I actually did start to write a few posts, but then ran out of time to finish them and just never wanted to make time later. This entry is going to be just a ice-breaker of sorts. Today I’m resuming another activity that had been on hold for much too long (volunteer escort at a women’s health clinic), and to make sure I don’t run of out time and abandon this attempt to get back into writing I will make the post short.

In late September I had a big change in my household. My boyfriend (hereafter referred to as B for his privacy) moved in and my roommates moved out. It sounds like it happened so neatly, but it didn’t. B was short selling his condo and when the bank finally completed the paperwork after months of waiting, he was given two weeks to move out. The buyer was pushing to have the move date happen even sooner, but B’s lawyer had written that two-week clause into the contract and we were glad that was the case! There was hurried packing and arranging of movers, and since two weeks was not enough time to give my roommates notice, we all squeezed into the house for a couple of weeks while the roommates completed their apartment search and move.

I was sad to have the roommates go. The one guy had become a pretty good friend and was a model roommate/tenant. But it was something that B and I had agreed to when we first discussed him moving in: no other roommates, and he would pay the same amount in rent as they did. Actually when I originally decided to rent out rooms in my house about two years ago I had advertised for just one roommate, so I’m pretty much where I had wanted to be back then.

In the past few months I’ve also done quite a bit of traveling by car. In late October B and I had a long weekend driving trip to Asheville, North Carolina to attend Moogfest, and then the week following Thanksgiving I helped a friend drive out to Santa Clara, California. We had a memorable road trip, but the purpose behind it — relocating her out there permanently — was quite sad for me. She was one of my closest friends and now she’s no longer a short bike ride away.

November seemed to be a month of losses and disappointments. In that one month time span I had been rejected for all of the following:

• adopting another dog
• refinancing my mortgage
• long-term disability insurance
• getting rid of the escrow requirement on my current mortgage

Some of these seem small, but their cumulative effect made me feel quite low.

Once I returned from California, December was all about prepping for the holidays and getting the final gifts made. And now we’re into January and a new year. Phew!

I could — and likely will — write so much more about all the events mentioned above, but I have to stop now. Time is up, and I need to roll out of the house in a few minutes. Happy new year to all! Let’s hope 2012 is more prosperous and kind to us.

Mayhem: My dog, Hannah, got skunked in the pre-dawn last Sunday. This was the same day I was expecting friends and other visitors to my house for the Windy City Coop Tour, so I was pretty distressed. Not as much as Hannah dog, though. She suffered a direct hit to the face and I can’t imagine how painful it must have been to have skunk vitriol sprayed into eyes and mouth. When Hannah finally approached me after the attack, her eyes were red and watering and her mouth was foaming as she tried desperately to get the acrid substance out of her mouth. I never got a close look at the skunk, but from the size of the tail I saw it must have been pretty large.

So I started my Sunday by washing my dog (outside!) and trying to dissipate the odor in the yard. Of course the attack took place right near the chicken coops, so the smell was quite strong in that area. I was so glad that I had prepped extensively the day before. If I hadn’t made the food and put everything in order in advance then I doubt I would have been able to accomplish that in addition to cleaning up the dog. I made Hannah stay outside until late in the afternoon, but she still has some skunk odor about her.

Illness: It’s no wonder that I started feeling achy and tired during the work day on Tuesday. I skipped my knitting group Tuesday night and instead stayed home to rest. There was still leftover soup from Sunday, at least. (It was minestrone not chicken noodle, but hot and satisfying nonetheless). I spent the rest of the week at home, attending critical work meetings and providing guidance to my team via telecommuting. But I also spent a good portion of my day resting and drinking hot tea. Several days later, I’m still not feeling 100%, but I am feeling improved.

Injury: One of my chickens, Honey, got herself stuck under the fence on Thursday afternoon and is quite badly injured. I was convalescing on the couch when I heard a knock on door; a kindly neighbor notified me about Honey, as she had seen her while walking the dog. I had to pry off part of the cedar fence to release Honey, and once I got a look at her injuries I bundled her up and took her to the avian vet. She had a puncture in her neck (from a fence nail, perhaps), but the worst injury was to her left wing. I could see that she had a laceration along the shoulder, but when I picked her up yesterday the vet told me it had been much worse than he had thought at first glance, too. The laceration was extensive and left exposed bone, a dangling nerve, and an exposed artery. If she had wiggled just a bit more, she would have nicked the artery and bled to death.

I’m not going to disclose how much I’ve spent on her treatment because I’m a bit embarrassed. And the total cost is on its way up as I had to take her back to the vet just this morning and leave her for more treatment. She had been in fairly good shape last night but this morning she was very subdued, not eating or drinking, and had started contorting her body in an odd way every five minutes or so. We’ll see what the doctor says when he sees her this afternoon, but she’s there for the weekend now…unless something worse happens to her.

Death: My aunt died on Thursday morning. I’m sure part of the reason I’m throwing money at the problem of my injured chicken is that I just don’t want to deal with another death right now, even the death of a pet I’ve only had for a little over a month. I got to visit with my aunt over the Independence Day holiday when she was still in very good shape. Back then she was walking, talking, and up to taking a long car trip with her twin sister to visit her far-flung nieces and nephews.

I saw her again the last weekend in August (the same week I got Honey and the other chickens, by the way). For that visit I drove to visit her as she was bedridden and tired easily, although still up for short visits throughout the day. My sister and I had lunch with her and then had another short visit in the afternoon after my aunt had a chance to rest for a bit. We knew the end was coming and I knew that was likely the last time I’d see her.

My aunt enjoyed her life and her end most likely came completely painlessly. But when we grieve, it’s not because we regret their sickness and pain. It’s because we regret the loss of their presence in our lives and the possibility of sharing time with them ever again.

• Clean/reconfigure storage in part of the basement
• Send some correspondence
• Clean up the mail pile that’s accumulated for the past month
• Strip the bed and put on clean sheets
• Load the recycling in the car, then drop it off at the recycling center
• Purchase some necessary home paper products
• Weed the front yard
• Trim/weed in the backyard
• Cut the grass
• Clean both chicken coops
• Make a bouquet of stuff trimmed from the backyard
• Put up six pints of dill pickles
• Put up a quart of pickled grapes
• Take the dog for a one hour walk and visit with neighbors
• Make a pot of minestrone soup
• Make a chocolate zucchini cake
• Vacuum all the floors
• Wash the kitchen and bathroom floors
• Clean the bathroom
• Clean the kitchen stove and countertops
• Wash the slipcovers on the couch

Now, if only the person who was supposed to pick up an old couch from my basement had showed up today, I’d be ecstatic with this progress.

I love days like this. Getting so much done in one day means I’ve managed to multi-task and hack my time management to the maximum.

Tomorrow is the Windy City Coop Tour and I’m looking forward to meeting some new people and spending time with friends and neighbors. In my spare time (ha, ha!) I’ve worked a lot on organizing this event and I’m hoping the weather cooperates.

But as busy as my outside-of-work commitments make me, I really love them. One “hobby” that I’ve really missed over the past several months is keeping chickens. Last fall I decided to take a break from having a home flock. It was nice having time to reassess my coop and run set up, and to make some much-needed changes to it. It was also a good winter to take a break from tending a flock; I don’t know how I would have been able to tend to the hens in their Eglu coops when the blizzard rolled through this year. But I missed the amusing antics of chickens in the yard, not to mention the high quality eggs.

Here I’ll confess something that may shock the more frugal folks who occasionally read this blog: when I buy eggs, I typically pay nearly $7 a dozen. Really. Sometimes I’m lucky enough to get some eggs for less than that at the farmers market, but I haven’t been making it to the markets very often this year due to my other commitments (work, volunteering, etc.). So when I have to buy eggs at a store, I buy them at Whole Foods where I can get a brand called Vital Farms. These are the closest thing to backyard eggs I’ve found at a major grocery store and I will gladly pay the extra money for many reasons.

I first became interested in keeping hens because of their usefulness to my first big hobby: gardening. They eat weeds and bugs, and they produce excellent fertilizer for the garden in return. Oh, and they give you tasty eggs. Win/win/win! But to me there are also ethical reasons for not buying standard store eggs. The hens that lay those cheap eggs are treated horribly, and the eggs themselves are bland and tasteless. Once I got my first hens, I also found out how fun they are. They have distinct personalities and are amusing and calming to watch.

So that’s what I was doing tonight after I stopped working, and just before the sun set: relaxing by watching my new flock of little hens. I opened up their coop door to let them roam the big yard and watched them busily scratch, peck, stretch their wings, and explore, all while making soothing peeps and clucks.

Below are the oldest of the little hens.

Honey, the mystery pullet

Honey is about five weeks old and is my favorite. She was an “impulse buy” because I hadn’t planned on getting six chickens, but she was cute and lonely sitting by herself at the store. She was obviously hand raised as a pet because she likes to sit on my arm and be held. Technically I didn’t buy her, and the store owner gave her to me since she knew I’d provide Honey a good home. But she still was a big impulse acquisition and so far I’m glad I gave in.

Emma and Jane, Speckled Sussex pullets

Emma is in the foreground and Jane is in the background. Both are a breed originally from England called Speckled Sussex, so they’re named after Jane Austen characters. They’re about eight weeks old now. Emma is the bossiest and I think she has established herself as top of the pecking order for now. She isn’t really red; that’s just the way the light was striking her feathers at the time.

Jane, a Speckled Sussex pullet

Here’s another photo of Jane. It’s very hard to take photos of chickens since they are almost constantly moving. This was a rare time when she was standing still for a few seconds.

In addition to these lovely young hens, I have three more chicks that are about one week old living in a brooder set up in my basement. No photos of them yet, but I’m sure to get some soon.

For now the pullets are outside in my one remaining Eglu coop, which is plenty large enough for such small chickens. By winter I’ll have everyone snug in the new coop, which is nearly ready for them. All that remains to do is installing the raccoon-proof locks (slide bolts with padlocks! Yes, those ‘coons are smart little beasts!)

My new chicken coop

I left just after 6 AM. The morning was still cool. If I had walked to the train, I likely would have worn a cardigan, but since I was riding and would get warm from exertion I just wore a t-shirt with a pair of cropped pants. Safety is important to me, so I wear a helmet and a bright yellow vest just like the construction workers wear.

The first two miles are easy and familiar. I rode this way just last week to visit a friend at her apartment. Traffic is light, but I remain alert to cars parked next to the bike lane; I wouldn’t want to get doored. There are other cyclists that pass me, but at this point of the ride there are only a few about. The ones I see are decked out in true cycling gear, riding bikes with thin tires and pedals made for those special shoes. They are all men.

I stop at the complicated intersection of Elston, Damen, and Fullerton. I realize I am at the halfway point of my ride and I’m glad because I am tired. This is the first time I’ve cycled to work in about a year and I’m not conditioned to it. I have also had no breakfast and no coffee.

The road is rough for the next mile and I try to steer around the ruts and holes without moving too far out of my lane. When I stop at lights, I drink deeply from my water bottle.

There are cyclists who don’t want to stop at signs and lights. As they approach stop signs they don’t even pause; at red lights they jostle and slip through the intersection if there is the slightest pause in traffic. I stop at every light and wait for it to turn green. I slow and pause at stop signs, not taking the right of way as the other cyclists do. But then again I need these rests to drink and to slow my breathing. It occurs to me that these other cyclists are likely 15 years younger than me.

As I merge onto Milwaukee Avenue I encounter many more cyclists. They are all young and coming from the Chicago’s equivalent to Brooklyn: the Wicker Park, Bucktown, and Logan Square neighborhoods. They’re dressed in the uniform of the young and hip: jeans, graphic t-shirts, and messenger bags. They are riding street bikes that either are vintage 1980s or have been made to look like them. Many of them are not wearing helmets.

Riding Milwaukee up and over the Kennedy Expressway I gear down lower and lower. I am struggling, but I make it. At the Des Plaines Avenue bridge I get off my bike and walk for a block. I am too fatigued to attempt the steep ascent and the lane change just after the crest so I can turn left onto Fulton. But I’m back on my bike again after a few minutes and ready to finish the journey.

The last mile must be taken leisurely as I negotiate around buses and pedestrian traffic. Pedestrians are a challenge for cyclists. They apparently see us as less of threat than cars and are more likely to step out in front of us; they have more faith in my ability to brake quickly than I do.

At my office building at last I park in the bike room, unhitch my trunk bag and panniers and head up to the gym to shower. I am red-faced and sweaty, but I have a schedule to keep. I’m in my office less than 30 minutes later with some breakfast and coffee.

I work through the day.

When it is time to leave I change back into my riding clothes in the rest room. There is no rush now because I have plenty of time to get where I am going next. I begin to back track my route: Adams, Canal, Lake, Des Plaines. I make it up and over the Des Plaines bridge this time and time the light perfectly. I get a delicious whiff of chocolate from the Blommer Chocolate Factory.

As I get to the intersection of Milwaukee and Grand I’m surrounded by a pack of fellow cyclists. We all pause for an ambulance, although one fellow has to stop short quickly since he wasn’t paying close attention to the sirens and lights.

At Elston I turn off and leave behind most of the cycle pack. This stretch before Division is calm and has light traffic. I recall seeing a guy a few years ago slowly cycling along here as he conducted a conference call on his blue tooth headset.

I get caught at the light at Division and am again surrounded by men in sporty cycling gear. They don’t want to put their feet down so they jostle and balance. But the light is long and they eventually concede to gravity. Once the light changes they jack rabbit ahead and I have the road to myself again.

This time when I reach Damen I turn. I’m not going straight home, and this is a good route to my destination. I head north up and over the river, gearing down and moving slowly. This is the last big bridge I must cross and I’m grateful. North of Diversey, it’s a delight to cycle Damen on a warm afternoon. The street is lined with trees and three-story housing which blocks the sun and casts cooling shadows. I dawdle along for several blocks, crossing Belmont and Addison with ease.

Up ahead is a very dangerous intersection, though. Cyclists have been killed here and accidents occur frequently. Where Damen, Lincoln and Irving Park come together there is a CDOT safety brigade out in force. They are dressed in fluorescent yellow t-shirts and clutch pamphlets in their hands. I get off my bike and walk it through the confusing confluence. One of the CDOT people asks me “Did they warn you to be safe?” I guess he is referring to the other CDOT folk stationed where I started crossing. “I know this is a dangerous intersection,” I say, “I’d rather walk my bike here.”

I’m now on Lincoln and continue to pedal north and west. Then I reach my destination where I spend a couple of hours happily visiting and knitting. I eat a sandwich from my pack and drink lots of water. When I emerge later it is full dark. I mount my removable lights on the front and back of the bike: a clear headlight beam for the front, and a blinky red light for the back. I get on my bike and resume my ride.

Rather than get caught up in the busyness on Western Avenue, I use Wilson to cross it. I pedal past Waters Elementary and its bountiful gardens to Rockwell, where I turn north again, cross the el tracks, and pick up the bike lane on Lawrence just east of the river. One more bridge to cross, but it is not very demanding here where river traffic is limited to canoes and kayaks.

At Kedzie I encounter a bus. Buses are good, bikes are good, but making both of them share a lane is not good. I avoid playing leap-frog with the bus as long as possible, but at Kimball it is still loading passengers when the light turns green. I wait a minute, then decide that I need to pass the bus. I pull abreast of it just as it begins to rumble through the intersection. Now I’m forced to race and my leg muscles are burning. It finally falls back at a stop, but not for long.

I continue pushing myself hard. I must not get stuck behind this very full bus or I will forced to either stop every time it does or make a quick foray into the car lane at each stop. At Pulaski it seems like I’m ahead, and so it remains until I finally turn off Lawrence back onto Elston. My hamstrings, quads, and glutes are nearly quivering from the strain.

I’m on the home stretch now, and there is no chance I’ll encounter a bus on Elston. Traffic is light and I easily maneuver through the small spot of construction and the last light before I turn onto my street and pull up to the garage through the alley.

My dog greets me as I enter the house. I think she likes licking the sweat off my face, but I feel filthy and hot. I take a cool shower, pour myself a glass of whiskey, and pull out my laptop to write. I’ve cycled about 20 miles in total and it’s been a good day.

Pickles are yummy, and many kinds of vegetables can be pickled so there are infinite variations one can make. Brining and lacto-fermentation are also great ways to preserve foods and even enhance their effect on your health. Even the mainstream media and advertising is touting probiotics. But you don’t need to buy your probiotics from a multi-national company. You can get the benefits of lacto-fermentation from foods other than yogurt, such as sauerkraut, kimchi, and lacto-fermented cucumber pickles.

I’m a huge fan of pickled foods and one of the things I love about shopping in the international markets is that I can get fresh pickles for my munching, not mass-produced shelf stable ones. But why not go one step further and make my own? Since I had a huge crop of volunteer dill in my garden this year, I decided to give it a try.

I remember my grandmother’s garden was also full of dill and that she made pickles. While I can’t pinpoint my exact age at the time (five years old? six years old?), one of my vivid memories of grandma’s house was the big crock of pickles sitting in her utility room years. We weren’t allowed to mess with the pickles and had to maneuver around them as we walked from the kitchen into the back yard.

For my own foray into pickled cucumbers I had to first get some equipment: a pickling crock. It’s not required that the crock be ceramic, although it’s certainly preferred, and a good fermentation/pickling crock can cost a lot. While I would love to use a vintage crock for my pickling, I just don’t have one on hand (I wish I knew what happened to grandma’s crock). So I started by searching the thrift stores for something suitable to use as a pickling crock. Ceramic crocks are something to be cautious about; some of the crocks that can be found in thrift stores may not actually be food safe, and the same is true of many plastic containers (such as buckets), too.

At my second thrift store stop I lucked out and picked up a set of two Tupperware-brand containers that looked very much like crocks. One of them was missing a lid, but a sealing lid isn’t necessary for pickling. (And if you ever are lucky enough to find decent Tupperware at a yard sale or thrift store, remember that the Tupperware lifetime warranty will allow you to order replacement lids if they are missing or damaged; you just have to pay a small shipping fee. Woot!) So for a whopping $1.80 I brought my pickling crocks home and ran them through the dishwasher to get them squeaky clean.

My favorite international market was running a special on pickling cucumbers, too. While I would love to pickle cukes from my own garden, the plants weren’t yet producing, and at 49¢ a pound I thought it would not be a great disaster if my pickles didn’t turn out and I ended up dumping them in the compost. I found a great blog with recipes and information on lacto-fermenting cucumbers, followed the advice, and voilá: pickles.

Lacto-fermented pickles

In this bright blue three-gallon container, I have four pounds of pickling cucumbers, a few heads of dill, a handful of dried hot peppers, about four cloves of garlic, and some leaves from a sour cherry tree. This latter ingredient may seem odd, but it was recommended that some grape leaves be added to keep the pickles from getting soft. With further research on the awesome Wild Fermentation site I found that cherry tree leaves could serve the same purpose, and I had easy access to leaves on my next-door neighbor’s tree.

The brine is basically just pickling salt, water, and a bit of white vinegar. I put a small plate on top of the pickles and force them to stay submerged with a weight, which consists of a bag full of brine. (Just in case the bag leaks, this ensures the brine doesn’t become watered down.) The pickles are supposed to sit for four weeks before they’re ready to eat, and it’s only been two so far. I am quite impatient to give these pickles a try, but I’m holding back!

To satisfy my immediate desires for pickled foods I’ve been consuming kimchi purchased from the market. I actually would like to try my hand at making my own kimchi and sauerkraut*, but for now I want to wait and see how my pickled cukes turn out before attempting anything else.

Pickled cucumbers are what most Americans think of when we refer to pickles, but there are many other types of pickled foods. How about pickled beets? One of my favorite ways to eat beets is pickled, and when I bought some golden beets at the farmers market the other day I decided to make them into refrigerator pickles. I consulted a few recipes and then realized that I could easily make up my own variation, so I did and placed the single jar in the fridge to sit for a few days.

My friend Adrienne stopped by on Saturday on a spur of the moment visit, and she made up some delicious salads for our lunch using the refrigerator pickled beets, walnuts, and some chevré. We finished up the entire jar, but I wasn’t worried; I had more beets on hand that were ready to be transformed.

Golden beets pickled in the refrigerator

I neglected to weigh the beets before pickling, but I here’s how I prepared them.

• If using red beets, be sure to wear rubber gloves as you handle them to prevent staining your hands.
• Twist off the beet greens and scrub the beets well.
• Cook the beets until they are the consistency you prefer. (I don’t like mine really soft, but you may). Use whichever cooking method best meets your needs. Beets can be roasted in a hot oven, cooked in water on a stovetop or microwaved in some water in a covered container. (Since it is hot and I’m trying to keep the kitchen fairly cool I cooked the beets in a covered glass casserole in the microwave with about an inch of water.)
• While the beets are cooking, prepare your pickling liquid. Combine equal amounts of water and white vinegar in a small saucepan. Add sugar to taste. Add cinnamon sticks, cloves, and allspice and bring to a boil. (The original recipe called for an equal amount of sugar, vinegar, and water. I reduced the amount of sugar since I love vinegar and beets are usually pretty sweet anyway. The original recipe called for a 16-oz can of beets with 1/2 cup vinegar, 1/2 cup water, and 1/2 cup sugar, plus 2 cloves and a cinnamon stick. My proportions for two large bunches of beets with onion were 1 cup water, 1 cup vinegar, 2/3 cup sugar, three cinnamon sticks, 8 cloves, and 8 allspice berries.)
• Cool the cooked beets in a cold water bath so they can be handled more easily.
• Slip or peel the beet skins off (using gloves!), trim the ends, and thinly slice the beets.
• Using clean, non-reactive containers such as a glass jars or a large plastic container, alternate layers of sliced onion (if using) and sliced beet, leaving about an inch of room at the top for the pickling liquid.
• Pour the pickling liquid over the vegetables. Push the vegetables under the liquid if necessary; they should be covered by the liquid. Make sure the cloves and cinnamon sticks are included as they will continue to add flavor. (For my most recent batch, I had to use two large glass jars, and I still had a few beet slices and onion slices left out. I’ll add them in a few days when I take some beets out to eat.)
• Cover/cap the containers and add them to the refrigerator. Wait at least 24 hours before sampling. The pickles should be good in the refrigerator for one to two weeks.

It took me less than an hour to whip up those two large jars of pickled beets, and I’m hoping they’ll last me about two weeks. We’ll see.

How do you feel about pickled foods? Do you like them or hate them? Have you ever tried to make brined, pickled, or lacto-fermented foods?

*Note: if you love sauerkraut but don’t like the um…distress…it can cause your gut, then try rinsing it well before you reheat it. Such a simple step, but one I only recently learned makes a huge difference!

“Weed” is actually a relative term. Hard core organic gardeners will tell you that a weed is simply a plant growing where you don’t want it to grow. Even grass can be considered a weed if it invades your flower beds. Many of the plants that are typically considered weeds are edible, and an adventurous person can make some decent meals with these plants that are free for the taking.

Dandelion greens from Next Barn Over Farm

Dandelion greens

Most people have heard that dandelion greens are edible, but have you tried them? They are rather bitter, but can be made more mild by blanching. Saute in olive oil with garlic, a few anchovy fillets, and a pinch of crushed red pepper. Toss with pasta for a filling meal, or enjoy them without the pasta as a side dish.

I haven’t actually eaten the dandelion greens from my yard yet, but I’m working up to that. I typically get a deep craving for bitter greens in the spring but not so much at this time of year.

Lambs quarters

Mature lambs quarters veggiegardeningtips.com

In the U.S. this is a little known edible plant. Just last weekend, though, I was watching Rick Bayless’ Mexico — One Plate at a Time and in one segment he was raving about a quesadilla he was eating in Mexico City that was filled with sautéed lambs quarters. Lambs quarters is supposed to taste like spinach. I haven’t tried it yet, as I’m not fortunate enough to have any growing in my yard. I saw some today while I was out walking the dog, but I didn’t want to pick a plant growing in a stranger’s yard without knowing whether they use pesticides.

Purslane

Common purslane from Wikipedia

I’ve tasted purslane several times over the years and have never found it very compelling. Recently I decided to give it another try since I have a lot popping up in my yard and the nutritional profile is so compelling. I searched for recipes and found surprisingly few, although one web page raved about how fabulous purslane pairs with cucumbers. So, I made a cucumber salad dressed with homemade vinaigrette and added purslane leaves from plants pulled out of my garden beds. The salad tasted…OK. I can’t say the purslane added anything flavor-wise, but I ate all of the salad over the course of a couple of meals with some cold roasted chicken. I think I may try adding it to scrambled eggs for breakfast one day.

Wood sorrel

Wood sorrel from www.illinoiswildflowers.info

I only learned about this plant within the last month, but it is my favorite backyard “weed.” During the annual volunteer day at my work, I spent several enjoyable hours at City Farm. While I was weeding a herb bed, the program manager pointed out this plant to me and requested that I not pull it. I asked him what it was; I had seen it in my own garden and always pulled and composted it. He told me the name and noted that the area restaurants paid quite a bit for this little plant. He had me try a few leaves and I was hooked. The taste is tangy and I find it a delicious addition to green salad.

Here’s a link to a fancy-looking salad recipe that features wood sorrel. I just bought some organic apricots at the farmers market yesterday, so maybe I’ll give this a try. Ever since I’ve learned how yummy wood sorrel is, I’ve been careful to leave it in place when I’m weeding my garden, just as I learned at City Farm.

Have you tried any edible weeds yourself? Would you be likely to give any of these plants a go?

A few final notes:

• Be safe and don’t pick weeds from areas you think may be contaminated with toxins or pesticides. I feel safe eating the plants I’ve noted because they come from my own yard.
• Spend a bit of time looking at photos of an unfamiliar plant from various angles and across the course of its growing cycle so you can be confident that the plant you’re picking is what you think it is. Better yet, carry a field guide or check the plant against those same sources after you bring it home if you have any doubts.
• My chickens would go crazy for all of these greens. If you have a pet rabbit, guinea pig, or bird, perhaps they’d like these as a low-cost treat, too.

With all of my hobbies, it seems I get into these phases where I want to spend more time on just that one thing and barely spend time on anything else. I’ve gone through such phases with knitting, gardening, reading, writing, and even exercising. (Oh boy, I could sure use a bit of extra energy around that last one right about now, too!) I’m a firm believer that food is important in one’s overall health and have been dealing with some health issues in the past few months, therefore much of my food experimentation has involved making dietary changes that will hopefully lead to better health outcomes.

Since I was diagnosed with plantar fasciitis several months ago, I’ve been trying all sorts of things to fully recover. Not doing much exercise has led to me putting back on some weight that I really, really don’t want, so it’s important that I get my foot (thankfully, only one foot is still achy) completely better. So, in the interest of helping myself loose weight and decrease inflammation, I’ve started a no-grain diet.

That’s right, I’m trying very hard to make sure that no grains at all pass my lips: no wheat, no rice, no oats, no rye, and no corn. Having a pantry well-stocked with various noodles/pasta, flours, and crackers has made it a bit tough at times, but I’m doing fairly well. I’m also trying not to eat potatoes in an effort to keep my glycemic load at optimal levels.

In general, this means that I consume lots of vegetables, fruits, and animal protein. (I can’t even imagine trying to eat this way as a vegan, although a vegetarian who is OK with consuming dairy and eggs would be able to follow this approach). For cooking inspiration, I’ve been consulting various books and websites that have recipes geared towards paleo dieting and low glycemic index eating (such as South Beach dieting sites), but I haven’t been sticking entirely within the parameters of those diets. I’m trying to come up with something that works for me and my body, and what works for others may not work for me. To make things just a bit more interesting, I’m also trying really hard to stay away from cow dairy, to which I’ve scored pretty high on food sensitivity tests.

Unlike traditional weight loss diets, I’m not counting calories or points nor am I consuming low or non-fat products. Some of the yummy meals I’ve eaten over the last week are:

• Veggie “hash” of sauteed yellow peppers, onions, and black beans mixed with salsa and topped with a medium-cooked egg.
• Grilled skirt steak with grilled zucchini and green onions.
• Baked lamb shoulder chop with ginger-garlic roasted broccoli.
• Chicken salad with dried cranberries, walnuts, mayo, and chopped apple over romaine lettuce.
• Chicken “Marsala” (no marsala wine on hand, so I substituted sweet vermouth; also no flour or breading on the chicken) served over finely chopped, steamed cauliflower.

My snacks have been veggies with hummus or fruit mixed with dairy:

• Watermelon with mint and sheep’s milk feta cheese;
• Goat’s milk brie wedges with apple slices;
• Goat’s milk yogurt with diced apricot or banana.

(Note: I am absolutely *in love* with a type of small banana called apple bananas. The only place I ever see them is an international market a short drive from home. These are not just “baby bananas” that can be found at the big chain grocery stores; they have a unique taste and texture that I find superior. The peel on the apple bananas has to be more brown than a standard banana in order for it to taste best, though, so if you are lucky enough to find them keep that in mind.)

I’ve been really enjoying my meals and the cooking challenges posed by the elimination of staples like pasta, rice, and bread. I’ve even been inspired to try some pickling, but I’ll save that experience for its own post.

Now to get an exercise regime started up again!

The past two days have been rough for me, and I’m only starting to figure it out now. My aunt is dying. This is upsetting to me on multiple levels.

See? It should be so simple to figure out. Why has it taken me the better part of a week to get to this realization, though? And even now that I’m understanding my reaction better, what can I do about it?

I first found out about my aunt’s condition in February. She had noticed some odd neurological problems a few months earlier and so the brain tumor was discovered. The neurologist recommended chemotherapy and radiation, and she completed the treatments in early June. Last week she returned to the hospital with new symptoms and they checked the tumor again. It had gotten larger. She was offered hospice and told she had two to six months to live. Those are the facts.

My aunt is in her mid-sixties and has lived a blameless and clean life. She’s a nun in the Dominican order, and entered the convent after high school. She has devoted her life to her god and for many years she worked in the convent’s mother house running the kitchens. My family used to visit her there and I found the spacious buildings, park-like property, and dozens of doting women a wonderful treat. One summer I spent several weeks staying at the mother house with her, and my parents were thrilled that I returned with a photo of me wearing the head-piece of her habit. I guess they thought I may join the convent, too.

I have an issue with dogma and am not religious, but when I was traveling through Spain in March I visited several churches and cathedrals. In each one, I stopped to reflect on my aunt and her condition. I can say that I even prayed for her a few times, although my prayers were more exhortations than humble requests. In Cordoba I recall kneeling in the Mezquita cathedral, staring at the altar and thinking, “She’s devoted her life to serving you because she believes in you so much. The least you can do is not treat her like shit.”

Next Monday, Independence Day, I’ll get to see her. Most likely it will be the last time. That’s what she’s planning, anyway: a final visit with all the nieces and nephews and grand-nieces/nephews, and grand-grand nieces/nephews before she dies. (Catholic families are typically large; I have nine cousins who each started families young. I’ve lost track of how many second and third cousins I have, quite frankly.) She’ll travel through Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, and Tennessee to visit the clan. My other aunt — her twin sister, and also a nun — will be driving and watching over her.

I haven’t even lost her yet, but I’m grieving. I’ve been feeling exhausted and reactive the last two days and had no idea why until today.

It’s not just that I’ll be losing an aunt that is stirring me up. I also can’t help but project myself into her situation. I think about how cheated I would feel to have wasted so many years. Life is finite; why am I not spending my days doing something I really love and am passionate about?

During my long drive last weekend I had some time to talk with Ellen about how drained and unmotivated I’ve been feeling. My garden is pathetic this year, and I haven’t been doing as much cooking as I’d like. I’m not writing very much, either. When I get home from work at night, I just want to collapse on the couch or into bed. This is because I’m not getting any energy back from my work. I’m not enjoying myself, or feeling a sense of accomplishment. It just seems to suck the life out of me every day, and I spend the evenings and weekends trying to restore myself to some balance.

I’ve decided to seek out a career counselor and start figuring out what to do with myself for the next few years. Hopefully when I reach the point that I need to say good-bye to my friends and family I’ll feel good about what I’ve been doing with my limited time.

I know that may seem like a strong word to use for a person, but what else can I call someone who has converted her entire city lot to an edible landscape, processed half a hog in her kitchen, makes her own beer and soda syrups, and has an outdoor, wood-fired pizza oven? We first met online, crossing paths because we both wrote blogs about gardening and keeping chickens in our city backyards. When we figured out that we lived only about a mile or two away from each other and that we both liked to knit, too, it seemed that it was inevitable that we become friends. So when Ellen suggested we take a day trip out to southwest Michigan to pick elderberry flowers I thought: why not?

We got an early start yesterday morning, leaving her house at 7:30 AM for what should have been a less than three hour drive. Unfortunately getting through the traffic mess created by an early morning accident that had shut down the busiest section of expressway in the city delayed us nearly an hour. We finally made it to the fruit orchard in South Haven, Michigan run by Ellen’s friend, Pete, by late morning. A short walk around the property brought us to a small stand of elderberry shrubs in flower.

But we could only look at these plants as examples since they were planted by Pete so he could sell their fruit at market. We were supposed to connect up with another person — a neighbor of Pete’s called Fritz — who could guide us to a place where we could forage for elderberry flowers. Finding Fritz took another 30 minutes or so, and he kindly invited us in his house as he called another neighbor who had lots of elderberry shrubs on his property. Unfortunately, the neighbor didn’t want us coming over to pick flowers, so we had to move on to Plan B: picking flowers from the shrubs growing in the ditches alongside the county roads.

Fritz got us started off by showing us a road where a few elderberry shrubs were in bloom and informing us that anything within 30 feet of the road was county property. For the next two hours, we drove up and down county roads (some paved, some not) looking for elderberry shrubs, tramping through tall grass and weeds on sloping ground, and filling paper grocery bags with flower umbels. In total we collected one full shopping bag of umbrels and only had one minor slip and fall incident where Ellen tumbled to within a few inches of a ditch full of stagnant water.

Ellen gathering elderberry flower umbels to make into wine or cordial.

During the course of the day, I learned quite a bit about what Ellen kept referring to as “nature’s pharmacy.” Elderberry flowers and and fruit seem to be quite valuable to many cultures. Here they’re treated like a weed and a pest. Fritz told us that there used to be many more elderberry shrubs in the area, but last year the county chopped many down as they cleaned out the ditches.

After spending a couple hours driving around and looking for them, Ellen and I became pros at spotting elderberry shrubs. All the way home we had our eyes trained on the greenery surrounding the expressways. Every once in a while one of us would exclaim, “There! Look!” or “Oh! That’s a HUGE patch!”

It seems elderberry does quite well alongside the highways. It grows best in full sun so is only found on the edges of forests. It likes moist soil and can be found in marshy conditions. We even spotted a few large patches of it alongside the Kennedy Expressway as we drove north through the city. Now that we know the conditions in which elderberry thrives, we’re plotting how to stealthily cultivate it in the parks and forest preserves of Chicago.

Over the next week or two, there will be more elderberry flowers available for the taking. Then we’ll have to patiently wait until the fall to harvest berries.

I’m sure Ellen will make a delicious cordial or wine with the flowers, but I’m waiting for the berries. Some elderberry syrup seems like just the thing to have on hand during winter cold and flu season. Until then, I’ll keep scouting the neighborhood for the shrubs, biding my time.

Have you ever foraged for anything?