TIS THE SEASON
I was born and raised in New England and, despite living here on this farm on Kauai for 38 years, I still miss the East Coast. And that becomes highlighted during this Autumn time of year.
My memories of the sights and smells that October brings are etched in my mind and heart. While there are subtle changes to the seasons here on Kauai, it just doesn’t measure up to those.
So, yesterday I was full of nostalgia and made pumpkin muffins. They were divine. Not too sweet and with all scents I needed. Here is the recipe from the New York Times.
PUMPKIN MAPLE MUFFINS
Ingredients
Yield:12 muffins
- ½cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
- 1cup all-purpose flour
- 1cup whole-wheat flour (or 1 cup/145 grams all-purpose flour)
- 2teaspoons baking powder
- 1teaspoon baking soda
- 1¼teaspoon kosher salt
- 2teaspoons ground cinnamon
- 1teaspoon ground ginger
- ½teaspoon ground turmeric
- ¼teaspoon ground nutmeg
- 1½cups pumpkin purée (about 1 15-ounce can)
- 3large eggs
- 1cup light brown sugar
- ⅔cup maple syrup
Preparation
- Step 1
Heat oven to 350 degrees.
- Step 2
Spray muffin molds with nonstick spray (I used butter) or line them with paper liners.
- Step 3
Heat butter in a small saucepan over medium heat. Cook, swirling occasionally, until the butter has melted, foamed and started to brown, about 5 minutes. Use a whisk to scrape up any browned bits at the bottom of the pot. Remove from heat and set aside.
- Step 4
In a medium bowl, whisk together flours, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, ginger, turmeric and nutmeg.
- Step 5
In a large bowl, whisk together pumpkin, eggs, brown sugar and maple syrup until totally smooth. Whisk in dry ingredients, followed by browned butter.
- Step 6
Divide among prepared muffin tins and bake until the tops are puffed and spring back slightly when pressed, 20 to 25 minutes.
It’s Not a Bad Thing
Despite my best efforts at eating well, walking regularly, taking consistent yoga classes, keeping my social life alive, my mind engaged, and my attitude mostly positive, my body knows it is 75 years old. This, in itself, is not a bad thing — in fact, I am thrilled to be here — but it is taking some adjusting in my thoughts and my daily activities.
I consider myself “semi-retired” but still am active in all the workings of the farm. Harvesting each week with my son, Sky, and filling our customers’ CSA bags is part of my routine. The seeding of trays bi-weekly still makes me happy and hopeful. But, the usual tilling, planting, feeding, and hoeing I have happily passed on to Sky.
The constant landscape maintenance of these beautiful four acres is a daunting job. The mowing and weed whacking are always handled by my son, Bay. I am trying to schedule bi-weekly family workdays to tackle the big jobs. On those days, I find myself directing my grown children and just attempting to remember that doing too much always creates bodily havoc afterwards.
The cleaning and setting up of our farm stay rental cottage is something I rather enjoy. Putting on a podcast and puttering in that small, lovely, uncluttered space is mostly enjoyable. Although, I can delegate that task when travel takes me away.
The most time-consuming part of my job here in our farm life is the office. Who knew that the “simple life” we strove to create all those 38 years ago would entail so much time at the computer?! Just keeping up with cottage booking correspondence, tax filings, permit renewals, bill paying and more takes hours and hours. Not to mention the time on the phone attempting to reach customer service for the inevitable glitch in one thing or another. I have discovered that I simply must get up occasionally and do something else —- make a smoothie, hang up the laundry, take a quick stroll around the gardens— move in some way and then return to the desk.
So, I am in the process of recognizing what this beautiful vital 75-year-old body, mind and spirit are capable of and this can be challenging. Asking for help after handling so much alone for so many years is something I am gradually becoming more comfortable with. The inescapable aches and pains that accompany me are just testimony to my years of hard work and intense play. I try to listen to them these days and take time to rest and recuperate, not just push on through as I was able to do in a younger body.
I guess this written rambling is mostly for me. For me to celebrate myself and my amazing body. To reflect on the years where that body was more lithe and limber and then relish the fact that it is still capable and beautiful. I am striving to continue a vibrant active life for years and years to come and this body will accompany me on the journey. So, I best believe in it and respect it!
Tumultuous Times
This time feels tumultuous. To me and to many loved ones I have spoken to. The world is chaotic. Our country is muddled. The divisiveness seems thick and often ugly.
I am, by nature, a hopeful person. Daily I try and tap into this and muster up positivity amidst the political mayhem. At a place way past the issues, I see a clear choice to decency and decorum, honesty and hope. And will continue to do my part to ensure that path is taken in November.
Until then, I find the most peace in just keeping my own little world as sane and steady as possible. Some days this tactic flows fine and others I struggle against the current that wants to drag me down.
Just wanting to share the notion that doing our very best to keep tranquility in our own orbit is often the best we can do. So, keep your light burning brightly!
Gift of Aging
Summer is here and these long light-filled days are a balm. And a balm is just what I am needing recently. Accepting that, as I approach 75, my body does not seem to be aligning with the energy and attitude I have is often proving challenging.
The grace I desire in this unavoidable process of aging is, on some days, difficult to muster. I am not a complainer, instead being an upbeat person by nature. This is being fully put to the test.
So, I bow my head in resignation to the obvious and ask for continued agility and strength in my mind, body and spirit.
I remain deeply grateful for my yoga practice and the constant support and love from my teacher, who is always the positive caring voice reminding me just how strong and capable I really am in all ways.
So, here’s to the gift of aging, with all the challenges and all the joys. I am thrilled to be here now. It is humbling and full of happiness, in equal measure.
Packing School Lunches and Pondering
Recently the marvelous moderators at the podcast Down to Birth (check it out sometime—I cannot recommend it highly enough) asked me what I might tell mothers of newborn or small children. (I suppose they thought I might have some wisdom!)
I really had to pause, as there is so much to tell mothers in that tender, terrific and often terrible place. They are blissed out at the very same time they are overwhelmed and exhausted.
All I could think to say, from the bottom of my 74-year-old heart, was something they probably have heard before . . . it all goes so fast, in the blink of an eye. And that they should consider just treasuring it. Yes, the days are often absurdly long. But the years are always wildly short.
And I added that, in each of those often seemingly never-ending days, there are always meaningful and even magical moments to capture. That you probably have random times in each day that make your heart sing. Grab those and hold them tight, for those are what feeds our mama souls.
And here is one other thought I also included in my answer . . . all over the globe there are thousands of other mamas doing the same thing as you . . .nursing a fussy baby in the light of the moon, rocking an overtired toddler, or packing lunches while trying to drink her now-cold coffee and wrangle everyone into the day. Reach out and find those women with whom to share the experience with—the good, the bad and the ugly. They will prove to be a lifeline.
Recently, I have been packing lunch for my oldest grandson, who is close to five, and in a wonderful Waldorf pre-K. His Mama is away, and his Papa and I have been tag-teaming. For years and years and years, I packed lunch for my three children while they each attended Waldorf Kindergarten through sixth grade. That was, I might add, three DIFFERENT lunches each day, as their tastes were, and still are, not the same. How many lunches on how many days? The numbers boggle my mind! Some days I was utterly and simply tired of this task, but, of course, wanting to send them with healthy, delicious food that they would consume. Mostly I think I succeeded, but I often disliked the undertaking immensely.
Fast forward and imagine me this morning in my kitchen, the very one that 35 years ago I was gulping coffee and assembling those lunchboxes. Here I was putting my grandson’s lunch box together with my mind strolling through the years and my heart so grateful that I would get to do it again.
So, to those mothers in the thick of the gargantuan, sometimes gleeful, and often just depleting and draining days, weeks and months . . try to remember there are others involved in the same sweet struggles and that you can and should support each other on this journey. And try to gain perspective on just how quickly it all gallops by, even though it can seem like slogging.
Fresh Perspective
I had the privilege of having eleven beautiful yogis on my farm and in my home yesterday. These are women I have practiced with twice weekly for years at a stunning and serene studio in my little town here on the north shore of Kaua’i. We were honoring the birthday of our teacher, who brings us together with a gentle gong each class to silence our sweet chatter and begin our hour and a half of yoga practice. Often we gather afterwards at a fabulous coffee shop next door to the studio. I treasure these relationships. These are honest, kind and trustworthy ladies.
So, this was the first time many of them had been to the farm and/or into my home. Again and again, I was greeted with superlatives about how beautiful my farm is and how lovely, peaceful and comfortable my house is. This gave me much pause for thought.
Each day when I awaken here, where I have lived and worked for over 35 years, I am grateful. Each day as well, I am often overwhelmed by all the work I see—all the weeding, all the trimming, all the clean up and recycling, all the reorganizing and ballasting of stuff—in short, all the work.
The fresh perspective of these women was a balm to that part of me that just sees all that constant work. It gave me pause to reflect. To reflect on all that has been created here these past decades. And, while the farm and my home could use hours, days, weeks and even months of work, it will never be perfectly groomed or maintained. We have neither the cash flow, the time, or the energy.
So, today I walked the farm while feeding animals this morning and attempted to look with the eyes of these precious women friends. And, indeed, the farm is beautiful, as is my humble home.
Thanks for that, ladies. Namaste
Random Mothers Day Thoughts
My mother was beautiful, talented and charming – but not cozy. It was the 50s after all and there was not frequent warm fuzzies around my home. Don’t get me wrong — I was loved and cared for in all ways, but emotions were not on display in great abundance. Feelings were held tight to your chest and rarely expressed or discussed.
It has taken me years to learn how to appropriately share my feelings. But, not as a mother. In that realm I feel totally comfortable both sharing my thoughts and feelings and in letting my children do the same. It was a goal of mine that my children know each and every day how deeply loved they were. And how much gratitude I have for them in my life. The lessons each of my children has taught me are vast and complicated. I hope I have passed on a few choice ones to them as well.
Being a mother is a path of surrender. You find yourself at the helm of a ship often cast adrift in stormy seas and the next moment in the calmest waters imaginable. And that goes from newborn days to now, as the mother of three 30-somethings.
I never could quite grasp how so many parents feel that their work is done once their children are adults. My parents surely were of that ilk. Once we were out of the house, our problems were ours to manage and I was not apt to go to either of my parents for help or advice. We had fun times together for holiday gatherings, when we could manage to corral us all to be under that same roof from various spots all over the country and world. But still the communication was superficial, while sweet and kind.
I suppose that is why I chose a different path from the get-go. Having my children all born at home and adopting an attachment style of mothering has shaped our relationships to this day. It would seem that the two children of mine who are now parents have chosen a similar style of raising their babes. Perhaps they do feel the positive effects of having been nurtured in the way I found so vital to us. It was integral to how I saw my role as a mama.
And I also chose to surround myself with women who see mothering in the same light. We support each other and have grown together in our processes.
So, on Mother’s Day this year . . . I send heavenly love to my own mother who did the very best she could and whose memory I cherish. As well, I wish smooth sailing on this journey we share to those mothers I know and love who are navigating with their hearts.
Who Knew?
Well, I surely did not know! Being a grandmother is like nothing I could have imagined. Your babies have babies! This new role finds its way deep into your heart the moment you hold those precious miraculous newborns.
I was fortunate to be at the births of both of my grandsons, which is an honor I am humbled by. And I did not totally expect the deep solid love I felt with them in my arms. The ease with which all those mothering instincts kicked right back in without missing a beat amazed me. And, yet there is a subtle and serene difference being their grandmother, not their mother.
My children are phenomenal parents. It is a position of immense stress and full of opportunity to grow. I watch with pride as they take on the challenges inherent in being mothers and fathers. I am always there to offer what wisdom I might have to offer and yet try to let them navigate those parenting waters, calm or stormy. I respect their choices, even when they are different than mine were.
I did not have my wonderful mother around to ease my path, nor did I have a particularly close relationship with either of my grandmothers. So, I believe I am very aware of the potential to develop and nurture my special place in my grandsons’ lives. I am the matriarch in the family now, the leading generation, shocking as that is! There is more time, less intensity in this sweet spot I find myself in. And I am treasuring every moment of it.
I love you beyond measure Lysander Jesse and Dillon Michael
Stepping Up and Stepping Back
With my blessing, everyone who lives on the farm left for travel adventures at the same time. This is a first ever, and I am thrilled for Sky and his family and for Bay and his girlfriend to stretch themselves and take on new experiences. Getting off the island is a terrific way to gain perspective and find renewal and appreciation in our lives.
This, of course, has left me for three weeks without their help in running the farm. While I readily admit that the solo time has been lovely, I also have been working my sweet ass off!
My thoughts while I handled the myriad of tasks usually shared by my family have gelled into these observations:
Firstly, I miss them and appreciate that I am surrounded daily with my sons, my daughter-in-law, and my grandson. Their company, help and love are a constant in my life and this is deeply heartwarming and wholly appreciated.
Secondly, I am affirmed in my capabilities. Aside from running the tiller and mower, I am totally capable of handling each and every task necessary to keep things humming around here on these beautiful four acres. I am grateful for my health and my strong and somewhat lithe 73-year-old body.
Thirdly, while I can rise to the occasion, I do not wish to do it all myself. I feel just fine asking for help and for delegating to those younger and stronger than myself. This immense responsibility alone is not what I want in my daily life. I want, need and deserve more time to relish the days of my own shaping. That surely still entails working on the farm – at things I enjoy doing and do well. It also means taking quiet contemplative time, embracing my time at my favorite yoga studio and coffee shop in town. Or it can look like me and a book on the couch after lunch, dozing off for a 20-minute respite. It often can mean taking my grandson to the beach while his parents till and plant thousands of starts into the gardens. Or a long walk and talk with a friend.
I appreciate that my family takes pride in this farm, our home, our worthy endeavors and each of them is willing to contribute in such meaningful ways.
So, kudos to me for stepping up and kudos to me for stepping back.
Coffee and Me
I want to believe that coffee is good for my health. I know it is good for my psyche. My mornings would simply not offer the same satisfaction without my coffee ritual. It isn’t about the buzz—I wake up pretty ready to roll into the day. Suffice it to say I am a morning person. It is about the practice and procedure.
Recently a dear friend who knew how I enjoy my latte or flat white when I am out and about or when visiting my daughter and son-in-law, (he makes a wildly delicious latte every morning I am there!) offered me his old countertop espresso maker. Try as I did, I could not get into that rhythm on my own. It seemed like too much hassle to do before I had my coffee.
So, back to my simple fulfilling pour-over process. Grinding fresh beans in my burr grinder starts the procedure. The grind is fairly rough. The water is boiling in my precious little gooseneck pour over kettle. The grinds wait in the moistened paper filter positioned over my favorite cup in my glass funnel. Recently, on the advice of a dear friend and fellow coffee lover, I switched to a Hario funnel. (You can google that whole gig online—-it’s definitely for those who are picky about their pour over, but worth the exploration, in my opinion.)
The pour is s l o w. Takes about 3-4 minutes. The aroma smells like dawn to me. The first sip tastes like sunshine in a mug. Despite the fact that I drink decaf, this cup of carefully curated coffee makes my morning.
Are you coffee crazed? Tell me about your ritual around this delightful part of your day.
Here are some quotes from a recent New York Times article on the health benefits of coffee, which I choose to believe! . . .
A large 2017 review on coffee consumption and human health in the British Medical Journal also found that most of the time, coffee was associated with a benefit, rather than a harm. In examining more than 200 reviews of previous studies, the authors observed that moderate coffee drinkers had less cardiovascular disease, and premature death from all causes, including heart attacks and stroke, than those skipping the beverage.
“The potential benefit from coffee might be from the polyphenols, which are plant compounds that have antioxidant properties, according to Dr. Giuseppe Grosso, an assistant professor in human nutrition at University of Catania in Italy and the lead author of an umbrella review in the Annual Review of Nutrition.”
Gardens and Grown Children
There is a concept I am massaging in comparing tending the farm to tending my children.
When the gardens are performing in epic fashion and providing produce in abundance, I can only take so much credit. The bulk of those kudos might just be showered on the moon, the sun, the rain. Of course I take pride and care in tending, but the confluence of the elements can make or break it. So, when things are not producing and we see the heat, the bugs, the birds, I can rest my weary mind and body in knowing I have done all I can.
In a similar fashion, when I see my now-grown children doing amazing and brilliant things, I can only pat myself on the back so much. Which ultimately leads to the inevitable conclusion that when they screw up, I should not take this upon myself. I have, for so many years, done all I can to insure they had a nurturing environment for their minds, bodies and souls. The rest becomes all theirs.
I Love the Father of my Children
I love the father of my children. Perhaps usually an obvious and not monumental statement. However, the father of my children and I are divorced. For over 20 years now.
The path to this sweet spot was initially rocky, I can readily admit. But the effort was undoubtedly worth the result, which remains steady and calm all these years. While the marriage did not survive, the intention behind choosing to have children and attempt to raise these three now grown children to be good and caring people has kept our hearts and focus in the right place.
He is a fine, honest and kind man this father of my children. And I am so pleased to call him a friend. Happy Father’s Day, Chad.