|
|
by Brian PJ Cronin, photograph by Kristen Cronin
The big box bookstore near us was going out of business. We had a brand new bookshelf in the nursery, waiting to be filled with books. Books to be read under the covers with a flashlight, books to be read in unison, books to be spit-up upon, books. We got in the car and headed north. When we arrived, we realized that every single person in the Hudson Valley had the exact same idea.
The children’s section looked like the fall of Saigon. Shelves had been toppled. Books were strewn everywhere in no discernable order; Beverly Cleary next to Dr. Seuss, The Very Hungry Caterpillar next to The Guys of Twilight. We tried to get our bearings in this lawless wasteland of ripped pages and stuffed Clifford the Big Red Dogs. That’s when the bottle hit me.
It flew over what was left of the “Brain Puzzles and Teasers” display shelf and smacked me right in the head. Plastic, 20 ounces, Fanta. From the angle of the trajectory I knew it had been thrown by a child. Sure enough, a three year old girl immediately appeared, picked up the bottle and stared at me. I awaited an apology.
“THAT’S MY BOTTLE!” she screamed at me.
Somebody was going to pay.
I marched around the shelf, ready to lay into the girl’s parent. I would explain what happened. I would chastise them. I would tell them they should be ashamed for raising such a child. They would weep and beg for forgiveness before enrolling the child in some horrific Dickensian reform school where the only things the children are allowed to eat are gristle and black pudding.
And then I saw the girl’s mother. She was covered in writhing, screaming children of all ages. She turned and looked at me and it became clear that this woman had not slept more than four hours a night or had a meal in which the primary ingredient was not “cheez” in at least seven years. And that’s when it hit me: There, thanks to the grace of God, go I.
I handed her the girl’s bottle, smiled politely, and ran like hell.
For years I’ve gritted my teeth every time a baby on an airplane cried. When a child in a restaurant started screaming, I’d groan and wonder why the parents can’t just eat every meal at home until the kid turns 18. When, at the grocery store, a toddler would grab lemons by the handful and throw them toward the deli, I would shoot the parent a look that said You’re doing it wrong. And now I was a few months away from being that helpless parent. Did I really think I was going to someday raise a child who was going to behave perfectly in public every single time? Does such a child even exist?
I realized I needed to start building up some good parent karma. Like, quick.
I hold doors open for mothers with strollers, even if it means running across the street without looking both ways. When a child starts acting up in public, I try and shoot the parent my best Hang in there look. I let harried-looking mothers swamped with kids cut in front of me at the grocery store, even if I’m just getting a pack of gum and they’re dragging two carts and a cow. Kristen has gotten into the act as well, joining a mothers group that cooks and freezes meals for pregnant women who are fast approaching their due date, so that they won’t have to cook during those hectic weeks after giving birth.
But in Kristen’s case, that’s just her being the kind and generous person she’s always been. Me, I’m cramming for the final exam. And I’m running out of time.
Brian PJ and Kristen Cronin live in Beacon with their four cats and a baby on the way. View more of their photos at www.flickr.com/teammoonshine.
Tags: baby, Beacon, Cronin Posted in Home | No Comments »
by Brian PJ Cronin
photograph by Kristen Cronin
It is late August as I write this and the leaves on top of Mt. Beacon are turning red around the edges. This is what happens when you have weeks with no rain and the thermometer dips below 60 degrees. You get early fall. In August. This is not ok.
Fall? What happened to summer? What happened to summer squash? Wasn’t this going to be the summer we finally grew enough summer squash to get sick of it? We grew two. Two squash. We ate them while making dinner one night.
Our Facebook and Twitter streams are flooded with posts entitled “Summer Recipes!” “Now’s the time to use your bounty of garden fresh tomatoes to make cool, refreshing gazpacho!” Gazpacho. Gazpacho. It’s 56 degrees out. We just spent half an hour trying to find our jackets so that we could go outside and brush fallen leaves off of the withered and blighted tomato vines. Meet us by the bike racks after school, gazpacho, we’re going to settle this once and for all.
We would love to have a bounty of tomatoes. We planted 12 tomato plants in 6 different varieties so that we could spend the summer making panzanella, tomato sandwiches, tomato casseroles, and freeze enough tomato sauce to give Mario Batali a heart attack. Instead we got a few Early Girls and Pink Bertonas the size of golf balls, enough for a mouthful of bruschetta. And then they were gone. The Black Krims, our standout tomato from last year, the one we spent all winter dreaming about, swelled and cracked and burst open without ever ripening. They went from the vines to the compost pile. At least the worms got to eat them.
There’s a dark side to eating seasonally. Ideally, you are supposed to gorge yourself when something is in season and plentiful, so that by the time the first frost rolls down the mountain you never want to see a tomato again. But if you don’t overdose, if you don’t work your way through that entire stack of summer recipes that you have been looking forward to all year, then you wake up one morning with the leaves falling off the trees and an abundance of what the Japanese call mono on aware: the awareness that time is passing you by no matter how hard you try to stop the seasons in their tracks. Summer’s over. You want summer squash? You’ll find them at the grocery store, rubbery, limp, and exhausted. Knock yourself out.
The light gets softer. The air gets harder. We accept, adjust, embrace. We have no choice.
Massive and impenetrable winter squash arrive at the farmers market and we fill our bags. Olive oil gives way to butter. The Halloween candy returns to stores, in-between the pregnancy tests and marked-down baseball cards. We find ourselves craving pumpkin pancakes on the weekends, even though we’re not entirely sure those are something that exists, and if they do exist, we’re not entirely sure they should. The sweaters come down from the attic, the failed cucumber trellises go down into the basement, the cover crop seeds are ordered. And we go out into the ever-increasing dark, waiting for Orion to ascend Mt. Beacon once again.
Brian PJ & Kristen Cronin live in Beacon with their cats and garden. Check out their blog A Rotisserie Chicken and 12 Padded Envelopes at www.hvmercantile.com and view more of their photos at www.flickr.com/teammoonshine.
Tags: Beacon, Cronin, eating seasonally, fall, tomato Posted in Home | No Comments »
by Luanne Panarotti
This fall, after a twenty-six year hiatus, I will return to school to begin work toward my M.Div. degree. One could say I’m a late bloomer – a label I gladly embrace, knowing that there’s beauty in blossoming, whenever it may happen.
Coincidentally, late bloomers are exactly what my garden needs right now! Perhaps yours does as well. Years of falling for showy plants during the early part of the growing season have left my landscape lopsided, blooming from May through July, then falling into green monotone for the remainder of summer.
Rather than waiting until next year, fill in the bloom-time gaps in your gardens now, when your needs are most obvious and the proper plants are available. Garden centers stock plants when they are at their best, so a visit now will showcase the plants that reveal their true charm in late summer. The possibilities are numerous, and so tantalizing…
With the annual introduction of new cultivars, it’s hard to imagine ever tiring of the coneflowers (Echinacea). Deer resistant, drought tolerant and requiring no deadheading, this versatile genus also boasts an ever-growing range of colors and forms. Try ‘Maui Sunshine’, with fragrant, bright yellow petals around orange centers, ‘Milkshake’, a creamy confection of off-white pompom blooms, or the fabulous ‘Big Sky Sundown’, whose broad petals in an ombre of rose, apricot and orange are reminiscent of a Western sunset.
If pink is more your preference, consider Sedum spectabile ‘Pink Bomb’, which forms neat mounds of drought tolerant, blue-green foliage and lovely blush flowers. Dwarf joe pye weed (Eupatorium dubium ‘Little Joe’) blooms from summer into fall, its large clusters of fragrant mauve flowers irresistible to butterflies and humans, but not to deer. Allow flower heads to remain once they have gone to seed, as they provide both visual interest and nesting material for birds.
More in the mood to sing the blues? Agastache foeniculum ‘Blue Fortune’ adds lovely texture and color to the garden, producing fuzzy, deep blue flower spikes from midsummer to early fall. Crush its foliage to release a wonderful licorice scent. Russian sage (Perovskia atriplicifolia) is a beautiful, resilient and long-blooming garden plant. Its airy panicles of violet-blue flowers appear in mid-summer and continue into late fall, perfectly offset by lacy, fragrant silver foliage.
Sunny hues harmonize well with so many other colors in the garden. False sunflowers (Heliopsis helianthoides) are known for their long bloom season; the ‘Summer Sun’ cultivar has attractive, serrated foliage and semi-double, golden blossoms that make outstanding cut flowers. Legend has it that the first Helenium autumnale (Helen’s flower or sneezeweed) sprouted from soil watered by the tears of Helen of Troy. From such mythical sadness has come a gardener’s delight, with silky fringed petals in a range of warm colors; try ‘Coppelia’ for rich, coppery-red blooms, or ‘Mardi Gras’, whose festive yellow petals are splashed with orange red, and whirled around deep brown centers.
Norbert Lazar, owner of The Phantom Gardener, is quick to remind us that flowers are not the only way to achieve color in the late summer garden. “Many plants have showy foliage in unexpected colors that can add interest well into fall.” Thriving in both sun and shade, the Japanese blood grass Imperata cylindrical ‘Red Baron’ starts the growing season with sanguine tipping on green leaves, then deepens to rich red foliage as summer progresses. Golden sedge (Carex ‘Bowles Gold’) brightens any garden corner, its radiant yellow foliage edged in green. Horticulturists have truly outdone themselves in developing new varieties of Heuchera, which enrich the garden palette with their foliage. Interesting cultivars include ‘Caramel’, with gold, amber and pink-toned leaves, ‘Dark Secret’ with ruffled, midnight purple foliage, or the sensational ‘Miracle’, whose young leaves emerge as bright chartreuse, then mature to brick red with gold edges and silver undersides.
Many shrubs offer color alternatives to the ubiquitous green backdrop for your perennials. The Royal Purple smoke bush (Cotinus coggyria ‘Royal Purple’) sports oval, eggplant-hued leaves with red veins, margins and stems, turning scarlet in autumn. The dwarf golden threadbranch cypress (Chamaecyparis pisifera ‘Mops’) offers finely-textured foliage in vibrant gold throughout the year. The leaves of the graceful Japanese variegated willow (Salix integra ‘Hakuro-nishiki’) are mottled in shades of white, pink and green, emerging from salmon-pink branches.
Perhaps the most wonderful thing about adding late-summer color to the garden is a secondary effect. By extending the bloom season in your yard, you continue the feast for hungry bees, butterflies, moths and hummingbirds – especially important for those pollinators who store up reserves for the winter, or who need the energy boost as they prepare for migration. In turn, they will add even more dynamic color to your landscape.
And people say “late bloomer” like it’s a bad thing….
Luanne Panarotti fills her days with work at The Phantom Gardener, preaching at area churches, mothering, cat wrangling, and cryptic crosswords.
Tags: coneflowers, cultivars, flowers, foliage, garden, late bloomers, late summer, pollinators, The Phantom Gardener Posted in Home | No Comments »
by Laura Pensiero, photograph by Leonardo Frusteri
Wherever you live, try to source pastured beef from a local farm. There are numerous environmental and health-related reasons to do so, but let’s focus on flavor. Grass-fed or grass-finished humanely raised beef is untouchable in its level of quality. For burgers, look for ground chuck or round with 15 percent fat, 20 percent max; more is not better, it just drips into the grill. We buy our ground beef from Northwind Farm, where Richie, Jane, and their son, Russel, put enormous love and care into all their products.
Makes 4 servings
1 medium onion, minced
2 garlic cloves, minced
11⁄2 pounds locally raised ground beef (antibiotic and hormone free)
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon Old Bay Seasoning
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
In a medium skillet over medium heat, cook the onions and garlic in the olive oil until soft and lightly golden, about 7 minutes. Let cool. Mix the onions and garlic into the beef, Worchestershire, Old Bay and season with salt and pepper. Form four 6-ounce patties (larger burgers stay moist; suggest cooking them larger and splitting them if the portion is too large). Do not mash or press the patties together, simply wet your hands (to prevent the meat from sticking to them), then pat the meat together to 3⁄4-to-1 inch thickness. With your knuckles, make indented imprint in the center to help cook the burgers evenly and prevent the hockey puck look after cooking.
If grilling, thoroughly clean the grill rack and place it about 5 inches over the heat source. Preheat the grill to medium-high. With the grill covered and the vents opened, grill the burgers until nicely marked and cooked to your desired doneness (about 8 minutes total for medium-rare).
If pan cooking, heat a nonstick grill pan or cast-iron pan over high heat until very hot. Place the burgers on the pan, making sure there is space between them. Cook 4 or 5 minutes per side for medium-rare, or longer to the desired doneness.
Serving suggestion:
Enjoy hot off the pan or grill.
Variations:
• Summer: Garnish with sliced beefsteak or heirloom tomatoes, garden cucumber slices, roasted eggplant, or zucchini.
• Fall/winter: Try pickled vegetables or caramelized onions.
• Spring: Serve with baby lettuces, mache, watercress, caramelized leeks, or mushrooms.
• In any season: Offer great-quality breads or buns, onion slices, avocado, large crunchy lettuce leaves (bibb, Boston, Romaine), or locally made cheeses.
• Condiments for any season include locally made ketchups or BBQ sauces, gourmet mustards, tapenades, salsas, and pestos.
Nutrition:
Antibiotic- and hormone-free beef can fit into a healthy diet. It’s all about balance.
Economy: $$
Used with permission. Excerpted from “Hudson Valley Mediterranean” (pages 103-4) by Laura Pensiero, Chef/Owner of Gigi Trattoria in Rhinebeck and Gigi Market in Red Hook. Published by William Morrow, An Imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. Copyright 2009 by Laura Pensiero.
Tags: burgers, environmental, farm, Gigi, Gigi Market, grass-fed, health-related, Hudson Valley Mediterranean, humanely raised, Laura Pensiero, local, Northwind Farm, pastured beef, Red Hook, Rhinebeck, Tivoli Posted in Home | No Comments »
by Brian PJ and Kristen Cronin
We’re all familiar with the urban legend that Eskimos have dozens of names for snow; Webster’s Iñupiat Eskimo Dictionary alone lists 32. After that blizzard at the end of February, it’s safe to assume we all have a few more names for snow ourselves, and most of them couldn’t be printed in a family-oriented magazine such as this.
It started innocently enough with what the Iñupiats call nutagak, or powder snow. It quickly progressed to aniu (packed snow), then sillik (solid, crusty snow), before reaching the stage the Iñupiats call kimaugruk, the snow that cuts you off from the rest of the world. Trees came crashing down. Power lines sparked, died and fell into the street. The only lights around were the pale blue flashes from transformers blowing all over town. And the snow kept coming.
We grabbed the cats and the emergency weather radio and dove under the covers, determined to not go back outside until the snow had stopped. Then we looked out the window at the garden. The snow had already completely covered our two-foot-tall fence; if our homemade cucumber trellises hadn’t held on to act as lodestars, we would have had no idea where the garden even was. We worried about the perennials: the lavender, the rosemary, the creeping thyme. Would they be able to survive the sheer weight of all that snow?
We made one trip out to the garden, carefully pushing through the waist-high snow (mauya) until we hit the fence. Then we started scooping out handfuls of snow; when the snow began smelling like lavender and rosemary, we knew we were close. We uncovered the perennials and trudged back inside. An hour later, they were covered again.
 lavender
In the end, we had to make the executive decision to let nature take its course. There are many areas further north that see three feet of snow all winter long; yet when the snow finally melts in the warmer months the wild vegetation returns all the same. If plants in the wild could survive this, then we had to assume ours could as well. We could only coddle them so much. When the snow finally melted two weeks later, the lavender was turning its branches towards the sun, ready to be pruned, its dried leaves still fragrant. On the first day of Spring there were new pale green branches working their way up from the earth.
Every year there is one last winter storm, ferocious enough to make you think that Spring will never return. And then a few weeks later you find yourself tripping over crocuses. Is there a word for this? The Inuit Eskimos of the Canadian Arctic famously never had a word for “robin” until climate change began bringing flocks of them to their villages, but the Nunamiut tribes of Northern Alaska have been spotting robins on their migratory paths for hundreds of years. Their word for them, koyapigaktoruk, carries with it an onomatopoeic sense of dumbfounded surprise that works well here. One day you wake up and find that Spring has come koyapigaktoruking along after all. Time to start the seeds.
Kristen & Brian PJ Cronin live in Beacon with their garden and cats. Kristen is the Communications & Marketing Associate for Safe Harbors of the Hudson in Newburgh, and Brian is the Development Associate for The Storm King School in Cornwall-on-Hudson. Check out their blog on this site, or visit flickr.com/teammoonshine to learn more
Tags: Cronin Posted in Gardening, General, Home | No Comments »
- In The Pines This multiband concert really amps things up. Begun in 2010 b... read more.
- Twilight in the Garden Cocktail Party Spencertown Academy Arts Center's ann... read more.
- Spencertown Academy Arts Center Garden Market on the Green The Garden Marke... read more.
- Spencertown Academy Arts Center Hidden Gardens Tour The Spencertown Academy... read more.
|
Facebook
View This Month’s Magazine
Bronck House Celebrates 350
View Bronck House Celebrates 350
Hudson Valley Mercantile Press Kit
|