family summer

It’s our last Tuesday morning at Red Gate Farm and all our guests have departed.  Even our child has departed.  The air is still and warm and I should probably pop up to find something for lunch, but it’s just too peaceful to move.

A far cry from the crazy round of activity and celebration that’s been the scene for the last two weeks!

 It never seems quite like summer until John’s mom arrives, and she did, to kick off the August mania.  Her first evening was the last quiet moment for days on end, it seemed.

Oddly, for Connecticut in August, it’s been cool in the mornings and evenings, requiring everyone to snuggle into cardigans and throws.  But the days have been intensely lovely, with unbelievable blue skies and puffy clouds.  The farmer’s market soaks it all up.

We have eaten an incredible number of ears of corn on the cob, of juicy tomatoes drizzled with the special Tuscan Herb olive oil from the market.  And for an afternoon treat, why not sample one of dear Kate’s homemade strawberry muffins?  Only 50 cents, right here in Sanford Road.

“They are still warm from the oven,” Kate assures me in her quiet way.  Irresistible, even to this military gentleman cruising along the road.  “I’m off to South Korea tomorrow.  Happy to support small local businesses,” he says with a grin.

And yes, before you tell me, I know the fence looks just awful.  It’s a fact of Red Gate Farm that everything is falling down; it’s just a question of what’s falling down fastest, and therefore gets the quickest attention.  The fence has been collapsing by degrees for the last decade, and I suppose it can go awhile longer.  John applied some elbow grease and bubble gum to the gate, at least.

Avery has had what can be called only “The Commuting Summer,” making her way from New Jersey every morning to spend the day in New York, either at her AIDS charity or at her internship with our historian friend Anne Nelson.  And then of course she needs to get up here to Connecticut for the occasional moment of leisure, like dear Cici’s graduation party in Mystic.  We motored there one lovely Friday evening.  These two girls never change.

From their first days together as babies, they’ve made each other laugh.  This glorious summer evening was no different.

We reminisced with Cici’s parents and her friend Emily’s family – they were celebrating together – and marvelled that we are talking about Cici’s departure to college, and Avery’s applications next year.  Is the world ready for these two to be unleashed upon it?  Cici’s dad said in his eloquent toast, “We’re counting on you.”  How heartwarming to be included in the party.

With Avery home, it was time to make some of the last dishes to photograph for the cookbook.  Avery is frankly living for the day that she no longer constantly hears, “Can you get a picture of…”  Sometimes, though, these last jobs remind us how delicious forgotten dishes are.

Warm Cannellini Beans with Rosemary and Rocket

(serves 4)

2 tbsps olive oil

2 tbsps butter

6 cloves garlic, minced

2 large stems fresh rosemary, leaves only, minced

2 15oz/400g cans cannellini beans, drained

1/3 c/30g fresh breadcrumbs

4 oz/113g grated Parmesan or Pecorino

2 handfuls arugula/rocket

olive oil to drizzle

fresh black pepper and sea salt to taste

Heat the olive oil and butter in a large frying pan and add the garlic, rosemary and cannellini beans. Saute until garlic is soft. In a clean frying pan, toast the breadcrumbs until crisp and add to the beans. When ready to serve, add the cheese and arugula and toss well. Add more olive oil if needed and season to taste. Serve warm.

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The warm, idyllic, peaceful weekend afternoons were spent with Avery and her grandmother discussing her Russian trip, her work experience, her internship.  I slaved away trying diligently to make sure that every one of the 100+ recipes in the cookbook has proper measurements in both American and European methods.  

What IS this American obsession with putting things into cups to see how much space they take up?  I want to give every American cook a scale and be done with it.  “Loosely packed, ” “a scant cup”?  The mind boggles.  But it must be done.  Every person who has come through the door in the last month has been subjected to discussions of measurement and phrasing, and no person will be gladder than I when this is all finished.

John recovered with some good, hard physical labor with a chainsaw, hacking away at felled trees in our forest.  Our woodshed is full, for Christmas.

I found time to cross the road in search of one of Gladys Taber’s cookbooks, there to find a classic recipe or two.  It’s impossible to imagine writing my own cookbook without her example: remarking on the unremarkable, the daily, the delicious.  We have been so lucky to have her family across the road all these years.

Weekends last for no one, though, and all too soon it was back to the city for Avery, and this time John’s mom and I joined her, just a couple of commuters we.

 What a delightful train journey (if you don’t have to do it every day!).

Somehow, the American version of “Mind the Gap” seems less stern.  More just an observation.

Avery’s discovery of the Upper West Side, through her historian boss Anne, has been a joy.  I think she’s found her niche.  The apartment itself where she has been working – on mysteries of the French resistance – is as if you distilled Avery herself into a piece of real estate.

Everywhere you turn, the printed word.

She is in heaven.  Watch this space for an announcement of the book she’s been helping with.  It seems almost unfair for her to put this experience on her resume; every hour has been something to remember.

The four of us repaired to Central Park, never a feature of my New York (downtowner that I was), to discover its delights.  Almost lily ponds!  Waterfalls.  Just a backdrop to the four of us, appreciating each other’s company and the incomparable feeling of being in New York, with its unique energy.

Finally we had to let the two scholars get back to work, so it was but the taxi ride of a moment for Rosemary and me to get ourselves to Zabar’s.  Oh, the bagels.  Oh, the nova, smooth as silk, oily and fragrant.  Breakfast for dinner was in order.

What happy memories that place brings, not to mention 300 different types of cream cheese.  It’s almost painful to enjoy a true New York bagel, knowing it will be months before we encounter one again.

Finally summer ratcheted up into high gear with the arrival of my mother for her birthday celebrations.  It was time to head to Jill’s house for the reunion, and the birthday girl was in fine form.

Th evening involved involved tomato-basil risotto and a certain amount of silliness.

The next afternoon brought a long-awaited visit from my cousin Dewaine and his wife Clare, making Red Gate Farm part of an East Coast jaunt.  Something made John’s mom and me seek out an old leather suitcase full of photographs.  “I wonder if there are any of Dewaine in here?”  There were.  An orgy of reminiscences ensued.  My Philadelphia PhD graduation in 1992!

It was superb fun to go back through the years, all in a pile of photographs.

Avery turned up from train station in time to laugh over our former selves.  Ah, her turn will come.

Avery and Dewaine had met before, but many years ago.  it was lovely to see them together again; at her baby naming ceremony he made quite a prophetic speech about the young lady she would turn out to be.

With all the family in place, we feasted on barbecued chicken, two-cabbage and carrot slaw and crab-stuffed mushrooms.  As we ate, a thousand old family stories were aired and enjoyed.

But it was the chocolate mousse that made the meal.  Is there such a thing as “too much chocolate mousse”? Jane asked, with her ubiquitous “air quotes.”

It was a lovely reunion.

The dishwasher had barely finished its cycle before the next party!  It wouldn’t be Mom’s birthday without yellow balloons.

We set the table with John’s mom’s summer find, these lovely napkins complete with Iowa corn on the cob.

Anne, David and Kate arrived.  All Kate needs is the trampoline, to be happy.

Molly is much the same.  They made fast friends that afternoon, really for the first time.  Two first-graders.

Rollie and Judy came bearing fruit.

The birthday luncheon proceeded as it always does, with a nice warm afternoon filled with food: Jill’s devilled eggs, my clam chowder, corn on the cob, tomato salad.  There were hot dogs for the girls (and my brother), and finally, lemon blueberry birthday cake.  Jane had to make sure it smelled all right.

Lemon Polenta Cake with Blueberries

(serves 10)

1 c/225g butter, softened
1 c/225g sugar
2 ¼ c/225g ground almonds
2 tsps vanilla extract
3 eggs
zest of 4 lemons
juice of 1 lemon

1 c/125g cornmeal/polenta
1 ½ tsps baking powder
pinch sea salt

1 c/100g blueberries

Butter and flour a 12-inch/30cm springform or plain round cake pan.  It does not need to be particularly deep.

Beat the butter and sugar together until pale and light. Stir in the ground almonds and vanilla. Beat in the eggs, one at a time. Fold in the lemon zest and lemon juice, the polenta, baking powder and salt.

Scrape the batter into the pan and scatter the blueberries on top. Bake at 350F/180C for 45-55 minutes.  Test with a toothpick or skewer in the center; if it comes out clean, the cake is done.  The center may seem jiggly, but the sides of the cake should have come away a bit from the tin.  Check frequently to make sure the top does not burn; it should have a deep golden brown color, but not blackened.

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This cake is inspired by my friend Elizabeth who has made it for me many times without blueberries.  It is a lovely cake both ways, and very nice to have for people who don’t eat wheat.

What a nice way to mark the years, with this party, and all my favorite cast of characters on the stage.

We never seem to run out of things to say, this group!  Land Trust news, news of “Little Rollie” and his adventures, anticipation of the school year to come for everyone, even a discussion of “Days of Our Lives” for Mom, Judy and me.  A new topic of conversation: “Is this picnic bench sagging?  How old is this table anyway?”  Peaceful times.

Finally it was early evening.  A little friend arrived to tell us that the party had come to an end.

The sun disappeared to be replaced with low clouds and maybe even a hint of rain to come. We had had fun, our mother and we.

Avery has gone back to the city for her last week of work, and we have had our last blow-out dinner of the summer.  Lobster, naturally.

We must pack up the house, say goodbye to the daddy-long-legs, prepare ourselves for the school and work year to come.  But we will go with a thousand summer memories.