Cottage Blessings

Sugar Spring

The first step to solving a problem is admitting that you have one. That said, I have no intention of labeling my Tasha Tudor obsession a "problem." It is merely a "charming quirk."

When Agnes was just over a year old, I stumbled upon The Tasha Tudor Book of Holidays in a little bookstore in Astoria. My father stopped by for a visit that afternoon and suggested with amusement that the book seemed a bit advanced for a one year old. Agnes and I knew otherwise and proceeded to read it hundreds of times. Something deep within me must have snapped during all those readalouds, because in the years that followed, I never once missed an opportunity to imitate any of the quaint and lovely activities outlined in the book--at least as well as could be expected living on Long Island in the 21st century.

Valentines sent by Sparrow Post? Check. Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding on New Year's Day? Check. Doll's General Store and Fair? Check. An enchanting creche in the woods? Check. A birthday cake floating down the river? Well, not yet anyway.

We always loved the images from the March section of the book, with the family setting out with their neighbors to gather sap for syrup.

In Tasha's world, the idyllic day of sap boiling ends with a "sugaring off party," with "dinner at the sugarhouse" and "sugar on snow for a treat."

Now the side of me with a grip on reality recognizes that this would be a rather cold and muddy affair, yet the romantic, utterly dominant, side longs for those tables heaped with steaming platters, the pies, the cakes, the crowds of children, and whatever story is being told by the old man just left of the fold. ("Gather round, childer, and let me tell ye 'bouts me rheumatiz. It all started with this here sap.")

This past weekend marks the third year in a row that we have set aside a Sunday in late March for a "sugaring off party." It is only the family in attendance, but with eleven of us, we have a pretty good-sized gathering. The college girls do their best to come home, and this year they both managed. I was touched to see how much they were all looking forward to this dinner, almost as if it was Thanksgiving or some other important holiday. [Although it is still Lent, we observe Sunday as a feast, and this year our party fell on Laetare Sunday, a day of rejoicing.]

The menu is maple themed with other items that seem like the kinds of things one might expect at a party in a farmhouse, or perhaps a sugarhouse:

Chicken and dumplings

Maple-glazed ham

Mashed potatoes

Roasted Brussels sprouts

Roasted sweet potatoes

Roasted asparagus

Maple glazed carrots

Roasted cauliflower

Brioche buns

Maple butter

Sugarhouse sundaes

If you ever wish to experience a sense of well being like none other, put a ham in the oven, and let it roast while you whip up a batch of chicken and dumplings. The crackling sound of the chicken browning on the stove, the mapley scent of the ham, the powdery goodness of the rising dumplings--it makes you glad to be at home and grateful to be an American. We have reached the happy phase in life when more than half the children know their way around the kitchen. It is a joy to be the mother in a room bustling with life, with competent people chopping and peeling and spilling and cleaning and joking and teasing and laughing and laughing and laughing.

I am sorry to say that in all the bustle, I did not manage to take a single picture this year. The photos below are from 2015 and 2016, but 2017 was very similar. That is the beauty of tradition, and this relatively new one looks like it is here to stay.

2016--silver sap bucket favors filled with candy.

2016--another view.

2015--Eileen seems pleased with the Sugarhouse Sundaes.

*How to make a "Sugarhouse Sundae."

As you may be able to tell, the Sugarhouse Sundae was our own invention, created because, with all that cooking and preparation, pie baking or any sort of complicated dessert seemed out of the question. The Sugarhouse Sundae changes a bit every year, but the essential elements are good vanilla ice cream, some other ice cream flavor such as butter pecan or caramel, a drizzle of maple syrup, and a leaf shaped cookie. (We use oak leaves every year, but they seem fitting enough.) Other additions we have added here and there include caramel syrup, nuts, cinnamon, whipped cream, and, in the case of the Sundae pictured above, dark chocolate studded with maple sugar.

 

Well dressed

I sent around an email to my older daughters reminding them that they ought to make sure they have outfits packed for their brother's First Holy Communion in Ireland next month. I even included a link with a suggestion or two in case they needed to order something.

Margaret wrote back:

"That dress is pretty nice. I found this one that I really liked, but it is a bit expensive. Please click here."

Gray

We went for our usual spring walk this morning and found that everything had turned to gray--the sky, the water, the air, even the pale woods and wintry grass. It wasn't quite raining, yet the mist left a gray feeling on the face, cold and wet and almost freezing. The forsythia made its first appearance, and we returned home to find our first robin hopping on the lawn. He was unfazed by the gray and enjoyed his wet grass with its bounty of worms for the taking.

Somehow, as we were out walking, I realized most definitely that this is my kind of weather--bracing, stirring, soft on the eye. This day was the wild and windswept sister of a fair, bright, spring day--no less beautiful, only misunderstood.

Swan

Making an appearance today: Skunk cabbage, daffodils, crocuses, ducks, geese, swans, clams, comb jellies.

London Fog

About a year ago, a very holy priest suggested fasting from something specific when you are praying for a special intention. Now, at that time, I knew that what I really ought to fast from is coffee. It is the one thing that I have an actual fear of giving up. I am such a coffee-first-thing-in-the-morning person that the idea avoiding coffee makes me feel sorry, not only for myself, but for my husband and children. My theory is that my children deserve a mother who is fully lucid and conscious. And since fully lucid is never going to happen, coffee is at least there to provide consciousness.

Last week, something came up--an urgent, extremely important prayer intention for someone I deeply love. Right in the middle of the day, I knew there was no other choice--I was going to give up coffee, no matter how long it would take, until the intention was granted. My husband was surprised when I didn't have coffee with him that night (yes, we drink coffee in the evening). He was completely stunned when I turned it down in the morning.

I turned to tea with real trepidation, wondering if there would be headaches or exhaustion throughout the day. Then, only a day or two into my resolution, I discovered something that might just be enough to turn me away from coffee forever--The London Fog.

I was at a local Italian grocer picking up coffee for my eldest daughter--feeling sorry for myself not to be getting one--when I read the chalkboard saying, "London Fog--Earl Grey Tea, honey, shot of vanilla, frothy milk, cinnamon." Now this is hardly an appropriate Lenten beverage, but, feeling as if I had already given up my very heart and soul without coffee, I thought a dash of honey and some frothy milk would not be out of order.

My goodness, that is a good drink.

Within a day or two, I knew I needed to be able to make these at home and ordered an electric milk frother. When it arrived, Marie said, "Mom, Queen of the Impulse Buy." Now I ask you, is it really an impulse buy if I google the item specifically? That is a purposeful buy, isn't it?

The first thing I did when the frother arrived was make a test London Fog while all the kids gathered round begging to try it. (No, children, this is for your mother, who has so heroically given up coffee.) The second thing I did was make another for Agnes who sighed and said, "You couldn't find better fog on the moors in The Hound of the Baskervilles." Now, this is a girl who knows what she is talking about.

Marie, ever the wise guy, wanted to know if my father would approve of me having a signature drink with "London" in the title, given that he would not allow me to wear "Britannia" jeans when I was 13. Henceforth, the homemade version of this drink will be known as "Dublin Fog."

Within a week, that urgent prayer request was granted. Our Lord is kind and merciful, even to people who are so soft that they replace coffee with sweetened, frothy drinks and pretend it is a sacrifice.

Deo gratias!

 

* How to make a London Fog:

Pour boiling water over an Earl Grey teabag, only filling the cup a quarter or a third of the way to make a tea concentrate. After it has had a chance to steep, discard the teabag, and stir in a bit of honey (to taste) and a dash of vanilla extract. Meanwhile, prepare milk by heating and frothing. Fill cup the rest of the way with hot, foamy milk. Stir gently, and sprinkle a bit of cinnamon on top.

Melting

Everyone who visits here comments on how odd it is that we still have snow. It seems to have melted everywhere but our neighborhood. Two days ago, the children were out walking in a sea of soft snow, writing their names in it, following deer tracks, and tramping through grassy puddles. Yesterday the milky slush hardened into ice again and seemed to be making itself comfortable. We do not know what today will bring, but the sun is blazing in the east, and I am seeing dots in my eyes after looking at it. Perhaps green will make some headway.

Mass and a milestone

Our older son served at a traditional Latin Mass for the Feast of St. Joseph yesterday evening. The little ones had had a long day and were fast asleep on the bench within half an hour.

Our eight-year-old needed to be woken up at the end of Mass (no easy feat) for his first confession. Even though he is smiling, you can see how nervous he is in this photo with Mom and Dad.

Here he is entering the confessional for the first time.

And here he is afterward with Father!

So proud of our little boy!

(Photos by Ed Casey.)

The wearin' o' the green

Ten-year-old Eileen came down first thing in the morning with her dolls all ready for St. Patrick's Day. When I was growing up (and long after I became an adult), my mother always taught that you were never to leave the house on St. Patrick's Day without wearing green.

The highlight of our day was a Traditional Latin Mass at St. Agnes Cathedral (the center of our diocese). Patrick (far left) served, along with many of our friends. I managed to get a photo of some of the kids outside the Cathedral after Mass. I think my mother would have approved of the Green on the Gunthers. 

A very dear friend surprised me with a basket of green, white and gold flowers after Mass. They look lovely at the feet of Our Lady of Knock.

Another gave me a book of Irish Fairy Tales by my father's favorite poet, William Butler Yeats.

We came home to a dinner of Shepherd's Pie, Irish Soda Bread and Shamrock Shakes. It'll be Corned Beef and Cabbage tomorrow at Pop's!

The new era

Remember I told the children that this would be a new era in our lives? That they would now have a mother who wakes them up at 5 am and says, "Let's go skiing!" Well yesterday, they found me to be true to my word. 

The tundra has its charms

Sometime in the afternoon, twelve-year-old Maureen started to put on her ice skates. When I asked her what she was doing, she said that the snow surrounding the house was so solid, she was going to try skating on it. I laughed and told her her sharp skate blades would surely sink through the first crunchy layer of snow. She just smiled and insisted on trying it anyway.

Moments later, our youngest was looking out the back window and shouted, "She's skating!"  Sure enough, Maureen was coasting along on the white sheet of snow, her blades not sinking in a bit. The previous day's heavy snow followed by smoothing sleet had created an enormous skating rink around the whole house.

Here is her first attempt:

Eileen had her skates on within minutes to join in:

Success:

Here is a video:

Everyone else wanted in on the act:

Way too much fun:

One more:

Every time I think I have seen it all, one of my children comes up with a new way to have fun! Stay away, Spring, we aren't ready for you yet!