June 14, 2010 § 7 Comments
We were supposed to go strawberry picking this weekend. We had planned to wander out to Western Massachusetts and stumble upon some nice rambling, rolling biking roads en route to the fields of our farm (okay, it’s not really our farm, it’s just the farm from which our CSA vegetable share comes, but I like to think of it as partly mine) where, the word on the street is that strawberries are exuberantly bursting forth left and right screaming, “Pick me! Eat me!” It was going to be a perfect Saturday…and then it was rainy.
Over the course of a leisurely Saturday morning of getting the bikes ready and such and so (prefaced by a week of saying daily, “I can’t wait to go strawberry picking on Saturday!”) I had worked myself up into my standard state of childlike overexcitement. But then reality struck. The sky started clouding over with ominous looking clouds, and the radio warned of impending rain and potential thunderstorms. The omniscience of the Internet confirmed these unfortunate predictions. There was a large storm to the west, already hovering over the farm and rolling it’s way here.
Grrrr. I could feel my inner 5 year old reaching into its drawers to pull out and put on its cranky pants. This was disappointment of the worst kind – a combination of disappointed hopes of fun with, even worse, food disappointment. I had so looked forward to the ecstasy of plunking myself in a berry patch and filling both my belly and many, many baskets with juicy, red, sun warmed strawberry goodness. The alternative that awaited us if we decided to hang out at home – that being, trying once and for all to organize the disaster that is our study/studio/spare room/junk accumulating magnet – was completely unappealing. So, we decided that at the very least we would go biking anyway. The rain wasn’t here yet, and maybe it would hold off just long enough to go for a ride. We loaded up our bikes and headed over to our favorite bike route (through the gorgeous, pastoral, and ridiculously historic area around Concord, MA). The day was looking gloomier and gloomier, and by the time we were strapping on our helmets, the sky had started spritzing. And then it began to rain in earnest. Buckets. I looked over at Joel with the (now foolish seeming) statement I had made earlier echoing through my mind. “Let’s go for a ride, even if it’s raining.” He looked back at me. Neither of us really wanted to go, but neither of us really wanted to give up on the idea either. So, we plunged in. Like doing a big, splashy cannonball into a lake. At least, that’s about how wet we were within the first 5 minutes.
March 1, 2010 § 1 Comment
“If you cannot think of anything appropriate to say you will please restrict your remarks to the weather.”
Sage advice from Mrs. Dashwood (in the movie version of Sense and Sensibility). But what if I can’t think of anything appropriate to say about the weather? And I can’t really think about anything else because the weather is so ridiculously godawful it’s like it’s jumping up and down yelling “look at me, I’m gross and depressing! Hey, you, yeah you, look at me, I’m gross and depressing!” We haven’t even been getting the snow that the rest of the East coast has been blessed with (I’m Minnesotan, I luuuuuv snow). Nope, we’re getting this very slightly frozen version of rain. It’s raining unflavored slushies! I’m considering investing in an ark.
There’s really nothing for it in this sort of weather. The only thing to do is to bake bread (mmm, challah – I think Joel may have decided he wants it to keep raining) and eat soup. Maybe the weather has actually been sending me a sign because it’s soup making time anyway. Whenever I find myself with a backlog of root vegetables – which tends to happen at this time of year because I can’t seem to eat them at the same pace that my farm share sends them to me – I go on a peeling, chopping, simmering, soup making rampage! It’s one of the very most efficient ways to use up ginormous quantities of random vegetables. I’m willing to throw pretty much anything but the kitchen sink into a pot of soup and see how it’ll come out. « Read the rest of this entry »