Third birthday dinner

I let River choose whatever he wanted to eat for his third birthday dinner. When I asked the question open-ended, he didn’t know. So I offered some suggestions of things he likes – pizza, spaghetti, sushi, chicken, beef. If anything, I was hoping to lead him towards macaroni and cheese, because that’s what I’ve been craving lately. But he went for sushi – the item I craved a lot in the first two trimesters, but am over now.

Here is my birthday boy with his birthday sushi dinner. Perhaps an unusual request for a three-year-old, but I think he’s wonderful.

Fire truck birthday cake

Evolution of a fire truck cake:











Lessons learned:

1. This recipe makes for a delicious cake, but it’s not ideal for molds. Though I greased the pan well, it’s so moist that a lot of it still stuck, only giving me the bare outlines of lines to follow. And a lot of little crumbs came off in the process of frosting it, making it tough to keep the white frosting white.

2. Make the cake the morning ahead and give it lots of time to cool (if you have room in your freezer to freeze the cake, that would be ideal, otherwise chill it in the fridge). I did the white frosting the night before the party and the rest the morning of. The good thing about this cake is that due to its moistness, it’s great a day later.

3. These directions are excellent. I followed them for making the frosting and doing the decorating. Even a non-artistic person like me can come out with something resembling a fire truck.

4. I invested in this cake carrier, which was a really handy way to both have a surface to frost it upon and have an easy way to cover and store it in the fridge. It also comes with a tray that holds either cupcakes or mini-cupcakes, so I’ll be using it in a few days to send River to preschool with birthday cupcakes.

5. Next time, I’d thin the frosting a little more than the recipe suggests. Perhaps it was too thick, or perhaps it was still too chilled from the fridge. But I had a very hard time working with the yellow, which was the first color I used. I was panting with exertion, my hand was cramped and I started to think I needed to call Mark and ask him to pick up a cake at the supermarket. Luckily, the other colors were much easier to work with. When the frosting flows quickly out of the tip, it makes all the difference.

last farmshare pickup

Tonight marked the end of a season. It was our last farmshare pickup. We were back to mostly greens, as it had been when it started in June – lettuce, escarole, kale, swiss chard, mustard greens, radishes, garlic and scallions. But unlike in June, it was already dark when we arrived. Even in the blackness, I could see that the plants had been cut down and the fields lay bare waiting for next year. It was lonely driving up the gravel road in the dark, only one car outside of the lighted barn. It was such a contrast to the summer months, when I sometimes I had trouble finding parking, and families and couples strolled the fields, collecting their flowers, hot peppers and herbs.

This is the third year I’ve belonged to the farmshare. It was an incredible year in terms of bounty. We have only a half share, yet were getting over 10 pounds of organic tomatoes per week for weeks on end. There was no way I could use anywhere near that much (sometimes we received nearly 20 pounds), so despite giving many away, my freezer is now bulging with freezer bags filled with tomatoes.

But my favorite part of the farmshare this year was the way River was able to participate. I considered joining a farm that drops the shares off at a local natural food store. It would certainly save time and gas to not have to go to the farm myself. But I find participating in the connection between the earth and my nourishment is good for my soul. I love the smell of the air in the field, the sight of the vegetables hanging from tendrils, and the resin that sticks on my hand after picking cherry tomatoes. I like knowing that the food I eat was just pulled from the earth that day. Best of all was giving River that connection.

I arranged my schedule so that I’d have the car on the farm pickup day and could leave work on the earlier side, allowing me to pick up River and get to the farm before traffic got too bad. He accompanied me most weeks, helping me to pick peas and tomatoes, to cut flowers and herbs, to weigh lettuce, arugula, cauliflower, potatoes and sweet potatoes, to collect peppers and tomatoes and greens. In the course of one season, he learned more about the origins of his food than I knew when I went to college.

He’s still only 2, but he knows that you pick tomatoes when they are red, and blueberries when they are blue (“no verdes!” he says). I allow him to use the garden shears and he is capable of cutting flowers on his own. He can use tongs to put objects on a scale and he understands the concept of measurement. He took such joy in the collection of flowers, arranging them in the vase, smelling them and admiring them through the week. He understands that flowers die and can be replaced with new growths. He understands that no more vegetables will be growing until the spring comes. He recognizes a corn stalk and knows if the corn has been removed.

We recently started to stop by a nearby dairy farm to buy eggs, meat and cheese (once I got over the price shock of real farm eggs and decided it was worth it). There he saw the cows milked and the origins of his milk. He now makes a point of making clear that his milk comes from cow teats. During our visit this evening, he asked why chicks hatch from some eggs and other eggs are eaten.

I suppose for a two-year-old farm child, this would all be common knowledge. Perhaps I’m overly impressed because I was so far removed from this world during my childhood. I grew up near a sheep farm and would visit it sometimes. So I had a decent idea of how wool is shorn. But with the exception of a short stint with a garden plot, I didn’t have a clue about where my food came from or how it was produced. Nor did my parents seem to care much. I grew up on white bread, Jell-o, and iceberg lettuce.

I think it’s exciting and beautiful to watch my child understand this connection and to participate in the process. For this reason, even though my schedule is going to be tighter and my responsibilities greater by next farm season, I plan to sign up again and take River for weekly excursions to pick up our food from the source. I can’t wait to share in this time with him again.

to can or not to can (thinking ahead to next year)

I am overwhelmed by vegetables from our farmshare. Last night I picked up another six pounds of tomatoes, plus four pints of cherry tomatoes, plus a big bag of paste tomatoes. That’s in addition to the 10 pounds of tomatoes plus four pint of cherry tomatoes I got last week. While I can feed a few to River, I’m basically the only one in the house that eats them. And I cannot eat nearly that many. This is only a halfshare on the farm. I can’t imagine how the people who have full shares manage.

My current strategy is to throw the tomatoes in Ziplocs and freeze them. I can use them for soups, stews and sauces in the winter. But that takes up a lot of space and the large freezer we bought for the basement is already full. My strategy for next year is to try to empty the freezer before summer, so I’ll have room for lots of produce. But I’m also rethinking other strategies.
Should I give up on the farmshare? I like supporting local agriculture, it’s been a great educational experience to take River out there weekly to pick with me, and it’s wonderful to have access to delicious organic goods. But if I bought only what I needed, I’d probably spend less and not be so burdened with use and storage.

Should I try canning? We have a cool little room in the basement probably used to be a storage area for cans. If we invested a bit in finishing it, it would make an excellent storage room. It would be nice to have fresh, local, natural products available all year and they would make great gifts. I was inspired by this NPR piece I heard today.

But canning requires an investment in products, and it’s work. I already have enough work. I make yogurt and ice cream and baked goods and soups and meals. I realized during my 10 days at adult-summer camp that being fed all my meals saves me a HUMUNGOUS amount of time. While I don’t mind working with food, there are things I enjoy more – like sleep, reading, writing, exercise, spending time with people. Do I really want to spend more hours in the kitchen, to make stuff that I’ll mostly be eating? Given that I tend towards hoarding food, do I really want more stuff to store?

Or do I just freeze what I can and give the rest away?

Any suggestions?

Blueberry picking

Yesterday we took a drive to the closest organic blueberry farm to our house. It was a small operation, that grows only blueberries and blackberries and is run by an elderly couple.

Our first blueberry picking experience was at a farm that is close to home, but that clearly uses chemicals. While on the hay ride, we passed sheds labeled with danger signs and the fruit bore a white residue that made me nervous when River was picking it off the bushes and popping it into his mouth.

Since the organic farm is further away, I wanted to pick as large of a supply as possible. Mark came along this time, which nearly doubled the load. In an hour we managed about 6 pounds, plus a small container of blackberries, for a total of $23.

River, as before, mainly occupied himself by stuffing his face with blueberries. Whereas last time he didn’t contribute a single blueberry to the bucket, this time he contributed a good 5-10. As I started to understand how time consuming the process is, I understood the settler’s need for children as laborers. A bunch of kids would certainly yield a larger supply of blueberries. But if you have that many more mouths to feed, does the cost cancel out the benefit?

I recently saw a program on one of the major news shows, where they were profiling migrant families who use children under 12 as laborers. I think they were trying to make people shocked at the practice, but they failed to look at the options. If the whole family is out picking blueberries and the 10-year-old can’t come along, what is that 10-year-old or 8-year-old or 6-year-old going to do? Sit home alone? Watch TV? Be in danger of getting in trouble? Migrant families are unlikely to be able to afford a sitter. Why not be outside with the family and make a contribution, however small, to the yield, so that the family has resources it needs to feed, clothe, shelter and educate that child? If society cares enough about preventing the practice to offer childcare, or to offer material support such that the whole family doesn’t need to go out picking, that’s fine. But you can’t just prohibit something without considering that the other choices available to the family may well be worse for the child’s welfare.

I’m grateful that River doesn’t feel the stress of knowing the quantity he picks might determine how much the family gets to eat. That is a great burden for any child. But I get great pleasure out of seeing him occupied in this way. I think he knows more at the age of two about where his food comes from than I knew at the age of 20.

“No green ones,” he said, immediately upon arriving at the bushes. “Only blue.” He then proceeded to search them out with gusto and pop them into his mouth.

I don’t think there are many experiences more beautiful that one can offer a child than the chance to pick berries. The excitement of the hunt, the understanding of where food comes from, the sweetness of the reward crushed against the tongue, the time outdoors and the sense of accomplishment at having sought out the treasure make for a wonderful experience.

As a child, we had a cabin where wild red and black raspberries grew alongside the road. I vividly recall carrying a bowl and searching them out. I remember the mosquitoes and flies that bothered us, the red stain on my fingertips, the temptation to pick those that weren’t yet fully ripe, and the reward of a lush, juicy, fully-formed red or black berry. We got poison ivy several times by crawling back into the bushes, but that didn’t stop us.

I’m in the process of researching the farms and resources in our area, trying to figure out which offer the best quality at the best price within a reasonable distance. I hope that memories of picking fruit, flowers, vegetables and visiting farms for milk, butter, cheese and meat will help my children (yes, I’m starting to think in plural) make choices that are sustainable and healthy. I hope they will have an appreciation of where things come from. And I hope we’ll form memories of good times spent together in nature.

Have you taken your child/ren to a farm for their food? Do you do so regularly, or on occasion? Do they continue to enjoy it as they grow older?

Blueberry picking

Today was a first for both me and River – we both had our first experience blueberry picking. I enjoyed seeing where blueberries come from, seeing the difference between the green berries, the pink and the blue. I enjoyed learning how to pick more efficiently, and of course, snacking a little in the process.

River liked eating them, and that’s about it. I thought he might put some in the bucket once his stomach was full. No. When I put some in his bucket to show him how it’s done, he promptly removed them and put them in his mouth. When he finally did become full, he sat down on the ground and waited for me.

Until, of course, he heard the tractor coming by. Then it was, “c’mon mama.”
The only thing that troubled me was the clearly visible residue of pesticides on the berries. Unlike apples I purchase there, that I can wipe off on my shirt, I had no way of cleaning off the berries before he ate them.

I have no idea if it had anything to do with the berries, but he did develop a runny nose and frequent sneeze while at the farm. By the time he woke up from his nap, his eyes were puffy. He was clearly having a reaction to something in a way he hadn’t before. There were all kinds of grasses, weeds, plants, flowers and animals there, so it could be anything. But I do feel better about my child snacking on things that are not covered in white residue. I found an organic berry farm a bit further away. When I called, I learned they were already out of blueberries this year. But perhaps next year we’ll go there instead.

School lunches

I wrote recently about how I was pretty appalled seeing what the kids were eating out of their brown bags at a visit to the zoo. This blog shows what they might be eating on a school day and is a fascinating read. Scroll down to the peanut butter "sandwich" lunch. Unbelievable.

Somehow, I remember school lunches as being good. Perhaps it was because I usually wasn’t allowed to buy them and because the lunches my mom packed were both healthy and not sufficiently filling. The school lunch was like a smorgasboard, a big treat to me. I remember greasy tacos with crunchy corn shells, apple cobbler – yes, perhaps it was the unhealthiness that appealed to me.

I remember in high school, where we were given the option of an a la carte snack line, myself and many other teens fed themselves the most nutritious lunch of a salted soft pretzel and soft serve ice cream/yogurt (not sure what it was). Thank goodness I was really active in high school, because between that and my incessant candy bar sales (which I snacked on constantly), I really could have packed on the pounds.

I don’t know what lunches are like at our local schools. We’re still several years off from experiencing them. Part of me thinks there is enough of a health and eco-conscious community that they might not be so bad. I’ve definitely seen signs of activism among parents of local schoolchildren. However, at church, where the congregation is also very eco-conscious and supportive of people’s nutritional choices, River regularly gets goldfish and juice boxes as a snack. I don’t really mind since it’s only once a week. But boy do I hope his school lunches don’t look like the ones on this blog. I’m already dreading packing a preschool lunch one day a week. I really don’t want to have to do it daily.

More toxic stuff

Lead in juice boxes and canned fruit:

Luckily, I’ve never bought River juice, so I don’t have to worry too much about this one. Hopefully, the very occasional canned fruit and/or juice box he has received outside the home are infrequent enough to not worry about either. I really don’t need anything else to stress about right now.

Spain

Oh, the relaxed Spain of my youth. It is coming back to me.

“You’ve come to Spain to do sports?” my friend’s mother said to me, referring to the four-day bike trip we’ve planned. “You are supposed to come here to eat and relax.”

I told her my goal was to eat as much good food as I could without gaining weight, and that the biking would allow me to eat more.

“But it’s not a problem if you gain weight,” she said. “Because you’ll return to the U.S., where except for Thanksgiving, there is no good food, and you will lose it.”

I have to agree with her on the food. After a day and a half spent in airplane travel and a stopover at a house where there was almost nothing to eat that was not processed, I’m longing for quality food made from fresh ingredients even more.

We all gathered at a table outside a bar. Our group ranged in age from one month old to grandparents. The bar tables were all full. Plenty of people strolled outside. My friend said there were less people outside than usual, because on Friday evenings people head to the villages.

Eat, drink, relax. Adults entertained the children. No one talked much about work, about obligations, about anything stressful. It was just an acceptance of and enjoyment of the moment. This seems to me like a nice place to live.

Breaking the news

I told the family today. I should have told them before I arrived because maybe then they would have had some food on hand for my arrival.

In the car from the airport, I asked my dad if there was any food in the house. Because growing up, there wasn’t much of it. I remember sneaking white bread with mayonnaise or processed American cheese as an after dinner snack. That was about the best thing available. We weren’t poor, we just didn’t have much in the fridge.

“Oh yes, I just went grocery shopping,” he said. Cool.

So I was doubly disappointed when we got there and my choices were something like salad dressing of my choice, a strawberry and a grape tomato. The few things they did have were either heavily processed or refined white carbohydrates – yogurt full of all kinds of additives, ice cream in the form of dots. I was so craving meat – chicken, meatloaf, something cooked. Nothing.

The best I could do was a frozen brat on a white bun. When I pulled out the ketchup, something looked wrong. I felt bad as I knew I was already being a food snob. But when I looked at the date, I saw it expired in December 2006. I pulled out the second bottle and that one had expired in 2007.

I’m never more hungry than when I visit the grandparents. When my mom wants to cook, she can make some great things. But their typical diet is filled with processed foods, chemicals, additives, and happy hour bar junk food. Yuck. My husband’s parents usually have a lot of deli meat, bagels and sometimes, ice cream, on hand. But if I want anything other than that, I’m hungry. Who would have thought that trying to return to things made with natural, more simple ingredients would so remove me from the older generation?

My mom made lemon Jell-O with canned fruit. When I asked for some, she said she’d made it for River. I said he didn’t need the sugar and the artificial ingredients.

“But it has fruit in it,” my mom said.

“Then give him some fruit.” He’ll never know he’s missing Jello. I don’t think he’s even had Jello before. I don’t mind him having a treat every so often. But I feel a lot better about it if it’s a homemade treat, made with real ingredients, rather than from a package with unpronounceable components.

So anyway, my parents, my sister-in-law and my nieces are excited and I think there will be a little more food, for the fetus’s benefit at least, when I swing by again. My niece is hoping for a girl, as am I, though I’m not expecting it.

Today River met my friend’s 11-week-old. He did well. He showed some interest, seemed concerned when he cried and gave him tickles. So I’m hopeful he’ll do OK with the arrival of a sibling. I think he’ll be beyond the age where he could be legitimately angry at having attention he needs taken away from him, and be ready instead to be a role model and then playmate. At least that’s my hope.

The Ideal Meal

Whole Foods is expensive, so I don’t go there often. But every once in a while, I like to make a trip to their salad bar, where I fill a box up with toppings. With these, I’m able to make at least two salads at home for myself, and River gets an excellent meal.

Today I piled tofu in some kind of sauce, curried cauliflower, broccoli in mayonnaise, roast turkey, edamame beans, garbanzo beans, jicama with mandarin orange, cabbage and beets onto his highchair tray. He was allowed to eat as he pleased from all the choices and a wide variety of vitamins and minerals. Such extensive choice is not practical with mom preparing the meal.

I figure the markup is worth it in order to keep his palate exposed to and liking a wide variety of foods that I’m not able to prepare very often.