
with want and waiting in the interim.
Let me be clear:
I want to see you
before the vegetables decay.
I want to see you before you are filled with regret
at the waste, of time and food.
One day we will grow these fruits
together
And feed each other daily,
Nourishment springing up around us
to build a house of trees and vines.
Till then, we place carrots and radishes at acute angles,
pointing to passing,
and posing for decomposition.
xo love you.
—Hannah Wall
My other sister came next, and she said a lot of the same things that I myself have been feeling. I love that supple skin is just as important as relaxation and comfort. All of these things are evidence of bodily and spiritual nourishment.
I have thought about it and decided to tell you words/thoughts that come to mind when I think of nourishment:
Warmth, flavor, drink, comfort, peace, laughter, love, satisfaction, health, blood flow, supple skin, happiness, culinary creations, relaxation, family. When I feel nourished, I feel complete and mentally at peace.
—Emma Kouri
Finally my mother. First I received a voicemail at work: "Nourishment. Certainly is not when your daughter doesn't answer the telephone." I finally got in touch with her and she asked, "is it too late to write something and is it okay if it's not about food?" I said, of course it wasn't, and of course it was (wondering if she would remember how to email it to me). She did.
The other day, Sadie and I went down to the river. It had rained incessantly for a couple of days, and the earth smelt as it should: mossy, heaving with life, warm, wet, dark...and so we went, she and I, unable to resist the call. On the way down, I bumped into a tree, who, indignant, released the captive raindrops she had been hoarding. Drenched from the unexpected 'gift', I could only laugh. I felt a little silly! Sadie, certainly, had no idea what all this mirth represented.
On down to the river, but not to stop at our usual hole. Some adventure beckoned, and we picked up the gauntlet. Ploughing ahead through uncharted bogland, for so it is, black and foreboding, we were astonished at the beauty of the red and orange toadstools, no toads were sitting, however; red cedars sat above the bogs, standing on tippy-toes, high on their snake-like roots, keeping dry. Following the river, we won't get lost now; we came upon a huge rock, covered in moss. Right by the river...deeply swirling.
Sadie plopped into the water, and swam and swam. Oh, my Lord, nobody knows where I am! What if we get sucked into the black, black earth in one of those bogs, we'll never be found! What if there's a bear behind this mossy rock!
All of a sudden, it was very important to head on up to the clearing in the treetops shining all yellow against the blue sky... Don't worry about deer-paths, just plunge and go, quickly! I know that if we just keep going in this direction we'll come to...and there it was! The old familiar path, through the ferns, that wends its way down to Clyde Pond. Ahh...nourishment!
—Sally Wall
hannah, sister
The first one who responded was Hannah, my oldest sister. Three time zones and three thousands miles away, it turns out we had the same exact thing on our minds. Her response:
That's whack. I wrote this poem yesterday:
If we measure the time between our meeting
by the rotting of tomatoes and
avocados,
I would hope that these pieces
and our movement
is organic,
So they'll rot quicker
And no one goes hungry
with want and waiting in the interim.
Let me be clear:
I want to see you
before the vegetables decay.
I want to see you before you are filled with regret
at the waste, of time and food.
One day we will grow these fruits
together
And feed each other daily,
Nourishment springing up around us
to build a house of trees and vines.
Till then, we place carrots and radishes at acute angles,
pointing to passing,
and posing for decomposition.
xo love you.
—Hannah Wall
emma, sister
My other sister came next, and she said a lot of the same things that I myself have been feeling. I love that supple skin is just as important as relaxation and comfort. All of these things are evidence of bodily and spiritual nourishment.
I have thought about it and decided to tell you words/thoughts that come to mind when I think of nourishment:
Warmth, flavor, drink, comfort, peace, laughter, love, satisfaction, health, blood flow, supple skin, happiness, culinary creations, relaxation, family. When I feel nourished, I feel complete and mentally at peace.
—Emma Kouri
sally, mother
Finally my mother. First I received a voicemail at work: "Nourishment. Certainly is not when your daughter doesn't answer the telephone." I finally got in touch with her and she asked, "is it too late to write something and is it okay if it's not about food?" I said, of course it wasn't, and of course it was (wondering if she would remember how to email it to me). She did.
The other day, Sadie and I went down to the river. It had rained incessantly for a couple of days, and the earth smelt as it should: mossy, heaving with life, warm, wet, dark...and so we went, she and I, unable to resist the call. On the way down, I bumped into a tree, who, indignant, released the captive raindrops she had been hoarding. Drenched from the unexpected 'gift', I could only laugh. I felt a little silly! Sadie, certainly, had no idea what all this mirth represented.
On down to the river, but not to stop at our usual hole. Some adventure beckoned, and we picked up the gauntlet. Ploughing ahead through uncharted bogland, for so it is, black and foreboding, we were astonished at the beauty of the red and orange toadstools, no toads were sitting, however; red cedars sat above the bogs, standing on tippy-toes, high on their snake-like roots, keeping dry. Following the river, we won't get lost now; we came upon a huge rock, covered in moss. Right by the river...deeply swirling.
Sadie plopped into the water, and swam and swam. Oh, my Lord, nobody knows where I am! What if we get sucked into the black, black earth in one of those bogs, we'll never be found! What if there's a bear behind this mossy rock!
All of a sudden, it was very important to head on up to the clearing in the treetops shining all yellow against the blue sky... Don't worry about deer-paths, just plunge and go, quickly! I know that if we just keep going in this direction we'll come to...and there it was! The old familiar path, through the ferns, that wends its way down to Clyde Pond. Ahh...nourishment!
—Sally Wall
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