Those of you who know me well know I live by lists. Lists of lists. They help me stay focused, complete teeny tasks I mightwould definitely otherwise forget were they not written down. My BFA in stage management was, in large part, composed of and achievedby making calendars, schedules, and lists.
The little wedding cake (ha) I’m making sure feels a lot closer from this side of my trip home than it did from the other. I am not a professional baker and therefore do not have a mass of trusty recipes and finely honed techniques in my pocket ready to be whipped out a few days before the wedding. With that in mind, I’m spending much of my time over the next ten weeks (gulp) testing recipes, practicing decorating techniques, adapting recipes I like to high altitude (just in case I wasn’t nervous enough about how the cakes will turn out), and ensuring that I’ll have everything I need to I fly across the continent to take over my mother’s kitchen for several days of cake madness.
But hey, I have a plan. And for you fellow list-aholics – you know who you are – I couldn’t help but share.
Colorado doesn’t have to deal with hurricanes. Earthquakes there are rare. Only the occasional tornado finds its way to the ground in the eastern half of the state.
But we do have wildfire.
Well over half of the Centennial State is composed of thick forests, but they are very unlike the humid, deciduous forests that blanket the majority of the Eastern United States. Nearly every summer, odds are good that in some part of the state, plumes of smoke will rise on the horizon at one point or another. My childhood summer memories are speckled with forest fires, some that looked merely like a faint haze in the distance, and others whose flames were visible from my bedroom window.
Each summer brings fire, but some years are worse — far worse — and this is certainly one of them. Following a winter of little snow and a very dry spring, even the tiniest sparks have ignited blazes across the state, many of them near (and advancing into) major population centers. It’s only June, and already the skies are thick with smoke, thousands of acres have burned, and hundreds of families have lost their homes.
Yet while much is lost, the communities affected by these fires band together to protect what they can and to reach out to evacuees, firefighters, and relief workers. Though I am not currently a resident of Colorado, it will always be my home and I still want to help as best I can from 2,000 miles away.
One particularly incredible means of assistance has been created by a coalition of Colorado design businesses: Wildfire Tees. These designers and artists have put together some stellar t-shirts to remember this summer’s devastating fires, and all the proceeds from their sales will go both toward immediate fire relief and toward the arduous rebuilding that lies ahead. I’m hugely inspired by these individuals, who are using the artistic skills and resources they know best to make an impact in this urgent cause while at the same time are providing an easy avenue for others to make an impact, too.
We live in a big world and are faced with many crises, but with each act of generosity toward a neighbor in need, we create a better world for everyone. If you’re able, I encourage you to buy a tee or to support the efforts to fight the Colorado wildfires in whatever manner you can. You can find many ways to help at HelpColoradoNow.org, as well as at the Denver Post. At the very least, send your rain and rainy (though not lightning-y) thoughts toward Colorado. It could sure use them.
It’s Earth Day! I try my best to make every day an Earth Day, but I do so love that this pretty planet has a holiday all to itself. Over the years, I’ve celebrated Earth Day in a variety of ways: planting seeds in milk cartons to watch them grow, attending festivals where local food stands front and center, marathoning Wall-E and Fern Gully, or just getting outside to enjoy the sunshine and fresh air which we are so lucky to have.
This year, I have yet another way to celebrate: today marks the first birthday of 30 Pounds of Apples!
I know a year of blogging isn’t really a huge deal: some of the blogs I read have been pumping out new content for five, eight, or ten years. But a little over a year ago, when I published my first post, I was still trying to convince myself that this idea was sane. As it turns out, the cooking, photographing, gardening, writing, and sharing that go into this site have brought me more happiness than I ever expected.
I’ve spent the last few days reflecting on what I’ve learned over the last twelve months, where I’ve flubbed up, and what I’m looking forward to before the next blog-o-versary comes to pass. There are many methods by which I can sum up the last year, and I want to share a few of them with you.
So without further ado, consider this the first-year highlights reel of 30 Pounds of Apples.
There are some weeks when I come home and cook every night. It might be dinner, but it might just as likely be strawberry jam.
But other weeks, I arrive to work early and work events until long after the sun has set, which sometimes results in a hastily purchased bag of Goldfish masquerading as lunch and/or dinner. If I try a new recipe once during those times, I consider it a major success.
Let’s just say that the next few weeks have the potential for LOTS of Goldfish.
These recipes, however, are my first line of defense against vending-machine dinners. They’re the ones I come back to over and over on weeks like this because they a) make tons of leftovers, b) don’t take too long to make, and c) taste better than the temptations one can expect to find at campus eateries.
Are you coming up on a busy time too? What meals will you cook to get through it?
These are some of mine. Give these a try! I guarantee you’ll look forward to your leftovers.
I used to think that it was a silly thing to celebrate. New Year meant we had to go back to school after some glorious days off. New Year meant it was time to tuck in the Christmas decorations for their eleven-month slumber. New Year meant it was time to address the extremely high calorie intake that started at Thanksgiving.
I have, however, grown to love this celebration of beginning. New Year’s Eve parties are fun, but I prefer the relative silence of today. The sense of a clean slate, of a chance to change things from before, to reflect on the year that has passed and to set goals for the year ahead.
Our societies have marked our revolution around the sun for thousands of years. The end of one cycle of growth, and the herald of the new one to begin.
I wanted to talk about food. About cookies and candies and holiday goodies and warm soups and apple sauce and wedding cakes and all manner of deliciousness.
But something sudden, shocking, and deeply sad has happened that has shaken me, my family, my friends, and my community. I’ve debated at great length whether or not I should talk about it here, on a blog about food. But it seems somewhat odd, especially when so many of you are a part of my community, to simply avoid it, when I am finding it impossible to write about, or even think about, much else.
On Saturday, a friend of mine from high school perished, along with three others, in a plane crash near my hometown. I’m from a fairly small town, and I doubt there are many residents unaffected by the loss of one of these people.
I was not in Tyler’s inner circle of friends, but he is a part of almost every glorious memory I have of my high school years. An integral member of our close-knit Troupe 1096, an essential, deep voice in our choirs, a constant source of hysterics in all situations, and a giver of unconditional love and friendship to everyone around him. Gauky, lanky, and grinning, he was a beam of sunshine everywhere he went.
In the last few days, memories and messages from friends now spread across the country have found their way to Tyler’s Facebook page. His wall has become a place for friends and family to grieve, to laugh, to share, and to support to one another as we mourn the loss of this incredible person.
Having lost an uncle, my grandpa, and two other peers from high school in the last year, this holiday season is different from so many in the past. My over-played Christmas CDs now play somber undertones I don’t remember from before, the glittering twinkle lights don’t shine quite as bright, and the starry-eyed joy I had as a child at this time of year is no longer as serene. I find myself not only reliving my memories of Tyler, but of the friends that I’ve grown apart from, the phone calls I’ve put off to another day, and the regret that I feel for doing so.
Yet I am also discovering strength. Strength to reach out, to reforge those friendships, and to set aside the reasons they faded in the first place. To remind my precious friends and family of how deeply I love them and how much they mean to me. Strength to endure the longing, yes, for things that will never be the same, but to get excited, too, for what is yet to come. My sister and I will still leave cookies for Santa on Christmas Eve. Weddings are being planned as we speak. Babies are about to be born.
To Tyler’s family, and his closest friends: my heart aches for you. I cannot even imagine the unfathomable emotions you must be feeling. I’m thinking of you and hoping for your peace.
To Tyler: I wish you could see the flood of stories people are telling about you. And the photographs we’ve dug up to celebrate your finest moments. And the videos of you eating slugs just to prove you can. You are unforgettable.
And to our community: I’ve seen several of you quoting Tyler in the last few hours: “If you’re not smiling, you’re not trying.”
I hope that, though there will be many tears, we can all find something to smile about. For Tyler.
The autumn colors have really taken hold here in North Carolina. The forests are alight as the leaves brighten and begin to thin. The drive between my apartment and my office is a breathtaking experience, and every morning becomes more spectacular.
Folks, we live in a beautiful country. And more than the stunning scenery, the fertile soils, and the glittering cities, the most beautiful part is that each of us has the opportunity to contribute to the leadership and policies that shape our nation.
No matter where your politics lie, I urge you to go vote today. Tune out the dizzying spin, find some reputable sources of information, and make a plan to get to the ballot box. Leave work 30 minutes early. Google map your polling place. Participate. Think carefully about what your vote means to you, your neighbors, and the millions of people that live and work around you every day. Then fill in the bubbles, slap on your free sticker, and encourage your friends and co-workers to follow suit.
