So Great a Cloud of Witnesses

It's almost impossible to overestimate the value of the people who surround us. The people whom we elect to populate our "village." Prior to having children, Tool Guy and I were pretty free-wheeling. We picked up and moved at the drop of a hat and at the beck and call of his employer. Which was frequent. We moved, more often than not once every year and a half, sometime staying longer in a place, sometimes less. We always left behind precious and unique people...I'm just sorry that I didn't treasure them more while I had the chance. Since beginning to have children, however, we've only moved once. And every year, I find deeper reasons to value these people who touch our lives.

One of the first people to significantly touch us after we began the first steps of our Breatharian journey was Dog's Sunday School teacher. At that time, snacks were de rigour for class and it was the first social food hurdle we faced. I bought a box of Pamela's cookies that I've yet to see any child refuse and equipped him with it. I'll never forget the gracious words as she greeted Dog at the door, thanking him for bringing snacks to share with the class. I'm fully convinced that she set the tone for the level of compliance that we've had from him all of these years, making his food differences feel like a unique contribution to the group rather than causing him to stand out. Our further sensitivities pushed us farther off the food grid, but the initial experiences, the warm understanding and acceptance laid some important foundational attitudes for us.

Along the way, we're deepened relationships with the people who touch our children's lives. People who care enough to recognize and accept what contamination does to us and take such simple steps as washing their hands after eating and before sharing an activity with us. Who come to me with their plans for art projects to make sure that the paint or glue or food item included in the supply list is safe for us or brainstorm with me ways to make it safe. Some of our people don't know or understand or fully appreciate the difficulty of all of this, but blessedly, I've never, as one online friend shared her experience, had anyone deliberately sabotage our efforts and tempt any of my children into infracting just to prove a point. Gratefully, I'm surrounded with people who are at the very least sympathetic, if uncomprehending.

One of the most recent blessings came during a high stress time in my summer. As the scheduling dieties would have it, the whole foods cooperative we buy from changed our delivery week to one that fell right in the middle of Vacation Bible School. Either of these morning activities wipe me out for the rest of the day and the thought of both falling on the same day had me hyperventilating. My food buddy came to my rescue with an offer to make lunch for me. What a respite! In a particularly trying week, in the middle of a I-hate-my-own-cooking funk, to have someone make lunch for me! Does it get any better than that? While the Hobbits had the opportunity to apply their newly acquired swimming skills in her pool, she laid out a veritable feast for me out on her deck. The centerpiece of this celebration of friendship was Tortilla de Patata. Her recipe was even vetted out by their Spanish exchange student, whose only remark was that her onions weren't chopped finely enough. (I'm with her, though...I like the big onions!) Being totally new to the delights of Spanish cuisine, I was intrigued to hear that this is a big comfort food there. Kind of like macaroni and cheese to the American palate. It certainly was comforting to have it made for me in the middle of a very demanding week!

Tortilla de Patata _{as shared by my foodie friend}

Potatoes 6-10 (enough to fill the skillet 3/4 full)
Onion, sliced into rings
8-12 eggs, beaten and salted/peppered to taste
Enough lard to fry potatoes plus 2 T for frying onion rings


Slice potatoes and soak 8 hours or overnight. (Soaking and removing excess starch reduces the acrylamide load in the potatoes.) Drain and set aside. In large skillet, melt 2 T lard and carmelize onion rings over medium to high heat. Meanwhile, over high heat in cast iron dutch oven, deep fry potato slices until tender, but before becoming crisp. When the onions are browned to taste, layer in the potato slices and cover with beaten eggs. Over medium low heat, cook until the egg mixture sets. Do not stir. Covering skillet with plate, invert skillet, flipping out contents to the plate. Slide the contents with browned side up back into the skillet to finish cooking the eggs.

This was a big hit at the Hobbit house and not surprisingly, there were no leftovers, though I understand this is a dish that re-serves well. Every time I make this dish, I'll remember the support and encouragement in continuing this marathon.

"Seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses (examples)...let us run with patience the race that is set before us..." _{Hebrews 12:1}

Sleeping With the Enemy

It's probably no surprise that I inhabit the internet quite a bit. In addition to all of the things one has access to and the informational goldmines out there, I find the interaction between people to be inspiring. "Iron sharpens iron." A recent conversation with a mom of a boy with burgeoning sensitivities brought back a flood of memories of what it was like for us when all this food stuff was new with us. When we paused on the brink of the abyss, not knowing how desperate things could and would become. We talked about how some children self-limit their foods out of fear. Out of a sense of losing control and desperately grabbing for the last edge of solid ground.

Developing food sensitivities is a horrible, out-of-control feeling. Control is definitely at the root of food issues and for a very good reason. There's a fundamental betrayal in all of this. Almost nothing, if not absolutely nothing, comes closer to the core of our psyche than what we eat. We can live without physical intimacy, but we can't live without eating. Food is one of the defining aspects of a culture and it is part of defining who we are individually as well. One of the basic "getting to know you" questions people ask is, "What do you like to eat?" When we can't trust our food supply or our food intake, we are betrayed...by whatever/whomever...on the most basic and earthbound level we can reach. If we don't have safe food, what do we have? If we can't trust our food to nourish us, what can we trust?

We know that we can't trust other people to tell us if something is safe. Some people can be trusted, but not most. Tool Guy can't travel for any length of time without getting zapped. Despite all the precautions. Despite lengthy questioning of the food preparers. Despite doing all of the "right things." This sort of thing pierces to a molecular level. Literally. And it becomes scary to think that we can't trust our eyes or that we can't develop a reliable strategy to protect ourselves.

I remember what it felt like when we were losing foods. Things that were safe last week weren't safe this week. One time the Hobbits would eat something and it would be yummy. The next time they ate the very same food, even food from that same batch that was fine the last time they ate from it, they reacted. And it was usually favorite foods. This shatters any sense of comfort anyone has about food. You scramble to find the common thread...some clue...some predictor of what is going to explode in your face next time. It feels safer to not eat at all, which is, of course, impossible. Sleeping with the enemy.

And the more severe the reaction, the deeper the anxiety. This can be hard for some people to understand, even other people with food sensitivities, if they aren't high reactors. As much as I loved the flip tone of Against the Grain by Jax Lowell--I adore wisecracking, tongue-in-cheek, wink-wink-nudge-nudge writing--I can't bring myself to recommend it. Someone who suggests, when at a party and faced with dicey food choices, scraping the caviar off of the cracker with one's teeth and tossing the cracker rather than appear de trop or affected doesn't live in the same world I do. She isn't sleeping with the enemy. Not someone who mail orders food as if it were takeout from the corner Chinese restaurant. The more sensitive the canary, the less concerned about perceptions and the more concerned about sheer survival.

It's scary for the Hobbit, the child, the person to whom it is happening. One day corn was okay for him and then it wasn't. One day tomatoes were okay for him and now they aren't. What's going to turn on him today? What's the common thread? Vegetables? I can see why he's not wanting to eat vegetables. Losing food in a very painful way makes us hyper-defensive.

The Hobbits themselves never reacted by self-limiting foods, but probably because our worst reactions weren't physically painful...just soul-scalding rages--which made me want to do the limiting foods...I'm the gun shy one in our house. But food sensitivities do that. Everyone wants to be able to put food in their mouths without feeling like it will explode in there.

This is why I developed the style of eating we have. Some folks are surprised to find that we don't eat a wide variety of different foods, but, honestly, when I look at indigenous peoples' diets, I don't see as wide a variety as is advocated by Western import-dependent cuisine. We eat plain. Meat, a few vegetables, a few kinds of grains, some fruits and that's about it. And it is the same stuff. Over. And over. And over. And I let the Hobbits pick what they want. At every meal. I have a collection of things that I can make up at a moment's notice and each of them can choose from that list for each meal. My MIL quipped once that it's like living at a diner. But given the severe limits imposed on us, I want them to feel like they have some degree of control over what they eat. Of giving them as much control over what they eat as the limits of their reactions permit.

Exotic cooking is fun and exciting and I do like trying new things. Mostly, though, for day-to-day cooking, I like things that are comfort foods. Foods I can throw together without giving much thought to. Foods like chicken salad. Just the ticket for sultry July days. This is one of those recipes that I throw together as a bit of this and a handful of that. See? Not much thought to it. Comfort food. Yeah.

Chicken Salad

1-1 1/2 cups mayonnaise
3-4 chicken breasts
1 tsp. seasoned salt
3-4 handfuls of Tinkyada pasta
pickles, chopped (opt)

Make mayonnaise. Since I like my chicken salad to be tangy, when I make the mayo for this, I double the vinegar and leave off any maple syrup or sweetener. Sprinkle seasoned salt over chicken breasts and grill out for 10-15 minutes each side or until done. Boil up pasta. I like to follow the package directions and boil my water first, then drop the pasta in the pot and cover without disturbing for 20 minutes before draining. They're right. It makes perfect pasta every time. When the breasts are cooled, chop into small, bite-sized chunks and mix with remaining ingredients. Delicious served hot or cold.

So as we walk this pocked-marked road toward healing, we're picking our way through the land mines...making our food choices carefully. That uneasy dance of sleeping with the enemy.

Another Brick in the Wall

It feels appropriate to say that food is now my calling. I've felt that way for quite a while now. It gets me some strange looks from people, though. Well, among the other strange looks that I somehow manage to earn. People aren't used to thinking of food in those kinds of terms. At least most people aren't. Some folks get it. Sharon gets it. She recently said this in an email exchange and I haven't been able to get it out of my head: "I find it impossible to separate my food life from my spiritual life. For me, they are the same." Bingo.

I think that the reason some have difficulty with this idea is that we've bought into the idea of a demarcation between the "sacred" and the "secular." Certain jobs are sacred and certain jobs are secular, right? It would follow that our being is divided up, then, into sacred (the spiritual) and the secular (the physical). I've seen a lot of folks use this kind of parsing to dismiss their food choices. It really doesn't matter what we eat, because that's only temporal, right?

For some years now, I've developed an increasing belief that the small and insignificant jobs that consume my day have a spiritual significance. An aura of the holy. I've wondered, from time to time, if this wasn't just a grasping search for meaning in a life mired in the mundane details of drudgery. And some days, I'll admit, it did and does feel that way. But I keep coming back to this core sense that this is what I'm called to do. And even though it doesn't earn me much respect, if any, and probably would earn me contempt from any movers and shakers that might happen to glance down and notice my existence, it still returns to me that this isn't trivial. These are the bricks upon which all is founded.

I've been doing a great deal of thinking about Nehemiah...the guy who was called to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem. Who gave up a cushy job as food-taster (there we go...food again!) to go and stand on the rubble with a trowel in one hand and a sword in the other, to re-erect the walls that had lain in ruins for 150 years. Sounds like a secular job, right? Eugene Peterson, author of The Message, maintains that "work, by its very nature, is holy." Otherwise, why would it matter to God whether or not there were walls around a city? This was a holy calling.

I'm reminded of a conversation I was engaged in a few years back. The mom was consulting a noted nutritionist for her children. Her daughter had eczema and other symptoms that weren't responding to the usual treatments. The nutritionist pointed out the breakdown in the girl's digestive processes. "L's having trouble with her 'walls,'" she said. Indeed. Lots of us are having trouble with eroded walls and we are being called to rebuild them. Our contemporary food supply isn't designed to do that. We're going to have to do that on our own. Time to pick up a trowel and sword and put another brick in the wall.

The biggest stumbling block in this food issue is bread. I have acquaintances, even relatives, who won't consider making changes despite all of the indicators because of that one block...that one brick...bread. The most trafficked recipes I have are the bread ones. And the most requested of the Hobbits are bready things. It's a foundational food in our lives, even though we can live very healthy lives without it...sometimes even healthier lives without it. But it still comes down to wanting good bread.

The latest that I've been twiddling with is tortillas...working on achieving the penultimate tortilla. I'm getting closer. I noticed that the oh-so-delicious-but-ever-elusive-and-yet-corntaminated Food For Life rice flour tortillas have rice bran in them. So I acquired some rice bran and am now stalking their achievement...my own perfect tortilla. One step closer.

Grilled Tortillas

1 1/2 cups rice flour
1/2 - 3/4 cups tapioca starch flour
2 T rice bran
2-3 T melted lard
3/4 - 1 cup warm water
2-3 t guar gum
1 t salt
Extra lard for cooking

In mixer, using a dough hook (one of the rare times that gluten free baking requires a dough hook), mix the dry ingredients with the melted lard and slowly work in the water until incorporated. The dough should be dry enough to work with your hands. Break off a ball of dough and roll into a ball. Using sheets of baking parchment or wax paper, flatten in a tortilla press or roll out with a rolling pin.

On a grill preheated to approximately 400*, gently lay tortillas and grill about two minutes per side, with the lid closed.

Nehemiah left a legacy that he restored the walls of Jerusalem and made it a safe place for a culture to flourish again. That's how I want to be remembered. As someone who made food something that nourished my children again so that they could flourish and become all that they can be.

1 Corinthians 10:31 says, "Whether therefore you eat, or drink, or whatsoever you do, do all to the glory of God."

Is It Hot Enough For You?

Summer has arrived without much of a nod at Spring. We jumped from woolen sweaters to sweating in a week's time. My garden jumped from suspended animation to rabbiting upwards in a very short time. Whew! I was beginning to worry for a while there.

Despite the heat, the business of eating must go on. There's baking to get done, bone broth to be made, and other very warm occupations that need to be finessed to cooler parts of the day. And mowing the lawn, as well.

I'm actually enjoying mowing the lawn this year, though I won't be doing it as often...much to my neighbor's chagrin. Gas prices and carbon footprints dictate that Mistress Mary needs to be a little less nice about how the garden grows, thank you. Besides, I'm finding that benign neglect can have some pleasing returns. Last year, I scaled back in order to let the grass have a chance to re-seed itself. And clover started creeping in. This year, as I forage through the first swaths of mowing, I see new patches of clover reaching out to the rest of the yard. Clover means good stuff for the soil and good stuff for the bees, of which I'm mindful as I mow. You've seen that 1970's bumper sticker that says, "I brake for butterflies," right? Yeah, well, I'm getting one for my lawnmower: "I brake for bees."

Mowing takes on a meditative quality for me. It must be the drone of the motor and the repetitive motions of the job. Rolling it out, I felt like I was greeting an old friend who had been away for a while. In truth, the mower spent a goodly part of the winter at the shop, being lovingly tuned, cleaned, and refurbished for Spring. When I pulled the cable, it spoke to me in a completely new voice and scythed through the waves of grass with butter-smooth power. Wow. The grass being as tall as it was, I was making frequent trips to the compost pile to dump them. Where I got a chance to fight with the black bear for supremacy. Guess what? Picture me dusting my hands off, 'cause I'm king of that hill.

It's been sweltering for the past few days--we had a tornado watch in effect, in fact, and had our first grid black out of the season--so I selected early morning to start on the lawn. I traced familiar steps over the now-memorized roots and rocks, glistening with condensation...the cool damp of the ground competing with the deepening heat of the day. The Hobbits furtively dash from tree to tree, pursuing some "secret mission" that brings them out of the house when I mow, dripping coconut milk from the vanishing popsicles in their sticky hands. The popsicles are our quintessential signal that summer has begun. That and getting sprayed with the hose. Both are so cold that it has to be really hot in order to enjoy them. Well, Breatharian, it's been really hot.

Being the sort of weather that induces one to wish to limit kitchen time, a quick and cool source of protein is always a welcome addition to menu. I'm happy dancin' that beans seem to be back on the menu now, though it is early days yet...too early to call it a success. So I'm looking for ways to stealth more of them into different dishes to maximize exposure. Seeds being back on the menu, hummus seems like the answer to it all.

In keeping with my new-found passion for sprouting everything sproutable, the chickpeas are no exception. Soak overnight and rinse 2-3 times a day for 2-3 days or until the beans display a "tail." I run mine through the pressure cooker for a scant 2-3 minutes after pressure is attained.

Sprouted Hummus

2 t minced garlic
15 oz sprouted and cooked garbanzo beans
3 T lemon juice
2 T tahini
1 t salt
1/2 t paprika
3 T coconut milk

Process beans in food processor until smooth. Add all other ingredients until thoroughly blended, adding additional water and/or coconut milk until mixture reaches desired consistency.

After a purging thunderstorm swept in and scrubbed away the sticky heat, we all breathed a sigh of relief. I walk through the yard to look at the latest blooms of clover pushing up from the tight carpet of leaves beneath. The first of the bees bob on the now cool breeze.

He makes all things new... _Rev.21:5

The Road Goes Ever On and On...

When Tool Guy and I first married, one of the favorite forms of entertainment was jumping in our Plymouth Fury--nicknamed "Polly"--and running the roads...just seeing what was beyond the next bend. Needless to say, that practice is curbed these days, along with the vehicle most of the time. Unfortunately, it isn't only the price of gas that has kept us burning the home fires...lack of convenience foods tends to take the spontaneity out of things. We do day trips from time to time, but only with care and planning. I tend to overpack for those occasions, since I have this dread fear of getting lost or breaking down somewhere and not having safe food to eat. This week, a friend expressed frustration at her own family's particular food issues at times controlling their activities. At times? For us, that would be just about all the time. It certainly limits the scope of our treking.

It makes it particularly challenging, then, when travel is mandatory. Tool Guy, who disguised as mild-mannered Safety Guy in his day job, has to attend training sessions a couple of times a year that are somehow never close to home. More like the other side of the country and he's grounded from flying. In the past, Amtrak has been an attractive choice. "Let someone else do the driving" kind of thing, and for a few years, they did a reasonably satisfactory job of accommodation. Unfortunately, in this day of "cost containment"--which usually means "scaling back on quality"--the last Amtrak trip meant that there was very limited safe food to eat and absolutely nothing do-able on the breakfast menu. All prepackaged stuff. Nothing like being trapped in a steel box for three days with no food, eh?

This year, he's driving. But restaurant reliability is a very dicey thing. Anything that is a chain is doomed to the same fate as other prepackaged fare. Anything that is not a chain is a roll of the roulette wheel. The Russian Roulette wheel. He shared with me that he is singularly tired of getting contaminated every time he takes a trip. Toward that end, he acquired a small crock pot and a game plan for this trip. And I've been playing around in the kitchen, working on "road food" toward the goal of us being able to expand our horizons and find some elbow room. Lots of ideas swirling around and this seemed a good time to start working on application. This is the first one to go on my list.

A couple of themes that have been running through my attempts at "cooking dangerously" these days are grain-free and sprouting. We're trialing beans in this corner of the Shire and sprouting seems to be the best way to make them as digestible as possible. Many of the less desirable...um...attributes of beans disappear when they have been sprouted before processing. The idea of making bean tortillas popped up when I was trying to think of a way to svengalli the Hobbits into eating enough beans to register if they react or not. They could eat tortillas by the stack if I made enough of them. Lots of nutrients and certainly better than rice flour.

The beans need to be soaked overnight and then sprouted (the technically correct term for this is "germination") for about three days or until a "tail" emerges to about the length of the bean. I run these through the pressure cooker for a mere two minutes once pressure has been reached. After a quick trip through the food processor, I mix in a spoonful of sourdough starter and leave in the fridge for a day or two.

Black Bean Tortillas

1 1/2 cups bean paste
1/2 - 3/4 cups tapioca starch flour
2-5 T melted lard
2-3 t guar gum
1 t salt
Extra lard for cooking

In mixer, using a dough hook (one of the rare times that gluten free baking requires a dough hook), mix the dry ingredients with the melted lard and slowly work in the water until incorporated. The dough should be dry enough to work with your hands. Break off a ball of dough and roll into a ball. Using sheets of baking parchment or wax paper, flatten in a tortilla press or roll out with a rolling pin.

In cast iron skillet over medium low heat, melt more lard. Place tortillas one at a time into the skillet, browning for a minute or so until it starts to brown and bubble. Flip tortilla and cook the other side for another couple of minutes.

Best eaten warm, but these can be frozen and reheated later.

"'It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,' he used to say. 'You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.'"

Maybe having a safe food supply will make going out the door a little less of a dangerous digestive business...

The Years of the Locust

People are always talking about how the years get away from them. It is always startling, nevertheless, when you wake up and realize that you're one of them. The years are flying by. Before having children, things were rather timeless. When you don't have short people standing beside you who begin to measure themselves against your height, it is easy to forget the passage of time. These days, every time I look at one of the Hobbits, I am astonished at how much they have changed since the last time I looked at them...even if it is just five minutes before. And the things that they say and do are equally astonishing. I keep having to remind myself that I can challenge them with more responsibilities, because they are certainly equal to more than I ask of them.

I'll admit that I was a bit nervous with the director/producer of our homeschooling group's drama department asked if Dog would be willing to step into a part that had been vacated by an uninterested teen. But since she asked, knowing fully well what she was asking...she lives down the road from us, after all...I agreed to put it to Dog and see if he was interested. He was. Big surprise there. Not. Heh. Playing Jackie Gilbreth in our version of Cheaper By the Dozen would be his first opportunity to do something more than don a bathrobe and carry a stick as a shepherd in the Christmas play. He accepted the part with alacrity and didn't even mind sacrificing gym time to go through the months of prep time and rehearsal. I did wonder if he'd be able to stay focused and involved for the three hours of being a supporting role, Jackie's part being only a small speaking part, but a frequent presence on stage.

I kept having flashbacks to the first time he stepped on stage in front of a crowd, five years ago. As all of his age mates filed obediently off the stage, he stood at the head of the steps facing the auditorium, raised his arms in Rocky Balboa fashion and leaped off the stage, bellowing, "I'm the CHAMPEEEEN!" It was in that moment that I became intimately acquainted with the underside of our pews and was able to take a complete census of the fossilized gum left there for archaeological purposes. The next year, he haunted the narrator's steps and, despite repeated redirection from both the directors and his parents, seemed unable to refrain from stalking the podium for a peek at what the narrator was reading. This would be a step forward indeed.

As the play loomed closer, the rehearsal schedule stepped up. Twice a week and late nights, too. Dog, who has a usual bedtime of 9pm, was staying out until 11pm two nights a week, rolling home via the generosity of our neighbor director. It was amazing to watch a new maturity settle over him like a new set of clothes. No grumping the next day. No attitude problems...well, nothing that wasn't there before. Can't have everything, can we?

The night before the play opened, I was spending some time online. Up late, I was emailing a friend and sharing with her what the past ten years had been like for Dog and us.

Parenting children who fall outside the box can have precious moments, but also moments that can be hideous. Actually, avoidance of that hideousness is the prime motivating factor for all of what I do. I didn't start out doing this for Love of Food. I've never been a foodie. Peanut butter and crackers sounds like a meal to me. Never did enjoy cooking. That's why I call myself The Unprofitable Servant. I've only done what was required of me. Meaning that I will do aaaaaaaaanyTHING I have to do to prevent that hideousness from rearing its ugly head. And that's why we never, ever, ever, ever, ever cheat. Nothing is worth that abyss.

Dog used to rage for hours while I tried to deal with him and get him calmed down. And as soon as we reached closure, he would loop back to the beginning of our conflict and it would be as if we had never had that two to four hour "conversation." That started when he was two and didn't disappear until we got off of gluten and later, after we'd eliminated all of the intolerances.

That's an abyss I never want to stare into again. My neighbor still hates my guts because she thinks I'm a terrible mother because my child/ren screamed all of the time. They told us that they had called the police and CPS because he needed to be committed to a mental institution. (We were never visited, so that may have been simply a threat.) Even after we got the diet cleaned up, every time there was the merest brush with a problem food, the world exploded. People would ask me what the symptoms of the "allergies" were and I would laugh and say, "Oh, their heads spin around and an alien bursts out of their chests." But that didn't feel like it was far from the truth.

We never had Dog evaluated for ASD. I don't know if he would have qualified for a diagnosis. Perhaps so. He was hyperlexic. He had no idea how to relate to other children. I don't know if my eldest would have been diagnosed as ASD as a child. I would take him to the playground as a toddler and he would stare at the other children without moving. I had to show him how to use the playground equipment and even then I had to guide him through playing with it...he never turned loose and took off and played. I would take him out into the yard to play, expecting him to
take off and do what kids do, run explore, eat bugs, whatever. He would stand there and look at me like, "Okay. What do I do now?" When my parents turned on their sprinkler, he just stood and stared, when any other child would have dashed into the spray....which he did a few years later, when we returned to visit--gluten free. But he is and always has been brilliant. Quick to connect the dots, understanding complex concepts at early ages. Practically a photographic memory.

A couple of years ago, he might have gotten an Aspie diagnosis, because he had NO clue about how relationships work, but he is losing those markers as well. He's doing social boy stuff with the other boys. He is recognizing when a friend isn't a friend, when someone is using him, when someone is lying to him. He's finding the courage to walk away. He's fitting in. He's stopped saying the weird, geeky things that used to make people stare at him. He used to stand out as a flake...he presented as someone a bubble off plumb. A stranger might not quiiite be able to put their finger on what didn't exactly click. Or maybe put him into a Computer Nerd pigeon hole in their mind. Now he looks just like any other kid.

And that's why I tilt the food universe. But I had to be beaten into submission. I didn't start out doing this because it was the best thing for my child and he needed the best nutrition. I'm The Unprofitable Servant. I did it to make the screaming stop.

This is Dog's favorite dish. It's mine, too, particularly since stir fry is something that allows you to throw in everything and the kitchen sink. Whatever your favorite vegetables are, they probably will taste even better in stir fry.

Asian Stir Fry

Whole chicken breast or beef steaks, partially frozen
Broccoli, chunked small
Sliced mushrooms
Carrots, bias cut
Celery, bias cut
Green onions, sliced
1 T minced garlic
small knob of ginger, minced
San-J wheat free tamari sauce
Toasted sesame oil

A day ahead of time, slice meat into thin strips. A mandolin is particularly helpful for this. Marinade in diluted tamari sauce...enough to cover meat...overnight. When ready to prepare, drain meat in a colander.

In a stainless steel wok or large skillet, pour enough oil to coat bottom and stir fry onions, garlic, minced ginger, and carrots, until the carrots are still slightly crunchy. Add celery and broccoli until medium soft. Remove all vegetables to a bowl. Add more oil, a dash or two of tamari sauce, and saute mushrooms until soft. Remove mushrooms to bowl with other vegetables. Add more oil and stir fry meat until done.

Sauce:

4 T San-J wheat free tamari sauce or to taste
2 cups water
4-6 T tapioca starch, dissolved in small amount of water

In heavy saucepan, bring tamari and water to a boil. Add dissolved tapioca starch to boiling liquid, stirring constantly until cooked and translucent.

Return all ingredients to wok and cover with sauce, adding a tablespoon or two toasted sesame oil for flavor. Stir until all ingredients are well coated. Serve over hot rice.

Opening night, I sat with all of us, including my parents, laughing and snapping pictures of the action on stage. Dunno how the rest of the kids did. I could only watch Dog...amazed at how well he did. And as I watched, I had only one thought,

"And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten..." _{Joel 2:25}

The Substance of Things Hoped For...

Farmers are gamblers. They're the folks who literally bet the farm every year. Gardeners take that leap of faith in a smaller way. Some years are better than others, but every year starts out full of hope and eager expectation. I like to keep a journal of my gardening journey to compare the different things I try, the different outcomes, what works and what doesn't. I have friends who smile behind their hands at the detail of the things I put in my journal. Yes, Breatharian, I even weigh the produce I harvest and journal that according to vegetable and variety. This is when you know that you've moved beyond gardening as a hobby. When the pole bean sprout that you planted begins to resemble Audrey II in Little Shop of Horrors and sing, "Feeeeed meeeee..." That's when you know that you have an addiction going on.

Every year, I try to branch out into a new aspect of sustainability. I'm still waiting to see if the kombucha'd molasses tea will yield great things from my garden. But twiddle my thumbs I will not; I'm also meditating on other things to improve the soil quality and yield in the meantime. These days, seaweed is coming up on my radar with more frequency. I use a lot of it in our foods. I put powdered kelp in the salt shaker. I sneak spoonsful into chili. I sprinkle dulse on my sprouted salads (if you look closely at the pictures, the red flakes are the dulse). And there's the perennial favorite, kimbop. Princess is the only one who will eat seaweed voluntarily, but I have no compunctions about resorting to guerrilla nutrition. I stealth sheets of it into the bone broth. Now I'm looking at the ultimate stealth: the garden.

The ground in my corner of the Shire isn't fertile. Breatharian, there's a reason that the settlers began to push on to the Midwest from here: this here ain't really farm country. Trapping, hunting, and dairy farming, yeah. Planting, not so much. The only thing that one can grow with ease and rapidity here are rocks. I discovered very quickly after assaying into the gardening world exactly why New England is laced with rock walls. Add to that the highly acidic pH and my first garden didn't yield very much. That year's journal tally totaled 68 pounds. It's come a long way, but we're not there yet. There's still more to hope for.

After reading an excerpt from Seaweed in Agriculture and Horticulture by W.A. Stephenson and following the enthusiastic flow of information about the myriad of ways that seaweed benefits the soil fertility and tilth, I was convinced. My soil needs all the nutrients, minerals, and structure that I can pour into it. So this year, along with the compost, clippings, leaves, manure, lime, and molasses kombucha tea, I'm turning under a large supply of seaweed.

One of the things that impressed me mightily with seaweed is that it tackles the fungal challenges that can plague gardens. Yeah. That would be my garden. I'm not sure if it is impaired soil quality, over watering, watering at the wrong time, or overcrowding, but every year I run a race with a kind of fungus that rushes to consume my garden. Neem oil has helped keep it in check, but I'm looking for better answers. Got a lot to hope for this year.

Last year's garden...a definite improvement on the very first...left me with a generous supply of tomato sauce and the remnant jars of that still cling to the shelves that line the basement. Mostly we're satisfied with our style of eating these days, but once in a while, Tool Guy will wistfully emote about a particular food that he misses. I gaped at him, slack jawed, when he recently sighed over missing spaghetti. He was a little taken aback when I informed him that everything necessary for spaghetti was already in the house. I whirled through my stashes of stuff and threw together a pot of spaghetti that had all of the Hobbits humming. And they never knew it had seaweed in it. See? Guerrilla nutrition.

Spaghetti Sauce

4 lbs. ground beef
1 quart tomato sauce
1 quart bone broth
2 tsp. kelp powder
Tinkyada rice pasta

Brown ground beef in cast iron dutch oven and drain. Return meat to dutch oven, add sauce, kelp, and broth, then heat until incorporated and simmering. Meanwhile, in a pot, bring water to a boil and add rice pasta. Cover and turn off heat. Leave pasta in hot water for twenty minutes without removing the lid. After 20 minutes, drain pasta. Perfect pasta every time. Serve spaghetti sauce and meat over pasta.

The iodine in seaweed has a lot to offer our bodies. It works with our endocrine system. It is becoming recognized as a viable way of dealing with pathogens and avoiding antibiotics. It certainly helps deal with fungal overgrowth in our bodies as well as our gardens. In my zeal to include as much seaweed in our diet as guerrilla nutrition will allow, I've discovered that a light hand is required. Better to use less in more foods than more in less. Yes, they'll be getting a lower percentage, bite for bite, but a little seaweed in a Hobbit tummy is a higher percentage than all of the seaweed still in the plate. Softly, softly...

In addition to sustainable gardening, I'm also interested in other sustainable forms of harvesting. In discussing a source of seaweed, The Maine Seaweed Company came up. This company is a delight to do business with. Larch Hanson has a warm, personal touch and is always up for an email exchange about gardening, how to use the seaweed, and is eager to share what's going on in his garden. I'm quite impressed with how his cold frames are producing.

The Hobbits continue to grow and thrive. We continue to stalk new foods. My seedlings are sturdily pushing upwards and putting out their true leaves. In another week or so, my garden will be redolent of seashore. We've come a long way. The substance of things hoped for...the evidence of things not seen.

Polly Wanna Cracker?

I think we've crossed the terminus of a status change. We're no longer just Breatharians. We're now the proud owners of a set of birds that makes us something different now...we're Budgerigarians. Yep. Dog has been lobbying diligently to become a pet owner of some type and this, after much deliberation and discussion, is what was agreed upon.

Originally, he wanted a dog. A husky, in fact. There were several factors excluding this from practicability. Not the smallest of which was the size of our family and the inverse size of our house. (Reason #1) Plus the well-known, well-established fact that after the shine has worn off of any pet, the primary caregiver becomes...come on, admit it...Mom. And Mom just has about as much on her plate as she can handle. (Reason #2) I insisted to Dog that if I wanted another creature to raise, I'd get pregnant again. He was, unsurprisingly, unimpressed. The biggest factor came down to the fact that most dog food is a gluten, corn, et al landmine. And, yes, I'm aware of the trend in feeding animals on a Biologically Appropriate Raw Food Diet, affectionately known as BARF. See Reason #2. Add to that the cost of feeding Hobbits and you'll have Reason #3 why even a BARF diet doesn't solve the pet problem.

We toyed with the idea of rabbits. Actually, the Hobbits toyed with the idea. When "rabbits" came out of Tool Guy's mouth, it was of a mind to raise them as one would raise chickens. I wasn't sold on the idea, because at least with chickens, you get eggs. I like having multi-tasking appliances and multi-tasking animals working for me, you know? Even the Hobbits are starting to work for their keep anymore, but that's fodder for another blog another day.

Finally, Dog settled his heart on birds. After all, bird seed...what could be easier? A veritable piece of gluten-free cake, no? It even happened that as Tool Guy and I began to finalize the decision in our minds, a very lovely Theresa in a neighboring village offered a very pristine bird cage on Freecycle and we became the happy recipients. Tool Guy spirited Dog out for a father/son outing and came back with two young budgies, one blue and one yellow, dotted with green. All of the Hobbits were enchanted. Tool Guy also was equipped with toys and a bag of bird food.

Picking up the bag with idle curiosity, I began to read the list of ingredients. Very shortly into the list, it popped up. Wheat. Wheat gluten. Sigh. Nothing about this Breatharian stuff is compatible with prepackaged anything.

But just as having to think outside the cereal box liberates the Breatharian to eat more nutritiously than the person who shops the inner aisles of the grocery store, being unable to feed the bagged stuff liberates the Budgerigarians to pursue a more nutritious diet for the budgie. It seems that the experienced bird handler knows that an all-seed diet can cut a bird's life expectancy by more than half. At the instruction of a foodie friend who also has birds, I raided our stores of grains, beans, and seeds down in the basement and began to tutor Dog in the fine art of sprouting. Sprouts of fenugreek, millet, quinoa, amaranth, adzuki, buckwheat, and others joined the jars lining the sink. I even dipped a hand into my stash of nori sheets and we shredded up bits for them to nibble on. In a very short time, these SAD budgies had abandoned their station at the millet seed cup for the attractions of the sprouts. Following a referred link, I discovered that not only do these birds do better on a fresh and varied diet, it's also recommended to consider a gluten-free diet for them.

Digging around through our stores turned up the amaranth and quinoa that had been sitting in my "hope chest" of food...hoping for the day when they would be back on the menu. Today is that day. I also pulled out an old friend of a recipe that the Hobbits used to enjoy, when rice had disappeared from the menu and before seeds followed.

"Graham" Crackers

1/2 cup amaranth flour
1/2 cup quinoa flour
2 T tapioca starch flour
1/2 t guar gum
1/2 - 1 t cinnamon
2 T maple syrup
1/2 t baking soda
1 t ground flax seed
2 T lemon juice
1-2 T water
2 T oil

In a large bowl, mix flours and dry ingredients. In blender or food processor, blend liquid ingredients with ground flax seed. Stir into flour mixture until it forms a ball. Add more water and/or oil as necessary.

Divide dough into two pieces. On a sheet of wax or parchment paper, sprinkle a dusting of flour to prevent sticking and place dough ball under another sheet.

Roll out until very thin, trim edges, and transfer to cookie sheet. Use pizza cutter to cut dough into pieces.

In a 325* oven, bake for 10-20 minutes or until crisp and brown as desired. Test a cracker in the center of sheet for crispness. If the outer ones are done, but the inner ones aren't, remove the crispy ones and return the rest to the oven, repeating until done.

Crackers are among the things that are off the menu for budgies. Nice to know they aren't off the menu for Hobbits.

Another Hill To Climb

Tool Guy is inducting again. For the uninitiated, that's Atkins Diet speak for being back on the wagon. He's coasted along complacently, thoroughly enjoying the dangerous activities going on in the kitchen, like sourdough bread and pear butter muffins. It was Princess who shook him out of that complacency. Small children are brutally honest. She told him that she was no longer able to hug him, because he had "a hill." This is the same child who a few years ago deduced--and announced loudly--that the reason I didn't camp out in the tent was that I was "too old and fat." (Vanity forces me to report that I was 43 and 115 lbs. at the time.) She demands that I inform everyone that, as a newly arrived five year old, she no longer says this about me. It doesn't, apparently, preclude her from making such comments about her father. There's probably some logic in there, but it is too arcane to follow. Such are the vagarities of a pre-schooler.

Tool Guy took this to heart, however, and is inducting faithfully...more or less. It made me think about the beginnings of his love affair with Atkins' theories. It was quite a few years back...even before Dog was born. After years of low fat, high carb eating--you know, all the stuff that the "experts" say is heart-healthy and "good for you"--he was over 250 lbs and even at 6'3" that's more than he wanted to be. When he tumbled across the Atkins plan, he was excited to be able to eat, not feel hungry and still lose weight. And there's a good reason for that. Fat is the trigger that controls our appestat; it's what tells our body that we are full. When we don't eat enough fat, we are hungry in a very short time and "portion control" becomes torturous or impossible. Traditional diets prized fat for lots of very good reasons.

This was probably the very embryonic beginnings of thinking outside of the nutritional box for us, because everyone...including Tool Guy's doctor...swore that it would be the death of him, it was unhealthy, ad infinitum. Tool Guy even had a full physical done before starting and had a check up six months later. When his doctor called with the test results (this was pre-HIPAA), I took careful notes of the numbers. I asked him to repeat the cholesterol numbers from the first test. It had dropped 60 points. Being the professional gadfly that I am, I pointed out this little detail to the doctor. He was not amused.

Going low carb had other benefits that we hadn't expected. Persistent skin conditions that the doctor couldn't cure, repeated ear infections that resisted all treatments disappeared never to return. He even seemed calmer and in a better overall mood. It wasn't after we'd discovered gluten intolerance that we began to connect all of the dots. Because the main carb that Tool Guy avoided was...yeah, you guessed it...bread. Wish we'd known to have that rash biopsied. Dermatitis Herpetiformis is a topical manifestation of gluten intolerance and we might have had an earlier diagnosis. A few years later, while networking with other folks who were going gluten free, we began to see a pattern: a goodly percentage of them had also responded positively to the Atkins Diet...so many that we began to quip that it was an unofficial diagnostic tool. If you lost weight on the Atkins Diet, then you were gluten intolerant. And only half in jest.

In addition to low carbing, which means no sugar at all as well as cutting back on carbs, Tool Guy has decided to start winnowing out the corn syrup and not go back. I guess all of my preaching is starting to seep through. He doesn't know it, but I've been playing King Corn in the player next to the bed while he sleeps. I, for one, have never believed the tommyrot that subliminal suggestions don't work. Mwahahaha... So this time, one of the first things he struck from the menu was that bottle of hunter's orange-hued French salad dressing. Since this is his favorite topping for just about everything, I promised to provide him with an Atkins-friendly version.

French Dressing

1/2 cup vinegar
2 tsp. dry mustard
1 T sweetener or to taste
1 1/2 tsp. Real Salt
2 tsp. paprika
1/4 tsp. pepper
1 cup olive oil
1 raw egg yolk (from pastured hens)

In a food processor or blender, mix vinegar, sweetener, egg yolk, and dry ingredients. Slowly, while blending, pour in oil until thoroughly mixed. Refrigerate.

Dr. Atkins, while vilified for a very long time, is slowly being vindicated by the fact that science is finally catching up with many of the things that he proposed. You can go without bread and still remain healthy. Animal fats are good for you. Red meat won't kill you. It's the sugar, refined carbs, and trans fats that are bad for you. It is a pity that his ideas have been co-opted into selling more processed junk food, albeit low carb, instead of encouraging people to continue eating healthy whole foods.

Tool Guy is presenting a trimmer, more svelte figure these days and Princess has deigned to hug him again. Oh, and he turns the big Five Oh this year. Can we say that he's over the hill?

Now Is the Spring of My Discontent...

We've past Easter and the First Day of Spring. It's definitely in the air. All over the Internet, too. Every search engine homepage has "March Madness" plastered across it and even articles on coping techniques. It kinda piqued my curiosity. I have my visions of what March Madness means. It means that I'm bored with most conversations on most of my email lists and I do mass deletes. I'm sure that there are treasure troves of information that will be forever lost to me and my life will never be the same for being bereft of those gems, but I dare say I shall survive. Can't sit still for doing much on the computer these days. It means that Bug and I hover over my seedling trays, chasing the patches of sunlight through the house over the course of the day, brewing up batches of chamomile tea for watering them, and doing endless head counts to update the census on how many sprouts have surfaced to date. So far, the Siberian tomatoes are living up to their reputation as early doers. It augers well. It means that I'm pressing the Hobbits outside to soak up the tentative sunshine, riding their scooters through the narrowing patches of snow that are shrinking from the yard. It means that we're drawing to the close of the lesson books we've chosen this year and putting the finishing touches on our test prep plans for April. Starting to make educational goals for next year. And this year, it means the milestone co-op order that is the largest we've ever handled to date. Yup. Changing the world one meal at a time.

With dim realization, it finally burst through upon me that the March Madness in Internet question is the playoffs. Duh. I admit to being absolutely sports-impaired. I even had to Google up to see what specific sport was encompassed by this flurry of playoffs. Basketball, it seems. Double duh. To compound my transgression, not only am I intransigent in my ignorance of sports, but I married someone who is similarly handicapped. It was no small asset in my eyes that Tool Guy is even further impaired in his interest in sports than myself. Let's see...non-smoker...loves to window shop...doesn't do sports. You may kiss the bride!

No, my March Madness is a restlessness. A discontent with the usual schedule of events. I look at my regular to-do list and can't rally anything like enthusiasm. Not even a remote sense of duty or responsibility to get it done. Good thing we're at the end of our canned curriculum, 'cause I'm the one who wants to play hooky. I wish I could even say that I'm distracted by the prospect of bursting out of doors and digging into the spring chores that will be waiting for me when the ground has thawed and dried sufficiently. Not even that. It's something that I can't yet define, but it's putting up its pale, thin shoots just as surely as the tiny specks of green that dot my seed trays. Dog is doing something similar...wandering the house aimlessly, having difficulty settling down into any activity for more than a few minutes. He's bored with his usual cadre of books and I'm giving him pointers on how to stretch his comfort zone into picking books that he might have overlooked before that still connect with his interests. Only Bug and Princess are still spinning through life like oblivious whirling dervishes, seemingly uneffected by all of this. I'm beginning to understand the reasoning for spring tonics like dandelion root, yellow dock, and nettles. They are just the ticket for invigorating and washing away the detritus of winter.

This is a good time of the year for sprouts of all kinds...the kind we mean to plant and the kind we mean to just eat. I've resumed sprouting fresh greens, feeling the craving for the crunch and crisp of new little leaves bursting with flavor and freshness. I'm also branching out into some new kinds of sprouting...grains. Janie Quinn, in her book Essential Eating, strongly encourages sprouting grains before using them. Her reasoning is that starches draw heavily on the pancreas' resources, probably more heavily than most bodies are capable of matching. But when grains are sprouted, most bodies recognize the grain, not as a starch but as a vegetable, making it much more readily digestible. Okay, I'm always up for a new project.

Sprouting grains does some very nice things to it. In the case of rice, it gives it a sweeter taste...sort of malted, if you will. It also makes it much easier to grind. I've found that rice is a very hard grain and some mills have trouble delivering anything better than a very grainy flour. When the rice is sprouted, the flour is much finer and softer. Sprouting rice for flour is very easy. It just takes some forward thinking and planning to use it on a regular basis and keep up with the typical demand of the average Hobbit appetite.

Grain Sprouts

2 cups rice or other grain
Appropriate sized sprouter lid or cheesecloth with rubber band
Wide mouth quart jar or larger

Add rice to jar and fill with water. Allow to soak overnight or 8 hours. Cover with sprouter lid or secure cheesecloth over the opening and drain, rinse until water is clear, then drain again. Leave jar inverted at an angle to allow water to completely drain. Rinse and drain 2-3 times a day. I find rice takes longer to sprout than some of the seeds I've sprouted in the past, but it will happen....usually in 4-6 days. It is only necessary to sprout until the tail is about 1/8" inch long or one third of the length of the grain. After the sprout has reached the appropriate length, drain thoroughly and spread out on a baking sheet. Dehydrate at 100* or so degrees for about 12-24 hours or until completely dry. They can then be cooked as whole grains or ground into flour.

I'm still experimenting on the baking with sprouted flour thing. Gluten free baking is twitchy and this seems to be no exception. My very first loaf of sprouted bread never made it to the cutting board. Apparently it is going to take more baking time than with unsprouted flour. When I pulled the loaf out of the oven and flipped it out of the pan, the lovely crust collapsed on the still mushy center. Ah, the joys of "cooking dangerously." Hopefully, the next loaf will see me much more contented.

To sprout or not to sprout...there is no question.

The Ties That Bind

I hang my laundry out on the line year 'round. It has been my experience, since moving here, that wet clothes will dry in any temperature as long as the wind is blowing. And the wind does blow quite well here. Ask my tipsy greenhouse.

Still, what is a grudging chore during the winter months becomes an opportunity to step out and enjoy the sunshine and brisk breezes of spring. As the clouds race by and the sun bounces in and out of sight, standing outside and hanging laundry in the fresh winds is almost as satisfying as gardening. Okay, I said almost, alright?

Every time I talk laundry with someone--and I've been on email lists where "Love of Laundry" threads have consumed untold megabytes of server space somewhere--there's always some unfortunate soul who is unable to hang out their clothes because of some residential restriction of one type or another. Someone was quoted as bitingly opining that hanging out laundry was trashy and poor. It always saddens me when I hear this, because it demonstrates to me an impoverished perspective. Laundry flapping in the breeze is part of the ambiance that says "home." Banning that is like forbidding the scents drifting from a busy kitchen.

I think of laundry as I think of all of the fundamental tasks that women have accomplished through the millennia. A generational thread connecting us. This task contributes a fiber to the thread of our lives...this thread that is woven into the warp and woof that makes us the fabric of history. These small, menial repetitive things that connect me to all of the women who have ever lived who poured out their lives in the sustenance, nurturing and nourishment of their families. Each generation is woven into the succeeding ones. We hand off the threads for those that follow to continue weaving after us.

Edith Schaeffer talks about these threads in her book The Tapestry. This reminded me of another book that was influential to me in the early years of marriage: The Hidden Art of Homemaking. This book, I realize now, was fundamental in providing me with an glimpse of the significance of the responsibilities I had undertaken. Her ideas, suggestions, and perspective sewed the early seeds that I now begin to see are the harvest that I am reaping in my life right at this moment. The idea of taking very little and using it to create daily beauty. The idea of thinking outside of the consumeristic mentality. The significance of the menial and small things in making our lives meaningful and beautiful.

Riffling through my memories, I am humbled to realize how much of what is coming to fruit in my life is a result of someone else's effort, someone else's germination, someone else's investment in my life. All that is spread out before me in my life is built on the underpinnings of the people who have shared, shown, and modeled for me their ideas, their epiphanies, their experiences and wisdom.

Making breads of all kinds are one of those generational threads. There's nothing so homey as bread, is there? Mother teaching daughter the tricks, nuances, and idiosyncrasies of dough. Isn't the loss of bread, the substitution of bread, the relearning it all the biggest hurdle in gluten-free living? (The most frequently clicked-on recipes here are the bread ones.) So many people stumble over the idea of giving up bread as they know it. It's fundamental to our concept of nutrition. And almost every culture has their form of bread.

When we lived in San Antonio, tortillas were an intrinsic part of the cuisine there. Every little mom n' pop restaurante made their own and I, a transplant from Louisiana, was introduced to the "breakfast tortilla." Dunno how traditional that is, but it surely was yummy. We recently trialled the Food For Life tortillas, but became convinced that the xanthan gum confirmed our suspicion that corn is still off the menu for us. Time for some "cooking dangerously."

Almost Everything Free Tortillas

1 1/2 cups grain flour
1/2 - 3/4 cups tapioca starch flour
2-5 T melted lard
3/4 - 1 cup warm water
2-3 t guar gum
1 t salt
Extra lard for cooking

In mixer, using a dough hook (one of the rare times that gluten free baking requires a dough hook), mix the dry ingredients with the melted lard and slowly work in the water until incorporated. The dough should be dry enough to work with your hands. Break off a ball of dough and roll into a ball. Using sheets of baking parchment or wax paper, flatten in a tortilla press or roll out with a rolling pin. Thinner is better.

In cast iron skillet over medium low heat, melt more lard. Place tortillas one at a time into the skillet, browning for a minute or so until it starts to brown and bubble. Flip tortilla and cook the other side for another minute.

Best eaten warm, but these can be frozen and reheated later.

I think of all of the hands that continue the timeless tradition of nurturing their families with warm tortillas. Blest be the ties that bind.

These Seeds of Change

Despite the fact that we got eight inches of snow last week, it is starting to feel like spring. Maybe it's because the sun is rising higher in the sky each day and setting later and later. There's just some internal clock that is telling me that it is almost time. Or maybe it's because I got my Seed Savers order in the mail and I'm itchy to get started on my starts. Yeah. That could be it.

In my opinion, the New Year is misplaced on our calendars. The dead of winter is not the time that we start thinking about starting over and new beginnings. I feel ever so much more motivated to begin new things, take on new projects, new goals, new aspirations when fledgling leaves are unfurling and the first spikes of grass are pushing up than when everything is still insulated under layers of snow and ice. Bright sunny days do more to infuse me with enthusiasm to accomplish. Under gray January skies, I just want to heat up another rice bag, crawl with it under the numerous voluminous blankets and read another Victorian murder mystery. With a bowl of Sin On a Spoon in my lap.

As the days grow longer and the sunshine feels brighter, I have no difficulty finding the enthusiasm to put new goals and tasks into motion. Forget January 1st resolutions of getting in shape and working out. March is the time I've started doing some fitness training and toning up. It's not hard at all. I keep reminding myself how useful it will be when it is time to hit the garden and the yard. No sore muscles then! Summer time is my Boston Marathon.

I'm pawing through my seed collection. A few packages with seeds from last year and some new one to try for this year. I used to wonder at people who were constantly changing what they planted from year to year when they were so happy with what they'd harvested the previous year. I'm beginning to understand the addiction: so many seeds...so little space. And a comparatively short growing season. I'm hedging my bets this year. Barbara Kingsolver, in her book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, referred to a type of tomato called Siberian, which is reputed to produce proliferately in, as you guessed, Siberia. My kind of 'mater! There will be a "what I did with my summer vacation" report on how Glastnost is producing.

The air is buzzing with discussion about what we're going to plant this year, what soil amendments we tried last year or plan on trying this year, what deer deterents are in place, and the best methods and places to compost. Sources of locally composted manure are secrets almost as guarded as where the best haunts for mushrooms can be found. Hey, some things are sacred, you know?

Gardeners can be as avid proselytizers as...say...foodie folk. We're always luring in the unsuspecting with suggestions that they "start small" and "read Square Foot Gardening...it's soooo easy." They're so charmingly innocent and have no suspicion of the inner gardening monster that lurks inside, waiting for the opportunity to come out and take over the world.

Yes, gentle Breatharian, I was one of those who "started small." Just a simple 5x5 square foot garden. Unh, huh. In a short three seasons, the garden has grown to a 290 square foot garden. With a greenhouse cover over it. The next door neighbor took one look at it and acerbically dubbed it the "Taj Mahal." Ya think?

The gardening seeds aren't the only seeds of change on my mind. Seeds of all stripe are also back on the menu for the Hobbits, which fires up another motivation...the one that sends me into the kitchen for some more "cooking dangerously." As I thumbed through The Allergy Self-Help Cookbook, I remember the feeling I had when I first opened it--the one that Alice must have had, tumbling down the rabbit hole. Little did I know. I came across this recipe after we'd gone gluten free and at the very beginnings of everything free. It feels like being visited by an old friend...like the return of spring.

Chili Seeds inspired by Marjorie Hurt-Jones

1 cup raw pumpkin seeds
1 cup raw sunflower seeds
1 T olive oil
1 T chili powder
1/8 t garlic powder
1/8 t cayenne pepper
1 T Real Salt
Enough water to cover seeds

In a glass bowl, measure out seeds, salt, and add enough water to cover. Stir to thoroughly dissolve salt. Let soak 8 hours or overnight. Drain seeds completely. Mix with oil and spices. Spread out on baking sheets at a very shallow depth. Dehydrate at 100-115* for 12-24 hours or until completely dry and crispy.

Soaking neutralizes the anti-nutrients that are in seeds, making them more nutritious and more digestible--a very important feature for those with digestive difficulties. While Tool Guy and Dog are enthralled with the crunchy zest of this recipe, Bug and Princess prefer their seeds prepared this way, only plain. It's such an easy recipe that it's no trouble to accommodate all of the palates.

Meanwhile, I'm watching the sun and counting the days until Gardening Begins. It isn't hard to get to the point of becoming a gardening monster. Les Brown said it best, "Everything is a cinch when you do it inch by inch."

Staying By the Stuff

Is everyone campaigned out yet? I know I am...stuff still manages to leak through despite the fact that I've been on a media blackout since Hurricane Katrina. That experience certainly jaded me about news coverage. It was the one time that I had intimate background knowledge of a hot media topic. And for all of the finger pointing, no one was pointing in the right direction. It made me wonder. If they missed so very much stuff on this, on what other stories are they skimming over details and cherry-picking facts? All of them? Most of them? I decided that it wasn't necessary to hear all of the issues or even current events debated and discussed into the most infinite minutae in order to make my decisions and sort of hunkered down into a kind of bunker attitude. Abandoning my six-hour-a-day talk radio habit, I turned my attention toward smaller matters: my own patch of blue.

It was gratifying to recently discover someone whose work I so respect voicing a similar train of thought. Chris Rice explores the idea that our greater center of power is not with our vote, but in the lives that we touch on a daily basis. Which is a rather exciting thought when we really dig into what that means. Our votes are each a single one in so many millions. So easy to get lost, overwhelmed in the slippery shifts of public opinion. We drop our bottle into the ocean and hope it gets found. And when there isn't much to pick from, then what is that vote really worth anyway? Don't get me wrong...I'm still voting! I know that each vote counts. How much louder our voice speaks, though, on an intimate level. When we're face-to-face and eye-to-eye, our words have more weight and make a surer difference.

Clearly, there is power on a global level and there are people who are called to serve there. Clearly, I'm not one of those. But there's comfort in knowing that being the keeper of the small and insignificant things has just as much value as being a mover and a shaker. "But as his part is who goes down to the battle, so shall his part be who stays by the stuff; they shall share alike."* Chris is right...our power is in the lives that we brush up against--and connect with--every minute between the four year voting cycle.

It's always exciting when connecting in a conversation with someone inspires a train of thought that ends up in a new dish that all of the Hobbits enjoy. Another homeschooling mom and I were recently discussing the satisfactions of good sourdough when she happened to mention offhandedly about using her sourdough to make Pig in a Blanket. That was a dish I'd not heard mentioned in many years and I stood there basking in the glow of the light bulb turning on over my head. I could see the Hobbits cheering over this one...what kid doesn't love Pig in a Blanket? That's got to be worth some serious Most Delicious Mommy points, right?

While gluten free bread dough isn't workable to the degree that wheat flour is, an approximation of Pig in a Blanket is indeed possible. So I played with it and came up with this combination, which is more of a stuffed bread than a wrapped hot dog. But there it is. I even renamed it, since all pork and beef hot dog sausage products at our fingertips have corn in them.

Buffalo in a Blanket

Gluten free bread dough sufficient for one loaf of bread
4 hot dogs or sausages

Line two bread pans with parchment. The dough will be evenly split between the pans. Spread a layer in the bottom of each pan, about an inch or so, using about 1/4 of the total dough for each pan. Lay two hot dogs or sausages side by side in each pan. Using the remaining dough, cover the hot dogs/sausages. Allow to rise the normal amount of time and bake at 350* for 45 minutes to 1 hour. Allow to cool enough to touch, slice, and serve.

This was, as expected, a tremendous hit with the Hobbits...a quintessential comfort food. Turns out I did get extra Most Delicious Mommy points for this. Score, me!

Outside of the voting booth, I plow my energies and focus into making a difference on a molecular level: scraped knees, hornworm caterpillar collections and princess scepters. Laundry lines, vegetable rows, and jars of food lined up in the basement...day by day...staying by the stuff.

*_{I Sam. 30:24}

Slowly They Turned...Step by Step...Inch by Inch...

Marriage is comprised of compromises, great and small. Anyone married to someone else for almost twenty five years has had at least a brush or two with the necessity of compromise. I have to confess to one of the most challenging marital compromises of all: The Three Stooges. Okay, show of hands. Who gets The Stooges? Un, huh. Just as I thought. Not a woman raised her hand. It's definitely a guy thing. More specifically, it's a Tool Guy thing. Fortunately, he doesn't inflict it on me very often. More frequently than his passion for The Stooges, he's conscientiously curbing his passion for jazz music when I'm around. Yah, I know, I have no taste, but I just don't groove music that doesn't have words...what can I say? It's just that since The Stooges is a guy thing (are a guy thing?), then all members with some semblance of testosterone running around their little bodies seem to share an absolute appreciation for the mystique that is The Stooges. See the power of role-modeling? Fortunately, this kind of imprinting hasn't led to the reproduction of any stooges in our house, much to the advantage of Tool Guy's prospective longevity...he does have a spectacular life insurance policy and a girl can only withstand just so much temptation. And so, I want gluten free Brownie points for my liberal, tolerant, and inclusive attitude that accommodates the occasional Stooge-fest. I flee to my sanctuary, closing the door on the grinding repetition of "Slowly they turned...step by step...inch by inch..." and turn up Chris Rice's "That's What a Heart is Beating For." With my headphones on. Natch.

But things are turning around, step by step and inch by inch. It's been a very slow process and continues to be so. We've just passed our anniversary for the Everything Free diagnosis. Five years, dear Breatharian, and six years of gluten-freeness! I have to indulge a wry smile when I think of the conversation I had with my stunned father, poring over the thick diagnostic booklet and boggling over all of the foods to have to pull. I faithfully parroted the laboratory's doctrinal statement: "Hey, Dad, I know it's grim, but it's only for four months. Six, tops! We can do it for six months!" Oh, the naivete. So yeah, it's taken just a touch longer than I had imagined in my most far-flung dreams, but we're getting there. These days, I don't think in terms of "how much longer will it be?" though sometimes Dog asks...like I have a crystal ball, you know? I can't fault him, though, since I'm his primary teacher and question answerer. I suppose it is easy to take the impression that all the answers are right at hand and simply need to be Googled up upon demand. But this is a question I can't even estimate an answer to, I've been wrong so many times. Back when we first started, I was thinking in terms of months and for a very long time I hoped that this would be the month--then this would be the year--that it would all be over. These days, my goals are much more modest. I'd like one or two new foods back in per year. And it's happening, step by step and inch by inch.

The newest successful food are seeds. So we're livin' it up! Sesame seed oil in our stir fries, handfuls of sunflower seeds to munch, and since nuts are still off the menu, desperation...oops!...inspiration struck and I decided to try my hand at making pumpkin seed butter. Have food processor, will cook dangerously--and Breatharian, you know when I'm around sharp implements, it's dangerous! The subsequent pumpkin seed butter wasn't as smooth commercial alternative butters, but the next time I do this, I think I'll be using my steel burr grain mill instead of my food processor. As the Glutenator says, "E³!" (Experiment, experiment, experiment!)

Pumpkin Seed Butter

2 cups pumpkin seed
1 cup or sufficient to make smooth of rice bran or other oil
1/2 tsp. salt or to taste
1 T maple syrup or to taste

Dump it all in the food processor and blend it to death until it is as smooth as you'd like it. The Hobbits found it tasty to have on Edward & Son's plain rice snaps.

Everyone is inching forward these days. I look at Dog and I can't even see the little one who used to line up cars endlessly or run through the house, flapping his hands in front of him. These days he's working on his own graphic novel for a character he calls Wind Rider and is developing an appreciation for Sherlock Holmes. Bug is working his way through a rough social patch, but his speech has very little of the halting monotone of mispronunciations he used to struggle with. And his reading is coming together. Henry and Mudge have become his very favorite people and he's finally found a passion in books. I felt my heart soar when he snagged Princess up and held her a quite willing hostage while he read his way through the entire book, with only three intermissions to get a prompt for a tough word. He's finding his place in a family of passionate readers! And Princess, who has had the benefit of being Everything Free since birth and before, just cruises through life enjoying the usual passions and enduring the usual bumps of an almost five year old.

Is this what normal looks like? Well, maybe not, but I can see it from here.

The Perfect Christmas

I'm channeling Joel Salatin's dad again. Well, not literally. No dolphins or long deceased Egyptian princesses or anything like that. Just some good common sense: "Good enough is perfect."

Christmas is always a busier time of year for just about everyone. Lots of hustle and bustle and stuff to do. I pushed decorating back until the last minute because we decided to get a real tree this year. It was a combination of discovering that a neighbor down the road supplements his retirement by selling trees from his property and the fact that the attic so obscenely congested that the thought of digging it out and dragging it down the folding stairs easily tilted the scale in favor of supporting this retiree in his efforts toward maintaining the style to which he is accustomed. The Hobbits were enchanted, since they've only ever known this artificial tree that Tool Guy and I have hauled with us from pillar to post since the early days of our marriage. This year, they climbed a snowy hill with saw in hand, each took a turn gnawing at the trunk with it and then they hauled it back to the vehicle to trundle home. They're still talking about it.

The homeschooling Christmas program was another departure. Not one the Hobbits managed to distinguish themselves, which was quite singular. In the five years since we've been participating, at least one of them has managed to do something like jump off the stage and announce that he was the "champion!" or stalk the narrator or vie for control of the song book or lose her balance and fall of the platform or...or...or...well, you get the picture. They were all angels, even the angel. Bug managed to control his weaponry, both during the time he was the Roman soldier, wearing a sword and while he was a shepherd, wielding a cudgel. (What can I say? Party Planner, who also planned the program, is very ambitious...as well as brave!) And Dog actually sang along with his group. Pretty remarkable for someone who didn't get a passing grade the first quarter of music because he refused to sing. I'm thinking it was the audience that made the difference. Of course, it could also have been his rather pretty partner. Who knows? Hmmm. Now that I mentioned it, I'm going to have to think on this one...he's turning 11 this year, you know.

There were other differences this year that were less anticipated. I should have seen it coming. I really should have. That persistent cough. Princess' ear infection. That persistent cough that started getting worse. And I did all the stuff I was supposed to. Extra C. Extra D. Extra A. Extra Zinc. Sambucol. Raw garlic. The whole laundry list. And that persistent cough kept getting worse. And Tool Guy, too.

My parents come up to visit every year for Christmas and quite a few times in between. Despite our persistent coughs, they decided to stay and spend Christmas at least with us. Mom was great and organized the Hobbits in their decoration of the tree that had been cut the day before. I laid on the couch and coached the selection and watched. Tool Guy pitched in with cooking and there was a lot of stuff made up in advance. For Christmas dinner, Mom made her version of This Pampered Chef's pork roast.

Granny's Pork Roast

5 lbs. pork roast
1-2 cloves garlic
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp. pepper
1 T olive oil
1 t sugar

Mince garlic and mix with salt and pepper. Cut slits into the roast and stuff seasoning mix into the slits. In a roasting pot, heat oil and sugar to bubbling, then carmelize the roast on all sides. In a 350* preheated oven, bake roast, covered, until internal temperature is 160*. Toward the end, uncover and allow to crisp for a few minutes. Add water to make gravy as desired.

Serve with rice or potatoes.

The day after Christmas, with that "persistent cough" Tool Guy came home with a diagnosis of pneumonia, which was the boot I needed to go and get my very own diagnosis of pneumonia. Kind of a demented keeping up with the Joneses, no? The Hobbits went in to get checked, but they only had colds and ear infections, nasty as that is. Phew! We urged the grandparents out the door as graciously as possible, hung out a sign saying, "Plague House" and I deliberated the additional measure of sticking an occasional arm out of a window to ring a bell and cry, "Unclean!"

Running a household is difficult when the movers and shakers are both out of commission. Having food brought in was out of the question. Oh, we did have some very generous friends offer. But even if people could provide us with gf meals, the hazard of being high reactors means that cross-contamination in others' kitchens would put us at high risk of reaction. We did, however, have many enthusiastic responses to requests for additional video material when we had exhausted our supply. As one friend put it, "Our videos, at least, are gluten free!" Heh. Just so.

When I couldn't go grocery shopping, I had a friend very scrupulously go to my select stores to get our food and bring it to us. Another friend came over and helped me prep out all of the foods for storage. And the co-op team worked flawlessly dealing with the co-op food delivery. All of these things provided us with the best Christmas we could have ever hoped for. Love. Support. Sustenance until we could pick up the threads of our responsibilities again.

Indeed. What more could one ask for? It was the perfect Christmas.

Take Your Medicine

And still more milestones. In my ten year tenure as a mother, this is my first encounter with the dreaded ear infection. We were driving down the road into town to run errands when Princess announced that she needed her ears squirted out when we got home. She elaborated that there was a gnat inside her ear that was causing her ear to "boom." I got cold shivers when I heard that because it so aptly described what I remember ear infections being like when I was her age. And when I was her age, I got them all the time. I was one of those of that generation who got tubes in their ears...one doctor described what lurked in my inner ear as "airplane glue." Nice, huh?

I know that antibiotics are the normal course of events in most protocols for dealing with ear infections, despite the fact that the cure rate for sitting it out is almost identical to the cure rate for prescribing. Well, put me in the wait-it-out school of fish then. The more I read about antibiotics, the more I want to save it for things like tuberculosis and bubonic plague and not on frivolity like keeping cattle being fed a biologically inappropriate diet alive long enough to slaughter. Stephen Harrod Buhner talks about the overuse of antibiotics in his book, Herbal Antibiotics: Natural Alternatives for Treating Drug-Resistant Bacteria, pp. 8-9. Particularly riveting was his description of how bacteria become resistant to antibiotics. "As incredible as (their) capacity for literally engineering responses to antibiotics and passing it on to their offspring is, bacteria do something else that makes them even more amazing and dangerous. They communicate intelligently with each other." He goes on to explain how bacteria position themselves alongside each other and pass DNA back and forth, the resistant bacterium sharing its immunity with the naive one. As if this wasn't alarming enough, the resistant bacteria exudes pheromones that attract non-resistant bacteria to them in order to share this resistance. And exposure to only one kind of antibiotic lays in motion the chain that teaches the bacteria to be resistant to all antibiotics. It is believed that by these mechanisms, eventually all bacteria will be antibiotic resistant. To all antibiotics.

So it becomes clear why avoiding the use of antibiotics seems like a good idea, particularly in such ambiguous situations as a 50/50 chance of improving by not doing anything. And Buhner gives some pretty good suggestions about herbal alternatives that can be applied without risk of increasing bacteria resistance. While we wait and see how things with Princess' ears will progress, I dose her with garlic, licorice, ginger, and echinacea. While I was running errands, I picked up some mullein and garlic oil drops to put inside her ears and dose with that.

And, of course, there is the old traditional standby...chicken soup. Tool Guy tells me that before we got married, he hated chicken soup. Dunno what he'd been eating before, but when I whipped up my first batch of the homemade variety, he was hooked. He is an admitted chicken soup addict. Actually, all of the Hobbits are. With cold weather settled in outside and bronchitis settled in at least one set of lungs inside, we're swizzling the chicken soup. And now Princess' ear infection. Well. Nothing for it, then. Time to take your medicine.

Chicken Soup
(Or as Bug calls it "Chicken Noodle Doodle Soup")

2 whole chickens, quartered
4-5 carrots, bias sliced
1 lb. sliced mushrooms...anyone who has read Tolkien knows that Hobbits adore mushrooms, right?
1 bunch green onions, bias sliced
4-5 stalks celery, bias sliced
1 tsp. sweet basil
1/2 tsp. sage
1/2 tsp. thyme
1/4 tsp. rosemary
2 bay leaves
Black pepper to taste
2 tsp. Real Salt
1 gallon of water

In the largest stock pot you can manhandle on your stove, set the water and chicken to boil. (If you're in a hurry, this process can be shortened to 20 minutes or so in a pressure cooker.) Bundle herbs into a coffee filter and staple closed. Add this herbal sachet, salt, and pepper to the chicken while it boils. After the chicken is cooked, remove pieces into a bowl and allow to become cool to the touch in order to debone. Meanwhile, strain the broth through a cheesecloth and return to a clean stock pot. Place all of the vegetables into the broth and return to a boil, cooking until just tender. Debone the meat and return to broth. (Be sure to save the bones to make bone broth later!) Serve over hot pasta and enjoy!