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I finally have to admit it. Did I mention that I received a trophy in the mail from the sprint triathlon back in October? Probably not. I got third in overall Athenas! I was pleasantly surprised.

Pilgrimage

I woke up in the middle of the night knowing I’d go to see the butterflies. The next day, my anxious mind wrestled with my need to drive, until I’d exercised my last excuse and finally coaxed myself to the door.

They have come from hundreds, even thousands of miles away, on fragile wings, sometimes fringed with wind-wear. To see them, it’s astounding that they travel at all. Fewer and fewer of them each year, dwindling to naught or simply dipping, we don’t know.

When I lived in Santa Cruz, on the west side, the park was an easy bike ride from my shabby student rental in “the circles”. I don’t know how many visits I made on my new bike, helmetless in those days, hair blowing dangerously in the wind, before they arrived that first time. Down West Cliff Drive, hook a right at the park on a quiet weekday morning, follow the road and then head down the dirt path to the right.

Riding that bike, the first bike I’d ever purchased with my own money—probably the first big thing I’d ever purchased, if I think about it—was one of my favorite things to do. Sometimes I felt like I was ten years old again, riding wherever I wanted to go as fast as I could, with no particular destination.

The first time, I don’t know that I knew they were there before I went, or if I had heard they would come. Dripping from branches, in flickering clusters, they warmed themselves in shafts of light that seeped through the canopy of eucalyptus into the quiet grove. What I remember is how magical and serene it was to ride through the mist and stay there in the quiet of that half-lit grove among them.

Now, twenty-five years later, young, clean-shaven park rangers patiently answer questions from a road-addled tourist at the gate. Yes, the butterflies are here. Yes, you can take your dog into the park, but not to see the butterflies (duh) and please make sure your car is parked in the shade with the windows down and obvious water for the dog and don’t stay too long because other people get really upset if they see a dog in a car for a long time. Ten dollars for day use, please.

The quiet dirt path has been replaced (very necessarily) by a new boardwalk, which is attractive and sturdy, designed to take the abuse of eager nature-lovers. At the base of the walkway in the grove itself is a low multi-level deck.

At first, it is lovely just to see the Monarchs flitting silently between the trees. You'll notice that there are no close-up photos. The butterflies are very, very high up, though when it's quiet, and bored children have dragged their parents back to the beach, they'll swoop teasingly close to the deck.

A mother and her young daughter were lying on the edge of one of the deck’s steps, looking up at the treetops. They were talking sweetly, sharing an enviable mother-daughter moment. A small family group was listening to a female ranger talk in whispers about the butterflies and their journey. I caught just the end, just enough to hear her say, “…people who saw them twenty years ago, in the 80s, say that there were hundreds and thousands of them…what you can do is plant milkweed to grow during the seasons that they are traveling…”

I don’t want the butterflies to be just another thing that is dwindling, dying, disappearing. Once there were hundreds, herds by the millions across the plain, great black clouds of wings in the sky, etc., etc. My generation really is Generation D, for disappointment. Everything “used to be” bigger, more. Everything is just outside of our grasp, lost to us by just a little bit.

But then I think, how lucky that I was one of the people who saw them then, who got to stand in that grove alone, on a quiet weekday, not surrounded by well-meaning eco-tourist families whispering questions below the fluttering clusters of insects. I could come down any morning I wanted, and see them hanging on drooping eucalyptus branches, wings still too wet with dew to fly.

As soon as the woman and her daughter left, I found my own spot on the deck and leaned back, resting my head against the wood. The family group moved on, and the couples that trickled down into the grove were respectfully silent.

Directly above my head was a branch whose clustered leaves fluttered—every bare twig shimmered with the dun undersides of their orange and black wings. The sky was blue, and the smell of eucalyptus was caught up in the occasional breeze. There was a serenity in the scene that made me wish to stay. But I had promised the rangers that I wouldn’t leave my dog for long, even though she was safely parked in deep shade, and so I had to be on my way.

***

First stop: The Bagelry, downtown Santa Cruz for a "Dark Star": An "everything" bagel with thickly-layered with cream cheese, chopped olives and chopped walnuts. (PS- they call it the "Ultimate" now.) Mike’s favorite from his MBA days. Mike does not have a Master’s in Business Administration, but he was once the assistant dean at the Monterey Bay Academy. After a walk around the block with the dog, fill the water jug, use the clean bathroom for customers only and park in the free parking for customers only.

Second stop: Butterfly grove

Third stop: Lighthouse point

Fourth stop: Caffe Pergolesi for a chai (the chai by which all others must be judged-- perfect.)

Fifth stop: Pizza My Heart for a pesto pizza to bring home to Mike. Another favorite.

Sixth stop: Cemetery

For the Lovely Ladies from Ohio

Here is the link to all of my Thanksgiving recipes, including the one for the delicious (if I do say so myself) Granny Smith Apple and Herb Bread Stuffing. How wonderful to spend a Napa Valley week with best friends- I'm envious. It was a pleasure spending time with you!
(Didn't realize until re-reading this post just now that it is rather autobiographical, so pardon the personal details. Scroll down to the food if you get bored. Or hungry.)

Any Fruit Coffee Cake

If you're up early because you couldn't sleep, because something was troubling you the night before, you'll have the time to make this coffee cake. It's a little complex, just because there are three parts to it (cake, fruit and crispy top) but in the end, it's comforting to awaken to the smell of apples and cinnamon baking in a classic coffee cake like this. Just as good the next day with afternoon tea. If you don't have time, just pour yourself a cup of coffee and make a Dutch Baby.

From one of Grandma's old cookbooks, it's called the "Any Fruit Coffee Cake".

Note: the ingredients are grouped together to save space, but the sugar, butter and flour will be divided and used in separate sections of the recipe. In case you're one of those folks who jumps ahead without thoroughly reading the recipe like I am.

1 1/2 cups chopped, peeled apples, apricots, peaches or pineapple or 1 1/2 cups blueberries, raspberries, or any other berry. I used apples.
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
6 T butter
1 beaten egg
1/2 cup buttermilk or sour milk (since I almost never have buttermilk in the house, but I almost always have yogurt, I substituted almost 1/2 cup plain yogurt thinned with enough milk to make it 1/2 cup)
1/2 tsp vanilla
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon* my own addition. Optional if using fruit other than apples or pears.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees

Step 1: Fruit
(If using raspberries, do not simmer.)
In a saucepan combine fruit with 1/4 cup water. Bring to a boil, reduce heat. Cover and simmer 5 minutes (or less if you like a bit more toothsome fruit) or until tender. Combine 1/4 cup of the sugar and cornstarch. Stir into fruit mixture. Cook and stir until thickened and bubbly. Cook and stir 2 minutes more. Set aside. (This will produce that shiny, pretty stick-together fruit filling you always wondered about.)

Step 2: Cake
In a mixing bowl, stir together 1/2 cup of the sugar, the 1 1/2 cups flour, the baking powder and baking soda. Cut in 4 tablespoons of the butter until mixture resembles fine crumbs. Combine the egg, buttermilk (or substitute), and vanilla. Add to flour mixture. Stir until moistened. Lightly grease an 8x8x2 baking pan or equivalent round. Spread half of the batter in the pan (it will be thick, and may only make a thin layer). Spread fruit mixture over batter. Drop remaining batter in small mounds atop filling.

Step 3: Topping
Combine the remaining 1/4 cup sugar, 1/4 cup flour and cinnamon. Cut in remaining 2 tablespoons of butter with a fork until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Sprinkle over batter. Bake in 350 degree oven 40-45 minutes or until golden and a tester comes out clean (except for fruit).

Best if left to rest a bit, but too tempting warm!

Let's talk about things. Stuff. The stuff that we crave, covet, pursue, stash and hoard.

The thing about things is that they outlive us. Look around the room you are in. Barring natural disaster, everything in it will last longer than you do, or at least it can. There are things that come and go, of course. Rubber bands, pens, bobby pins and paper clips seem to originate at the point of purchase and then slowly dissolve back into the air to be purchased all over again. And paper, in the form of mail, notes, and to-do lists, seems to do just the opposite, multiplying, spreading and clogging up the room like flat, white tribbles.

But the objects, for example, a computer, a metal desk lamp, a framed polaroid, a picture of Karen and Abbie, a picture of my grandfather, a photo card reader and a painted rock my mother made for me on my fourth birthday. Many of these things will remain with me my entire life. If the lamp breaks, I will reluctantly throw it away, likewise the computer, though most likely both will linger in the garage for years before making it to the disposal site, if past lamps and computers are any indication. You never know which things will go the distance, but they are there somewhere around you already.

When I look at magazines about homes, I'm always drawn to the lean, simply decorated ones, or the ones that look as though every piece was hand-selected by former Pottery Barn stylists. Although I know I loved everything I have once, when I brought it home, I don't love everything now.

In fact, right now we live in a home that was furnished when we arrived. We've become accustomed to the excessive curves of the sofa and the giant bed we had to buy new sheets for on the first night we slept here, and the rattle of the handles on the dresser that signal whoever is still sleeping that the morning routine has begun. But when we leave someday, this stuff will stay, ready for another round of property managers.

So here I am, in my early 40s, with a lot of little stuff and no big stuff of my own. The vintage red chenille sofa is long gone, the platform bed dissembled. I do have a plain dresser with vintage glass knobs that belonged to my grandmother and was used by my father. And this desk, which is oak and not my style, but which I got for a very good price. It serves its purpose.

"Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful." (William Morris) Easier said than done. How useful are eight sets of headphones? How useful are a thousand books, some I'll never read again, some I've never read at all? A stack of magazines two feet high, four single-hole-punches, all the same? The things that are hardest are the things that are beautiful, or were beautiful to someone else, and now sit in a box or a drawer. Likewise the things that are useful, but not right this second. These are the things that someday someone will find in that same box or drawer or another one and say, "What was Tamara thinking? What does this mean?"

And yet they remain and we are helpless against them. It is so hard to let things go, once they are infused with meaning, even if their only significance is that they have become ours. It's more than hard-- it's painful. To think that they might not be cherished as much as we once cherished them, even when we no longer do. To think that there will be a space where they once were that has nothing in it, and that the thing, the framed card from someone we don't remember, or the wind-up godzilla, or the oak desk, will go on and perhaps end up in a thrift store with a ten-cent price tag or worse, (much, much worse), go to WASTE in a landfill, this is just too much to bear.

So we keep. And we squirrel away. And we file and stack and shelve and cram, and then one day we are weighted down by all that we have and all that we have saved and we feel like we can't breathe anymore and it all has to go, but how and where, and oh, not this little one right here, because that is very special... all the memories clinging like glistening webs to every single piece keep us mired in and tethered to things.

The thing is, things can be let go, to continue on their paths, coming from wherever they came from and going wherever they are going to go. If we can sort out what's precious from what's just passing through, maybe we can lighten our load just a little bit.

********
(George Carlin once said, "your stuff is stuff, other people's stuff is sh*t". Funny routine NSFW. Damn he was funny.)

Just for You

Voila le Gateau des Blueberries

Barely caught these last two pieces before we polished off another one. I made one substitution: I used King Arthur Unbleached White Whole Wheat instead of AP. Didn't harm the texture one bit-- if anything, it enhanced it. Happy munching!

Blueberry Cake

Getting started. Generously greased pan.

This butter was not soft enough-- had to mix it in with my fingers.

Batter before blueberries is like a very wet cookie dough- thick but still spreadable.

After adding frozen blueberries, a very stiff dough, looks and feels just like cold chocolate chip cookie dough. Make sure you've mixed it thoroughly before adding the frozen berries, and then press it into the pan as much as you can. It will continue to fill in the holes as it bakes.

An Easy Summer Tea Cake

Another nice little breakfast cake that's fairly foolproof. It is not too sweet, and comes out somewhere between a scone and a cake. If you'd like it a little sweeter, a glaze similar to the one on these scones would be lovely. I liked that the recipe was simple and could be made with a bowl and a fork (as long as your butter is already soft), and uses ingredients that I typically have on hand.

Shenandoah Valley Blueberry Cake

Ingredients
1 1/2 cups AP flour
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
1/3 cup softened butter
3/4 cup plus 2 T sugar
1 egg
1/3 cup milk
1 cup fresh or frozen blueberries (do not thaw frozen blueberries)

Directions
Preheat oven to 375 and generously grease a 9 inch round or square cake pan.

Combine flour, bp and salt in a bowl, stir with a fork to combine.

In another bowl, combine butter and sugar and beat (with a mixer or fork) at high speed until well combined. Add the egg and beat well for 1 to 2 minutes, scraping down the bowl, until the mixture is smooth and light.

Stir in half the flour mixture, then half the milk, mixing just enough to keep the batter fairly smooth. Add the remaining flour, then the rest of the milk, mixing gently. Stir in the blueberries. (Note: if the blueberries are frozen, you are going to want to mix them in quickly and get the batter into the pan right away, as it will chill the batter to an almost solid.)

Scrape the batter into the pan and bake at 375 for 30-40 minutes or until the top is golden, springs back when touched gently in the center and is pulling away from the sides of the pan. (Note: my cake took 40-45, using frozen blueberries. I thought that my oven was running slow, but I checked it with a thermometer and it was 3 degrees warmer than it read, so FYI.)

Serve a square cake right from the pan, warm or at room temperature, cut into small squares. IF it's round, let cool in the pan on a wire rack, then turn it out to finish cooling, top side up. (From Nancie McDermott's Southern Cakes)

My grandfather would love this warm with a nice fat slab of butter melting into it. (Hi Grandpa! Maybe you can get the Viking Queen to make you one!)

Didn't get any pictures of the first one because we gobbled it up so fast, so I'm going to go make another one right now-- pictures up shortly.

*******
While you're waiting, check this out: I discovered this pink caterpillar on my magenta geraniums yesterday morning. Cool, huh? I don't think I've ever seen a pink caterpillar before.


By this morning, the pretty pink bud on the right was completely devoured. I wonder if the caterpillar started out pink, or became pink from eating all of those flowers?

Stay Gold II

Here's my gang. That's me in the middle. There are a couple of people missing from the original "Table" group. You can see the neckline of the dress, but that's about it. Trust me, it worked. (I think that's my disembodied arm growing out of my friend Karen's shoulder...)