Wellies and Birkis

These are my Wellington Gardeners.  I bought them ‘way back in the 80’s, and they cost me more than $100.00.  That was a lot of money back then.  Heck, for me, it’s a lot of money even now!

My Wellies are made of real rubber and have a reinforced shank.  It was the reinforced shank that sold me on them.  I’d suffered bruised and swollen arches too many springs; brought on by forcing shovels, spades, or forks into hard soil and through tangled roots.  The reinforced shank would spare me that discomfort.

More than twenty years have passed and my boots are still serving me well.  They are still waterproof, still work-worthy, and they still have tread on the soles.  These days, I mostly use them for walking muddy trails but I’m still very grateful to have them.

These are my Birkis (Birkenstock clogs).  I bought them in the 90’s so they’re not quite so old as my Wellies.  Like my Wellies, they cost more than $100.00.  I had to save up for them.

My Birkis are made of plastic, with cork insoles that provide great arch support.  I bought them because I was told that the arch support would help me maintain better posture and thus reduce my lower back pain. They did.

I’ve worn my Birkis a lot. Except in snow or on the very hottest days of summer, they are my every day shoes.  I love them because they’re easy to step in and out of, because they improve my posture, because they're comfortable to walk in, and because they keep going and going.  

The insoles are replaceable. I’m on my third set now. 

There’s not much tread left on the soles of my Birkis.  I’ll have to think about a new pair within the next year or so.  I’m saving up.

What do my Wellies and my Birkis have in common?  They’re not pretty but they’re practical.  They’re durable.  They're comfortable.  They’re still about the same price they were when I bought them all those years ago.  They were designed with a specific purpose in mind and they fulfill their purpose very well.  

   

Investment footwear means different things to different people:  For some it means Manolos or Jimmy Choos.  For some it means custom ordered and handmade,  For me it means Wellies and Birkis.  I’m so glad I have them.

Growing Young Farmers

We are awfully lucky in this little corner of the world.  Our valley is located within Canada’s only Maritime Mediterranean climate zone.  The average temperature here from June until August is 23˚C (73˚F).  December to January, it’s 6˚C (42˚F).  We have 155 frost free days a year.  In addition to our mild weather, we are blessed with good soil, plenty of sunshine (more than any other area on the island), and enough rain to help our crops to grow and flourish.

The Cowichan Valley is home to many small holding farms, producing a wide variety of foods ranging from beautiful asparagus to water buffalo milk for mozzarella.  We can dine on locally made cheeses, pastas made entirely from local ingredients, locally made balsamic vinegars, locally produced sea salt.  We grow tea in our valley and barley for island-distilled Scotch whiskey.  We are the second largest wine producing area in the province.

Despite our wonderful growing conditions and the variety of foods we produce, farming in our area has declined sharply in recent decades.  In 1969, Vancouver Island produced almost 70% of the food its residents consumed.  Now we produce less than 5%. So little that, if we were cut off from outside supplies, we would be able to feed ourselves for only three days. 

Food security is a big subject of discussion in this community.  We want to move towards increasing food production but the politics surrounding the subject are complex.  I don’t pretend to understand them all.  What I do know is that we have a dedicated group within our community who are working toward the goal of improving our food security.

Last week the Islands Agriculture Show took a step towards encouraging farmers in our area.  It was a tradeshow covering many aspects of farming from start-up through production and business management, through to the process of ensuring smooth succession from one generation to the next.  It was fascinating to me.  There were exhibits from the ministries of agriculture and environment, from banks and accountants, from fertilizer companies and organic growers, tractor companies, feed sellers, large holding farmers and small holding farmers.  

There was a good turn out for the show—about 1500 people—and a huge amount of information on offer.  I picked up so many brochures that they’ve provided me with hours of reading this week.   What struck me most, though, was the number of young families and school children in attendance.  I found it encouraging to see so many kids.

Seeing so many young people at the show made me particularly interested to learn about the Growing Young Farmers Society.  The society’s goal is to encourage programs in which children grow health-friendly food, in food growing areas within the school grounds or within easy walking distance of their schools, as part of the school’s regular curriculum. 

Growing Young Farmers seeks to involve youths in the growing and production of food on a substantial scale, in a structured, supervised, and mentored program.  Mentors are experienced farmers or gardeners who also have experience in supervising or teaching school-age students.

Although the Growing Young Farmers Society is newly founded, requests from school principals and teachers who wish to have their students participate in the program are increasing in number.  In order for the programs to grow and flourish, the society is in need of a number of things: 

• Volunteers – The society is in need of grower-educators and volunteers to fulfill various other roles within the program
• Sponsorship from local businesses
• Assistance with grant applications

If you are interested in helping out or would like more information about the society, Dave Friend—the founding chair—has a website at http://www.friendlyorganics.ca/.  You can contact Dave by phone at (250) 704-6602 or by email at davefriend@friendlyorganics.ca.

The society’s address is:

Growing Young Farmers Society (#S-0058820)

7159 Wallace Drive

Brentwood Bay, BC

V8M 1G9

Knit One, Purl One

Both of my grandfathers learned to knit in school.  Back then, knitting, sewing a basic seam, sewing on a button, and making a buttonhole were all considered essential life skills, and were taught to schoolchildren as soon as they had developed the manual dexterity to manage the tasks. 

Things have changed.  There are many skills that we pass on to our kids now that didn’t even exist when my grandfathers were in the primary grades.  The number of hours in a school day haven’t changed much so, in order to accommodate new curricula, some things have to be let go.  Needs are constantly reassessed and, as a result, knitting and hand sewing now have little place in the elementary school classroom.  This is as it should be.  We want our children to be well prepared for the world they’ll face when they leave school, not the world as it was two generations ago.

By the time I reached elementary school, children were no longer taught to knit at school.  My grandfathers no longer knit on a regular basis (although both were well able to unknit the worn heels from their work socks and to turn a new heel in their place).  For both of my grandmothers, though, knitting was an almost daily activity.

When I was seven, my Grandma Routley taught me to knit.  She showed me how to get started, and how to make a knit stitch, a purl stitch, and stockingette stitch.  Under her supervision, I cast some stitches on my needle and began to knit my first scarf.

My goodness!  How that first scarf frustrated me!  As I worked, my scarf grew more and more narrow.  I dropped stitches, my tension changed, I put my knitting down in mid-row a couple of times and then resumed knitting in the wrong direction.  In exasperation, I threw it aside and didn’t attempt to knit again for years.  My grandma was disappointed but she told me that, one day when I was ready, I'd pick it up again.

My grandmother was right:  I did eventually return to knitting.  It took until I was in my thirties, but I did go back to it.

When I was in my thirties, I went to work at an answering service.  It was one of those jobs where you have brief periods of intense activity interspersed with long periods of boredom.  Fortunately, although we were expected to stay at our desks so that we could respond quickly to any calls that came in, we were allowed to occupy ourselves with other things during quiet times.  I became a letter writer, I read a great deal, and I re-discovered knitting.  

I taught myself knitting largely from books, but I also had the good fortune to have two coworkers who were lifelong knitters.  With their help, and hours and hours of practice, I became a proficient knitter.

When I quit smoking, I was especially grateful for my knitting skills. I quit during the bad old days when smoking was socially acceptable.  Workers had ashtrays on their desks and people smoked in almost every public space.  Smoking and nonsmoking sections in pubs and restaurants were coming into favour but were far from universal.  My husband is a smoker and so were many of my coworkers.  I had smoke all around me, all the time.  

I needed a substitution activity to keep my hands busy so that I wouldn’t light a cigarette, and knitting became that activity.  I knit at home, I knit at work, I knit in pubs and restaurants, and while I was visiting with friends.  My family was well outfitted with sweaters, scarves, mittens, and blankets by the time I finally kicked the habit.

Sadly, not long after I kicked tobacco, my knitting habit kicked me.  I developed tendonitis in both of my wrists.  Then I injured my right elbow and shoulder.  Knitting—such a pleasurable pastime in my life to that point—became a source of physical pain.  I stopped knitting, but I missed it.

Over time, I’ve resumed knitting.  I limit my knitting to short periods of time, interspersed with other activities, but it’s been a joy to pick up the needles again.  Knitting is now one of many “busy hands” activities I look to when I’m watching TV, waiting for appointments, or visiting with friends.  

Knitting allows me to feel I’m doing something productive even on low energy days.  It's a calming activity too:  What could be more soothing than the sound of knitting needles clicking together to a quiet count of knit one, purl one, knit one, purl one?

Rabbie Burns Day

Today is my sister’s birthday and the birthday of one of my grandsons.  That’s cause enough for celebration at our house.  Worldwide, though, people of Scottish descent have another occasion to celebrate:  Today is Robbie (Rabbie) Burns day.

Robert Burns is considered by many to be Scotland’s greatest bard.  His first book, "Poems- Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect - Kilmarnock Edition" was published when he was 27, and within weeks he was propelled to national fame, becoming known as the Ploughman Poet. 

Although his poems are well known and oft-recited, the folk songs Burns collected (and sometimes  revised, expanded, and adapted) for the Scottish Musical Museum are considered to be his greatest achievement.  In total, it’s believed that he contributed more than 200 songs to the collection (1/3 of the entire collection) and edited many more. Many of the songs he collected had been part of the culture for centuries but only as a verbal tradition.  Until he recorded them, they'd never been written down and had he not compiled them for the museum's collection those songs might well be lost to us now.

Burns’ personal life was colourful.  He was the son of a tenant farmer and grew up in poverty.  He laboured hard on the farm and the harsh conditions left him with chronic health problems.  Besides writing, Burns attempted and failed to continue running the farm after his father's death, planned to emigrate to Jamaica but then changed his mind, and worked as an excise man.   He was a heavy drinker (some say alchoholic) who fathered 12 children—6 illegitimate—in his 37 years.  His last child was born the day of his funeral. 

There’s some speculation about the manner of Burns’ death.  Some documents say he died of rheumatic fever, others that he died from an infection arising from a tooth extraction.  However he died, he left behind him a body of writing that uniquely portrays the Scottish culture.  

A few years after his death, a group of Burns’ close friends held a memorial dinner on January 25^th (Burns’ birthdate).  Over the 19^th and 20^th centuries, a cult of personality grew around Burns and the tradition of the Burns supper was widely adopted.  Scots carried the tradition with them when they emigrated.  Robbie Burns day is now celebrated the world over. 

Despite its growth and travels, the basic format and menu for the Burns supper remains unchanged: 

The chairman makes the opening address.  A few welcoming words are said and then the Selkirk Grace is recited.

 

The company are asked to stand to receive the haggis. A piper then leads the chef, carrying the haggis to the top table, while the guests accompany them with a slow handclap. The chairman or invited guest then recites Burns' famous poem “To a Haggis” with great enthusiasm. When he reaches the line 'an cut you up wi' ready slight', he cuts open the haggis with a sharp knife.
 It's customary for the company to applaud the speaker then stand and toast the haggis with a glass of whisky.[1]

The Burns Dinner menu traditionally includes:

• Cock-a-Leekie Soup
• Haggis warm reeking, rich wi’ Champit Tatties and Bashed Neeps
• Tipsy Laird (Sherry Trifle)
• A Tassie o’ Coffee

At our house, we’re more likely to celebrate January 25^th with birthday cake than haggis but we do pause a moment to think about our Scottish friends and family, to extend a wish for a happy Burns’ Day, and to raise a glass in honour of our Scots heritage.

And there’s a hand my trusty fiere,

And gie’s a hand o thine,

And we’ll tak a right guid-willie waught

For auld lang syne.

_______________________________________

[1]  http://www.rabbie-burns.com/the_supper/index.cfm.html

Image source:  scotland-welcomes-you.com

Cloth Napkins

Ours is not a household that stands on formality but we do eat our meals at the dinner table, and we do use cloth napkins. 

We eat at the table because we believe that mealtime is not only about eating but also courtesy and good company.  A meal takes time and effort to prepare.  Both the food and the person who cooked it deserve to be shown the respect of focusing our attention on the meal as it’s presented.  While we’re enjoying the meal we can also take the opportunity for some conversation.  It’s a great time to reconnect with one another and to discuss the events of the day.

We use cloth napkins because they’re more practical than paper, and more pleasant to use.  We started the habit years ago out of concern about the amount of paper waste in our household.  We gave it up for a while when I discovered that the cloth napkins that went out of our house in lunch kits were not coming back, but that's no longer an issue so we've returned to using them. 

We’re trying hard to cut expenses wherever we can and paper napkins are certainly something we can do without.  I know that the cost associated with laundering cloth napkins must be taken into consideration, but it’s not like we’re doing extra loads of laundry to accommodate them.  We’re just adding napkins to the laundry we already do.  We’re saving money by not purchasing paper napkins at the store and we’re reducing the amount of waste that leaves our house, eliminating not only discarded napkins but also their packaging from our trash.

There are some factory-made napkins in my linen drawer.  Most of them came to us as gifts or were included with tablecloths I’ve purchased over the years, but the majority of our napkins are homemade. 

Because we’re not a formal household, I have little need of white linen or damask.  I make our napkins out of all sorts of fabrics.  Well, all sort of fabric prints anyway:  I try to stick to pure cotton or a cotton/polyester blend for the fabric itself because, once they’re preshrunk, they’re easy to launder. 

I source the fabric for my napkins from thrift stores (cool vintage prints can often be found there), remnant bins at fabric stores, and from old sheets here at home.  I make them in two sizes:  Dinner napkins that are sixteen inches square and cocktail napkins that are twelve inches square. 

To save time measuring, I’ve made templates for both sizes of napkins.  I just trace around the templates and cut along the lines with a rotary cutter.

My napkins are hemmed by hand but machine hemming would work perfectly well too.  It’s just that, like knitting, hemming napkins is an activity I do while watching TV, sitting in waiting rooms, or visiting with friends. 

To make my napkins, I cut out a square that is 1 inch bigger on each side than I want the finished napkin to be.  I fold the edges over 1/4 inch, pin them in place, and then iron along the folds.  I fold the edges over the same amount a second time, pin them in place, and iron along the folds again.  Once the second fold has been pressed into place, I make a simple running stitch near the inside edge of the hem and secure the corners of the napkins in place with whip stitch. 

These simple napkins are surprisingly durable.  We’re still using some that I made more than twenty years ago.  They add colour and variety to my table settings and fabric feels far more pleasant to the touch than paper would.  

Perhaps I’ll give some napkins or tablecloths as gifts this year, or use them as wrapping for other kitchen items.  They’d make wonderful hostess or bridal gifts. 

I’ll have to give that some thought.

Feeling the Rain

"Some people feel the rain, others just get wet."

-Bob Marley

I live on Vancouver Island, on BC's west coast.  The town I live in receives less rain than any other on the island but still, if you live here, you learn to live with wet weather.

Even though we may complain about it, island folk learn to love the rain.  The rain provides us with a topic of conversation and blesses us with green.  Green defines our part of the world.  From moss clad tree trunks to lichen beards on big leaf maple trees it is the colour of the west coast.  Skies may be grey here but, even in the depths of winter, the grass is always green--and rarely covered with snow.

We have enough rain here that every man-made structure not regularly scoured bare turns green.  Pavement grows moss.  Roofs grow moss.  Walls and even windows grow moss, mildew, and lichen.  We joke that if we stand still for long enough, we'll grow moss and roots too!

Anyone who spends any amount of time outdoors here owns a good set of rain gear and an umbrella, which is not to say that we don't get caught without them often enough to know what it feels like to get soaked through to the skin.  We rarely stop what we're doing or change our plans because of wet weather.  We know that rain is a blessing.

Our mild, wet weather brings us a longer growing season than that of many other areas at our latitude.  It sustains a rainforest that provides a home to an astoundingly diverse range of living things.  It provides us with a wild food banquet right at our doors, year round.  It raises river levels so we can be blessed with abundant salmon and with fresh water fish.  It provides us with a wealth of potable water and excellent growing conditions for our crops.

I love the rain.  I love all the things it brings us.  I look out my window in wet weather and give thanks for our soft landscape of greens and greys, and for the opportunity to enjoy the quiet beauty that surrounds us every day.

Please be respectful of my work.  All the photographs in this post are protected by copyright and may not be used without my written permission.  

_____________________________________

This post is linked to {Simple Things Sunday}, hosted by {The Simple Things).

Remembering a Homesick Friend

Chinese New Year is next week, on January 23.  It's got me thinking about a Chinese friend of ours who came to Canada as a student more than a decade ago, and boarded at our house for a year after he arrived.  

When he first came to stay with us, our friend spoke very little English.  Everything around him was new and strange to him.  He must have been scared to death.  

Despite homesickness and the formidable language barrier, our friend completed the two-year ESL program in just eighteen months and went on to get a Bachelor of Commerce degree by the time he was twenty-two.  He then returned to China, to work for the company that employed his father as a factory manager.

Our Chinese friend opened a door for us, helping us toward an understanding of his culture that we would never have attained without him.  This seems a good time to revisit a piece I wrote about him all those years ago. 

HOMESICK

We have an international student boarding with us this year.  It's our first experience as hosts and we're learning as much or more than our student is, I'm sure. 

Our student is an 18-year-old boy from the city of Huan Yan in the province of Zheziang, China.  He's a nice boy: polite, studious, gifted with a wonderful sense of humour, and very brave.  I say he is brave because, just weeks out of high school, he has traveled thousands of kilometres from home to a place where everything--language, customs and even food--is unfamiliar, with no prospect of going home for at least a year.  I'm not sure I could do it. 

We have been very concerned that our young charge might be homesick but, whenever we question him about it, he tells us "I am not lonely. I have you!"  He is incredibly curious about all aspects of our life and he spends a lot of time in the kitchen asking me about ingredients and getting me to teach him how we prepare our meals.  Like most 18-year-old boys, he is always hungry.  He tells me that, when he goes home, he wants to be able to tell his mother that he can cook Canadian food.  My friends are pretty amused by that because, so far, he has learned to make perogies, borscht, colcannon, cock-a-leekie soup, German sweet-and-sour cabbage, and a variety of Italian dishes.  I point out to them that all these things are Canadian because the single common factor uniting most Canadians is that we (or some recent generation of our family) are from somewhere else.

Because of our boarder's interest in cooking, I am ashamed to tell you that I didn't realize how very much he missed the tastes of home.  He admitted on his first day here that he had never before tasted western food or eaten with a fork and yet it still didn't click with me how much he must be longing for the kinds of meals he was accustomed to.  We have hot soy milk and steamed buns or rice porridge for breakfast at least once or twice a week and I try to take him shopping with me so that he can point out to me the fruits and vegetables that he likes to eat, but it's not enough.  I know this now because we went to the library together this week and, out of curiosity, I took out every book on Chinese cooking that they had on the shelf.  Our friend got very excited and, as he leafed through them, kept exclaiming "Oh!, I am so hungry!"  He pointed out each dish he was familiar with and explained when and why they eat it.  We have decided that, from now on, one day each week will be "Home Day" and I will learn to prepare a different Chinese dinner for each of these days.

Of the books we took from the library, our student's top choice was "The Complete Encyclopedia of Chinese Cooking," by Kenneth Lo, Deh-ta Hsiung, Nancy Chi Ma, Mary Ma Stavonhagen, Julia Chi Cheng, and Kitty Sham (Octopus Books Limited, 1979).  It contains a lot of information about Chinese history and customs along with detailed instructions and wonderful pictures.  The pictures are especially important to someone new to English language and cooking terms.  We begin our culinary journey together this week, using this book as a guide.  I may never get to China but I am bound to understand their culture a little better as the journey continues, and our young friend may feel just a little less homesick.