As a little girl I can remember the awe I felt when I realized that on the night of Hallowe’en every door of every neighbor in my neighborhood became available to be opened. I could look inside. I could see who lived there, what their house looked like, at least from the vantage point of standing in the porchlight peering in. Some of the mystery was stripped away. So it was not so much about the candy, about the costumes. It was about solving the mystery of who else lived among us. And I have loved it ever since.

Nor was I hungry; so I found
That hunger was a way
Of persons outside windows,
The entering takes away.

Emily Dickinson

I was so enraptured with the entire ritual of trick or treating that I continued
to go out with friends well into my mid-teens, against my mother’s protests.
It was probably my first taste of real freedom–going out into the dark of a cold
New England night with my peers, rushing up and down streets, across near frozen fields, drawn to beckoning porchlights all welcoming us with appreciative oohs and awwws. Makeup and candy and freedom, oh boy.

My enthusiasm has never dampened. So out of this great love for Hallowe’en, in early anticipation, last year in a moment of wild abandon I planted not one but two entire envelopes of pumpkin seeds. Two kinds. Big and bigger. Within weeks they had taken over a huge portion of my vegetable garden. (I just love unruly children. It gives me something to stew over, monitor and fuss about.) And they were beautiful. Just look.

And, later…

What more can be said? I adore them. I celebrated their full arrival with a party for all the children in my life. They came and picked out their Very Own and proceeded to draw faces on them. They were very happy about the whole affair and so were all their parents, as was I. It’s a glorious tradition. You must try it sometime.

Now today, in celebration of Hallowe’en and the attending pumpkins, in lieu of opening my doors to you personally, welcoming you with something homebaked, I am opening my private family recipe book and honoring your visit today by offering you one of my most prized recipes for–Pumpkin Bread! It is wonderfully delicious and I rarely make it available. But today, for you, in gratitude, here it is:

Kathryn’s Fabulous Pumpkin Bread!

Warning: when you first read this, it sounds like a lot of steps and can seem
overwhelming. What it really is is a lot of BOWLS. If you follow each step
it’s really quite easy and you will reap the rewards of something very yummy
that your whole family will love you for.

Now. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F. And grease a 9″ x 5″ loaf pan with
olive oil.

Whisk following in a medium bowl:

1 cup wholewheat flour
1/2 cup white flour
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 teaspoons ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg (freshly grated is better)
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon baking powder

Combine in a cup:

1/3 cup milk
1/2 teaspoon vanilla (use only real vanilla)

Then, in a large bowl, beat for about 30 seconds:

6 tablespoons unsalted butter (use only real butter)

Gradually add and beat on high speed until light in color and texture (about
3 to 4 minutes total):

1 cup sugar
1/3 cup brown sugar (or 1/3 cup molasses–take your pick)

Beat in, one at a time:

2 fresh eggs from free-range chickens (don’t cheat)

Then, add and beat on low speed until blended:

1 cup pumpkin puree (if you can do fresh, even better–you just steam an
organic pie pumpkin; it’s easy)

Add the flour mixture to the big bowl in three parts, alternating with the milk mixture in two parts, mixing it all up with a wooden spoon. Don’t overmix.

Fold in:

1/2 cup raisins (make sure they are a bit plump)
1/2 cup chopped nuts (I like pecans)

Now pour the batter into the pan and spread evenly. Bake until a fork comes out clean when inserted into center, about one hour, sometimes longer. I slide a knife around edge when it emerges from oven, then allow it to cool before taking from pan. Then I usually wrap it in a colorful cotton cloth into which I’ve laid white cotton napkins, which will wash out easily later, and put the entire lovely concoction in a nice basket. What could be more festive? And it smells just delicious! Your whole house and household will thank you.

Enjoy.

Love and blessings,
Kathryn

Posted on October 29th, 2007 by Kathryn
Filed under: People at Play | 3 Comments »

Will I have to go alone
like the flowers that perish?
Will nothing remain of my name?
Nothing of my fame here on earth?
At least my flowers, at least my songs!

Ayocuan Cuetzpaltzin, 15th C. Aztec poet

As our days shorten, and our nights lengthen, the energies of our garden
recede for winter and our thoughts begin turning inward. Our upcoming holidays are very much in keeping with this shift in energies. Halloween, originally called Hallowe’en, or Holy Evening, is a holiday with cross-cultural roots. A closely related Hispanic holiday celebrated at nearly the same time is Day of the Dead, or Dia de los Muertos.

[Jardin Perico, compliments of Carolyn Leigh.]

Dia de los Muertos is a special time in the lives of our Hispanic neighbors when they honor their ancestors by embracing and celebrating those in their families who have passed. They build altars to honor their dearly departed and, as a tribute, prepare their ancestors’ favorite foods. Upon their altars they place candles, the favored foods, and ropes of marigolds, which they view as a symbol of death. I must confess that I learned about these marigold ropes by once returning to a Mexican hotel after a trip to the local market gaily sporting one around my neck and someone discreetly informed me what they were for. So much for understanding local customs. No matter. Lesson learned, and I took it to heart.

When my Border Collie Peaches died two years ago at the foot of my bed I went into the garden and strung marigolds on a thin red cord and then wrapped them lovingly and gently around her beautiful black and white neck, which made me weep the more, but she wholly deserved the honor. A kindly friend helped me carry her body into the back of my car and I drove, slowly, (deliriously) to a crematorium for animals, which, blessedly, Phoenix had. Once there I was determined to see her through to the very end. I pushed past my horrific fears and pain and asked to see what would transpire. They readily accommodated me, without question or hesitation. I was ushered quietly to the back of the small building. Outside on a cement patio stood a tall, stalwart Mexican gentleman who stood beside a simple oven. He opened the door and showed me the deep cavern which would later hold the body of my most precious dog. He told me in gentle and natural terms how he would put three dogs into the oven at a time. And the fires would purify their bodies as fire always does and render them into three piles of bones. Then these people lovingly and carefully put the three piles of bones into three buckets, each labeled. And the three buckets of bones were then carefully transferred into a machine one at a time that would pulverize the bones into a fine fine dust. They were very proud of this particular machine and told me how efficient it was, one of the best. I saw the result of some other person’s doggie’s bones, now a fine powdered grey dust. Dust to dust. All from a star. I’m sure you know. I steeled myself to my grief to allow myself to stay open to what was about to ensue. I had purchased a lovely enameled urn for my beloved Peaches’ powdered bones. They would return this to me at an agreed upon time.

I drove home in stunned silence, without my Peach by my side. She always rode in the passenger seat, accompanying me across country twice, and I don’t think I could have endured driving through the rural South without her. I know for a fact I could not. She was the most gentle BEST dog one could ever have wanted. So good. So conscious. So loving and loyal. And now she was gone.

As I returned over the path over which I’d arrived, I noticed a Unitarian Church on my right I’d not seen before, and I made a mental note to return. Indeed, on the very next Sunday I did return and found myself quite at home. Perhaps I’d found a church I could feel comfortable in? Alas, I felt a seering disappointment when the friendly minister took the pulpit and announced it was his last Sunday, that he was moving on. What am I doing here? His sermon began so:

“A woman had a dream. She dreamed she was walking her dear dog. But as she walked she suddenly realized that this dog had died. She looked around at the pastoral setting in what seemed to her to be a kind of heaven. Before her spread a vast meadow where the dog could run and be happy. And when the woman awoke from the dream she knew this dog was safe and well and would be there when she crossed over, awaiting her.”

I could scarcely contain myself. Tears streamed down my face and I immediately saw that Peaches’ death had required me to follow a specific path to take her to her final destination. That I would notice the church I’d never seen before. That I would arrive the very last day of this minister’s watch over this church. And his message was that my Peaches was fine. Was watching. Was waiting.

This kind of experience one has to stay tuned for. Must be ready to receive.
Must be open to receive. These are the blessings that surround us daily. They are found in the garden, and in every moment of our lives.

Posted on October 17th, 2007 by Kathryn
Filed under: People at Life | 5 Comments »