Weird Weather, Yellowjackets, and a Zealous Husband

Last Summer's Oregano

Stupidly, last spring, I didn't harvest my lush new crop of oregano.

A miscalculation on my part. 

I thought I had a bumper crop of the dried herb leftover from the year before. 

Nope.

And by the time I realized my mistake a whole slew of things occurred which put the kibosh on harvesting any during the summer. 

A yellowjacket nest at the roots of the herb and the subsequent spray dosed by our professional bug guy not only poisoned the plant for eating, but disturbed her tremendously.

Then, a weird hot summer prevented Oregano from rallying after the shock of the yellowjacket infestation. She appeared to give up the ghost.

In early fall the final death blow happened . . .

. . . or so I thought.

My husband was helping me with end-of-season weeding when he pulled up all the oregano thinking it was weeds because it looked wild and untamed and, well, weed-like. 

You'd be proud of me. I took it like a trooper. My beautiful Oregano, which had graced my garden for many years and kept us loaded up on its dried goodness, was no more.

After sighing, I said, "I can plant more in the spring. Don't worry about it. She had a good run. You didn't know."

Oregano Today

Fast forward to this spring. 

Imagine my happiness, ever the optimist and constant gardener that I am, when I spotted new growth pushing through the mud a couple of weeks ago. One good warm day was all the coaxing she needed.

Today more sprouts and bunches of my darling Oregano absorb the sun and water.

I will harvest this year.

I never give up on my little herbs. Ever. They usually pull through.

And that makes me ever so jolly!

Click here to learn more about the many benefits of oregano.

Limoncello Bottled

Last Monday's post described  Part One of my recent foray into making limoncello, something I have done only once before, two years ago. The results were both excellent and satisfying the first time. I'm happy to say the results seem to be the same today.

Part Two was completed this morning. I made syrup and mixed it with the lemon peel and vodka which occupied my kitchen counter for one week. Then, I bottled it.

The first time I made the citrusy concoction, two years ago, I used regular organic lemons. This time I used organic Meyer Lemons. When I took a little sample today, I was pleasantly surprised that there was a subtle difference, more mellow, and a bit brighter. Meyer Lemons' rinds have a more complex scent than regular lemons, with a spicy bergamot fragrance which tastes and smells more like an herb or a spice.

Now, I have four bottles of the delicious Italian beverage resting at room temperature for two weeks. After that, to the freezer they go until such time as we wish to imbibe. This supply will last for the rest of this year, unless we have a larger get-together than usual. My husband and I love sharing it with our family at Christmas for an out-of-season treat. I am eager to sample this Meyer Lemon batch when the aging process is finished. 

When I serve it in slender limoncello flutes, I use about one third to one half limoncello and the rest good quality sparkling water, not mineral water, though, as it distorts the flavor. We enjoy San Pellegrino with other juices, but it did not pair well with limoncello. At all. Different people like different ratios, to each his own. We don't drink it straight. It's pretty strong for us as we are not alcohol drinkers for the most part. But diluted, it is just so refreshing!

If you click on the hyperlink in the first sentence, you'll discover information about exactly what limoncello is and where it originally comes from. If you click the link in the third paragraph, you will learn the differences between regular lemons and the Meyer variety.

Bottling liquid sunshine was the perfect remedy for another gray, rainy, Oregon day, and I enjoyed the process tremendously.

When Life Gives You Lemons - Limoncello!

Rain rain rain rain rain ..... today it is coming down in sheets, sideways. Like a Hollywood set with rain machines and humongous fans blowing it in horizontal waves across our neighborhood. An atmospheric river, according to the weatherman, gesticulating like a bad dancer at a worn-out wedding.

Life seems to be giving me lemons today, weather-wise anyway.

And what is the adage? When life gives you lemons, make lemonade?

Well, as it happens, I bought ten fresh beautiful Meyer Lemons last week to make limoncello for refreshment on hot sticky days to come. It takes awhile to make, patience is required.

Today's gloom beckons optimistic me to create a little sunshine. Instead of lemonade, the limoncello process has begun. I wash the lemons, hold a sharp paring knife like a scalpel, and begin removing peel in very thin layers, no bitter-white allowed.

Immediately citrus scent permeates the soggy shadowy gray even as curtains of rain-rivulets dribble down my window panes. The storm is no match for repeated spritzes of lemon oil. 

My hands deliciously smell of the yellow, oily bits.

I am smiling. Summer has entered my home. 

Golden peels, delicately placed into a jar, are covered with one liter of vodka, and left to befriend one another. 

For one week.

Until Step Two.

Soon, after more ingredients are mixed, heated, and added, there will be lovely narrow-necked, whimsically labeled bottles tucked away in the freezer, available for perfect moments with the best of friends and family. Thoughts of sharing limoncello plants a smile on my face and zippidy-doo-dah in my heart.

It may be a lion of an April day outside, but sunshiny summer skies are alive and well in my heart. 

 

A Favorite Haunt

For decades my husband and I have enjoyed stealing away to our favorite funky, old-wood smelling restaurant just a few minutes from home. The food is good. The ambiance most welcoming. The view fantastic.

Nestled under the trees and next to the Willamette River, nature puts on a different show every time we go.

Outdoor seating with fire pits and umbrellas invite during better weather. Inside, the high ceiling, dark timbers, tiki statues, large overheard bamboo fan lights, living trees and plants create a solarium feeling, each booth and table intimate and friendly, while the two walls of glass bring the outside in, for a glorious roomy effect.

I have taken many friends to this favorite haunt over the years, family as well.

Just last week our daughter and two of our granddaughters joined us for a spontaneous Thursday adventure in the corner where walls of glass revealed a mostly sunny cold February day with daffodils and pink blossom-bearing trees dancing in the breeze outside. Our already upbeat moods were lifted higher still.

The little ones, ages almost 1 1/2, and almost 3 1/2 - those halves are very important, you know - enjoyed the food and Shirley Temples, just for fun. Our darling daughter, on solo-mom duty as her husband was away for a weeklong work-related school, enjoyed everything, especially not having to cook coupled with adult conversation.

Pleasureful meal-time get-aways remind us that life is more than duty and jobs, more than chores and bills, more than politics and cultural upheaval. Life is still good. Family and friends remain our utmost causes of joy and meaning.

And a good view frames the memory, making it last.

What fun!

A Summer Girl in February

I am getting sadder and more lethargic by the day. Where did my joy go? My energy? My creativity?

Concentrating hard on the causes of the happiness that has eluded me for months, a vivid memory is triggered from the deep recesses of my brain. It fleshes out, grows, become alive in my senses.

Italy. Provence. Mediterranean food. Sunshine. Terra cotta pots, new or chipped, with flowers or herbs, scraggly or pristine, it doesn't matter. Sun-flecked water. Fountains. Sun dresses. Swimming pools. Sun-warmed shoulders. Gardens of all varieties. Lawn games. 

Provence blue. Italian red and green. Pale yellow. Venetian boats and masks. French cheese caves. Fois gras. Pleasant wine. Bread! Oh the bread!

Dawning on me slowly is the fact that I am a summer girl. I was born a summer girl. I will die a summer girl.

Summer girls suffer in February. We tolerate the holiday months of winter and even the restfulness of January. But February is a killer. It should be warm. The bulbs are shooting up. Trees are budding. Heather is blooming. Nature is waking up. But it's cold. It's too cold. It's still too dark too long. 

Then, I remember other Februarys and the Marches and Aprils that quickly follow. Weeds suddenly pop up, taking over the landscape. I remember the pressure to keep up in the garden, to not let it get the upper hand. I remember how demanding it all is and how much time it takes. This is what happens after February.

But it is worth it because May and June are not far behind. Sweet June. How I love Sweet June, the month of gentle warmth and enticement. I want to ride my bike, to walk, to play, to enjoy the yard that my husband and I have tamed during springtime.

So, I wait. I use the remaining cold and dark months to write, to plan, to think, to rest. I enter the soggy gardens to soak in whatever sun God blesses us with. And I shoo the negative and pitiful thoughts away.

Shoo!

I drink water. I weed my soggy terra cotta pots. I talk to my gardens, encouraging and praising their progress and hopefulness. I eat well. I walk. I read. I rest some more. 

All in preparation for the joy that is to come.

"When shall we live if not now." ~~ M.F.K Fisher