Is this what it means to eat locally?

I've had strawberry shortcake for breakfast or dinner every day this week.

I made too much last Sunday because I didn't know who was and wasn't coming over: might be no one, could be six or seven more people. I picked two quarts of strawberries, marinating each in its own experiment of sugar quantity, sent Terry for extra whipping cream which I whipped with confectioner's sugar (because it tastes good and keeps the cream from becoming watery if it has to sit for a few days), and baked two whole wheat shortbreads.

Alas, one batch would have been enough. But I couldn't bear to throw out all that goodness. I love my own strawberry shortcake--I think it may be one of my top ten favorite things to eat--and I really did wait all year for it, especially with garden-grown berries.

So I decided to forget about the usual inescapable realities like calories, fat, sodium, protein, and fiber, and eat exactly what I wanted, not even skimping on the whipped cream. It was the high point of each day, but by last night (Thursday) I was glad to finish it and not have it again for a while.

The really weird thing is, I lost one pound. And I am not overweight, just your average physically active, menopausal baby boomer. I always wish a couple of pounds of squishiness would disappear from my middle, but it's not a high priority.

I think I know what both Barbara Kingsolver and Geneen Roth would say.

Primal Picking

I once read that women tend to be more sensitive to variations of color than men are. It was theorized it's an evolutionary thing because over the past few thousand years women honed their skill at selecting the ripest, sweetest berries.

Hunter/gatherer theories about men and women resonate with me, and this one sprang to mind because I'm so blissfully happy when picking strawberries from my own patch. It's like searching for little brilliant red jewels hidden among the green leaves.

But I'm pretty sure the bliss factor crept up to consciousness level because of what's missing: I'm not swatting away at mosquitoes--in our yard the hatch is minimal. At least for now.

First Long Ride of the Year

There've been a couple of Thursday night Bombay Bicycle Club rides after work, about 25 miles or so, with the main point of the excursion socializing after touring the rural roads. I was tired at the end of those rides. But the one we took yesterday was what I consider the first long (50 miles) one of the season.

Terry and I had fun deciding on a route leaving directly from the house. We chose a published bike map that was round trip to Columbus, and decided to find a shortcut to keep it around 40 miles. The map showed Bristol Road cutting directly across the middle of the loop, so we turned off early onto it. But...what the map showed was different than what the road actually did, so we had some false starts and concentrated reckoning of where we were in relation to the sun when Bristol Road suddenly ended. (I cheated and used the GPS on my iPhone to double check.)

Meanwhile, we were delighted to come upon the Sassy Cow Creamery surrounded by pasture and fields, and were sorry we were too early to pay it a visit as customers.

By the time we figured out our shortcut and were counting down the last ten miles home on our odometers, the temperature had risen to the high eighties and we were running on fumes, depleted, both hungry and thirsty, and soaked with perspiration. But that didn't stop me from waving wildly from my bike on the River Road overpass as it crosses Interstate 90/04 to all the people trapped in cars below. I thought I was hearing appreciative honks from envious drivers above the roar of the stream of traffic down there, but then realized I was blocking impatient drivers behind me as I veered in and out from the side of the road with my waving.

When we got home, I couldn't get out of my wet clothes and wash off the greasy, bug-crusted sunscreen covering my face, arms and legs fast enough, and rushed into the shower. Terry was starving and shaky, and headed for the kitchen. When I emerged just a few minutes later, he was standing by the counter looking a little dazed. Wrappers from bread and cheese lay scattered, and the container that had held cut up watermelon was lying on its side. He was holding a bag of chips. "I guess I was hungry...that was about as far as I wanted to ride," he said, looking around.

Gig Posters

On the kiosk at Memorial Union:

Jedi Mind Tricks
Black Lips
'Pert Near Sandstone
The Clientele
Need to Breathe
The Catalog Babies
Trampled by Turtles
Field Music
Leslie and the Ly's
Umphreys McGee
Heatbox
The Kissers

CSA Decision

The people of Madison LOVE community supported agriculture (CSA) farms--all the booths at Monona Terrace yesterday were mobbed. True to my talent for getting involved in a trend at its peak, I was there as well, along with my husband and 79 year old dad, who farmed for a good many years.

We stood like rocks in a whitewater stream, trying to decide where to strike out for first. Luckily a volunteer came by with delicious samples of an asian-style coleslaw from the Madison Area Community Supported Agriculture Coalition cookbook. One taste and we shoved off to find the best farm to join so we could start picking up produce each week to make things just like that.

What a different type of farming the people there were doing compared to what my dad had done! The farmers we talked to were mostly people in their thirties or even twenties, thoroughly at ease discussing the nutritional value of the food they were growing, sustainable farming methods, and lifestyle choices. Besides farmers, they were sales people, promoters, educators, merchandisers, employers, distributors, and graphic designers.

Having struggled mightily to grow an array of vegetables in our garden, which is composed of dense clay soil, creeping charlie, and a favorite spot of deer, rabbits, groundhogs and Japanese beetles, I wanted to know about things like tractors and other mechanical help. I thought Dad would, too, especially since he spent a good bit of his retirement restoring John Deere tractors, but no. I followed him to hear the answers to his favorite question "Do you have working shares?"

We didn't make a decision on which CSA to join...I'm still sorting out pick-up locations and times, prices, and just what's in the weekly box. How lucky to have so many great places to choose from.

Deer Pasture

There's a deer herd living in our neighborhood. Last year there were four that ate the prettiest flowers in our yard, chomped on hostas in the middle of the night under our bedroom window, mowed down the raspberry canes, and jumped over the fence into our garden to annihilate the Swiss chard and lettuce.

They bedded down under our pine trees for the night and lounged around there in the dawn. Neighbors who are home during the day reported seeing them lying in front yards, and using the sidewalks and steps to travel from front to back of various houses.

This year we discovered the herd had grown to five, with a new little fawn. Scrooges that we are, we grumbled to see it. Last Saturday we came home and found two deer busily eating the safflower seeds out of a bird feeder, looking exactly like cattle. Grrrr! Terry stepped out the door, yelled, and they trotted a few yards away. Then we stood, stunned, as seven more deer emerged from the pine trees and surrounded them.

No wonder our back yard looks like a cow pasture, with trails and manure everywhere.

Byline Surprise

Last year my husband and I set a goal of skiing the American Birkebeiner race from Cable to Hayward in northern Wisconsin. That was pretty ambitious for a couple of novices: the race is 54 kilometers (that's nearly 32 miles!) for the classic course. But it was a really great way to stay motivated to get outside during the freezing, dark days of the winter months when we just didn't feel like it.

We managed to do it, and the experience was so powerful I wanted to capture in writing. I submitted my story this year to the American Birkebeiner Foundation web site to be included on its page of people's Birkie experiences. The editor said thanks, but we can't use it right now. I was a little disappointed but at least I'd written it.

Our plans were to ski again this year, which would have been this past weekend, but a family medical emergency came up and we couldn't do it. I clicked through the web site a couple of times this week to look up results and news stories, and consoled myself that next year I'd be there.

Yesterday my mother called and said "Did you write a story about the Birkebeiner?" A family friend who lives in the area had sent my parents a clipping from a newspaper which contained my story! Apparently the Birkebeiner people invite the local media to use stories they've received, and the Sawyer County Record took them up on it and published my story.

Not only am I thrilled to have it published, but in a way, I got to participate in the excitement of Birkie weekend even though I couldn't be there.