all hands on deck

I haven’t found my way back here in quite awhile, and for that I apologize, both to you and myself. This haze of new mumhood has been dizzying. I picture these first months as Kai’s mum as an open landscape of beautiful grass and flowers and heavy wise aged trees, and I’m plunked right in the middle of it, beneath a warm, cozy blanket. With each day, someone fluffs the blanket high, and I catch a glimpse of the sights and sounds of the world painted outside. Then the blanket settles and I return to the comfort and dark and focus. Now, six-point-three months later, the blanket lifted and I rolled out from beneath and was greeted with a new life.

I’m a mother. Even as I type (with one hand because my other arm is occupied by a nursing Kai), I do not understand the ever-changing definition of this new title. My most important title yet. I exist in a state of awe most of the time. I feel fortunate to witness his developing self. Each day really does unveil a new feature or personality trait or voice. He’s no longer a passive newborn with blurry sight and an insatiable hunger.

His eyes follow/notice/question/study everything from my morning yawn to the lighted toys he pulls and squeezes to the leaves we both caress on a tree passed by. His raspy voice sails throughout the quiet of our home; sometimes low, sometimes a scream, always delightful and amusing. When he caresses my face and talks to me with his new sounds and eyes of intent, I want nothing more in life than to know what he’s saying.

While Kai grows, a new business venture is also getting its legs. Nils and our dear friend, PerryA, have taken on a beast. Although it boasts a brief moniker, The Inn, don’t allow it to fool you. The Inn serves as a restaurant, tavern, function room, and inn. When we made the decision to “go for it,” we did so with the understanding that having a new baby at the same time may prove a challenge. Of course, you never know what attention a new venture needs until you’re in the thick of the weeds, but we had to try it on. I have tried my hand at the components I know how to tackle — wine list, marketing, Web, menu design, etc. I would like to be involved more, but I still maintain my job, although remotely, and of course, care for our lil man.

During a long commute home from the office yesterday (I venture to the city a few times a month), I drafted this post in mind. Long drives on bare roads seldom leave my mind vacant. To the soothing sounds of a shuffled play list, I told you all about the struggles of the past few months. I told you to grab a favorite beverage and sit awhile with me, because I really need a friend to chat with.

As often happens, most of the prompts I attempted to store in memory in order to scribe that perfectly tailored post, have escaped. The overall notion I now share is that starting a restaurant is difficult, even for a seasoned fellow like Nils. You can boast all of the necessary knowledge, determination, moxie, and still, the business will whirl you around all of your best expectations.

The Inn has been around for many years. Owners have changed hands. The signage has swung different identities in the winds off the nearby sea. When it comes down to it though, the building, the tavern and restaurant, the location — everything that defines this establishment — is engrained in this community; especially the village in which it resides.

From go!, we learned that there are those who will reach out with helping hands and words of encouragement as well as others who for some reason or another want to resist or block a new endeavor. The awful stories Nils arrives home with render me dumfounded. He and PerryA want to provide a meeting place for the community. Somewhere to have a quiet meal on the breezy porch or enjoy a local band or celebrate a milestone with family and friends. Yet, even with the best of intentions, there are folks who feel compelled to share only bad mojo. We’re slowly learning not to take it to heart, but when you’re all in, that’s not so easy.

Whenever I hear someone nonchalantly share a daydream of opening a bar or restaurant, I cringe. Not only must the owner(s) be at the business every day, they are also away from their families. This distance shared between Nils and I and now Kai is almost tangible for me. This drawback is what I pondered most on my road trip yesterday. I knew he’d have to be there a lot. He had to be so with The Bitter End when that opened. I did not — could not — fathom how much time he really would need to be there. Every. Moment. 

We are willing to make the sacrifice of our time together for the idea of this business growing enough so that in the future we can be together more. Even still,  I despise the notion that he’s missing so much of Kai’s first year. It’s also difficult for me to take on the overwhelming (non-stop, all-day, all-night) responsibility of our lil man, oftentimes, alone. 

This time too, we will make it through — this I know. Even so, it’s difficult being separated from the one I love/adore/admire/the papa of our boy for many days and nights in row. Although he’s only a few miles away and I visit often, the business is his mistress and occupies all attentions for now.

This is where I’m at right now. Smack dab in the middle of Kai’s first year. A new mum to a delightful boy. A supportive partner for an entrepreneur.

sisterly scones

Well, my friends, we did it. We made the move. The move to the seaside village that has held a special place in my heart and routine for awhile now. Somehow, the impending arrival of this baby is setting in motion events and decisions that have occupied (with indecision) the back burners of our life together.

Soon after I wrote here last, it was decided that we’d finally make the move to Mattapoisett from Cambridge. We had three weeks to prepare and pack. We didn’t have time for a nostalgic look back at our time spent nurturing our relationship in the fantastically urban landscape that is Boston and Cambridge. The decision was set in motion by a few factors and we in turn were on the go without precious time for thoughtfulness. Who knew a baby could make it all fall into place? I surely didn’t expect it.

I’ve moved plenty of times throughout my youthful city dwelling years. Never has a move meant so much as this one did though. This move is to our home. The home where our baby will be raised. A home with a yard for our pups. A home that I’ll work from. A home that will serve a base for us to reconnect and gather together at the end of the day even though our schedules are still opposing. 

Settling into a new space is both daunting and exciting. A clean slate brimming with expectations. And, when it’s a space that you plan to reside in, perhaps for forever, the imagination is sparked to whole new levels. Everything in its place seems so…permanent. Tack on the dressing of a room for your first baby and there’s much to consider.

With all of this unpacking and settling in provoking (probably too much) thought, a friend gifting you with a handful of freshly baked scones from a family recipe is a treat beyond all treats. When the kitchen has yet to be organized, these scones resting on the counter are golden trinkets of effortless snacking. They are crumbly. Buttery. Faintly sweet. Energy-inducing. Dunkable. Just plain what you need when life is tugging you in all directions and you need a good ole dose of carbs to keep moving.

True to most familial recipes, this scone recipe was passed along verbally and on scraps of paper that most appropriately go missing after a single floury handhold. It took days of doing for Sierra and her sister and Sierra’s boyfriend to track down the ingredients and method. Finally, all was gathered from texts, e-mails, and phone conversations.

While we gathered missing ingredients during a slight trip to the grocery store, she mused with a sigh about the impossiblity of keeping a hold on this recipe. That voiced concern, my friends, was how I’d found my in. What better reason for a blog feature than to offer her and her family a permanent residence on my site? She agreed. Phew, my plan worked.

We spent an afternoon baking then noshing then attending my surprise baby shower. What a splendid day!

Sisterly Scones (recipe shared by sisters Sierra & Kallista)
When Nils and I started dating, he’d come home with a maple scones every so often. I wondered who was wooing my new man with sweet treats. He’d brush away concern with claims that a friend, who worked at Starbucks, would bring them to him at the end of her shift — you know, whatever wasn’t sold that day and wouldn’t be good for the next day. In my mind, I referred to her as “maple scone lady.” Of course, she was on the other side, wondering about his new girlfriend was…Almost eight years later, here we are, baking scones together; that’s the beauty and humor of life, isn’t it? 

Her note: These are things you probably have lying around anyway, but here are the ingredients for the scones we’ll be making. They are seriously the best scones I have ever had. 

1 ½ cups flour
½ cup sugar
2 ½ tsp baking powder
¾ teaspoon salt
sprinkle of cinnamon
2-3 tablespoons cold butter, cut into small pieces
1 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
½ cup chopped walnuts
milk and sugar, for glaze

Place the rack in the middle of the oven and heat to 400 degrees. Grease an 8” circle in center of 9”x12” baking sheet. Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon in a large bowl. Stir together.

Cut two tablespoons of butter into the prepared mix with a pastry blender or two knives until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs.

In a small bowl, combine cream and vanilla. Make a well in the center of your dry mixture. Pour a stream of the vanilla-cream into the well. Stir until the dough pulls together. If necessary, add a touch more cream until the dough pulls together. Sprinkle in the walnuts.

With floured hands, knead the dough three or four times in the bowl. Pat the dough into a seven inch circle. Cut into eight wedges, as you would a pie. Reassemble the slices in the center of the baking sheet, leaving a quarter inch in between pieces. Brush scones lightly with milk and sprinkle with sugar.

Bake until golden brown, approximately 16 to 18 minutes. Cool on a sheet for one minute, then remove and let cool completely on cooling rack. 

kelly's nannie's pickles

Our friend Kelly rushes toward the car for a proper sendoff. She never allows me to leave Mattapoisett without a tight (just shy of bone-crushing) hug. I love her hugs. I remember the first one. From that hug forward, we’ve been friends. 

If you ever meet her, she will hug you too. If you know her, you know of the hugs I speak. I’m not sure if she’s always hugged like she does or if it’s a result of her profession as a registered nurse. I’ll make sure ask…

Anyway, here I am, sitting in the driver’s seat, motor warm, radio tuned to NPR, air conditioning purring. I’m ready to coast the 90 miles that lead to my urban home. I linger in final farewells. It’s never easy to leave. Suddenly, I notice Kelly hurrying toward the car. “Wait, wait! Don’t forget your pickles. You allllmost forgot YOUR pickles.”

I smile in recognition of the pickles as she hands me the jar through the open window. Last year, she had shared a jar of similar measure, packed just the same. “Thanks, Kell! I remember these from last year—” and, before I may admit that I dressed almost everything I ate with the pickles until the jar was just about empty…And, how once there was enough space to, I added more cucumber slices to the jar to savor every single seasoned drop…And, how I’m ever so grateful that she’s bestowed them once again…Her face falls into lines of dismay. “Ohhh, you’ve had them before…Last year. Right. I forgot.”

I make quick to console her with a pat on her leaning hand. A smile of thanks. And, a string verbal assurances that I’m not upset about having tried them already. Quite the opposite in fact. I’m delighted. “Kell, never be sad about giving someone food when they’ve already had it! Especially, homemade pickles. Geesh.”

Her face rises to resume hold of its former smiling self. I triple thank her again before trapping the cool air wafting through the car with a buzzed up window. Then, I’m on my way. Pickles tucked safely between traveling bags on the passenger seat. Who knew a jar of pickled cucumbers and onions could make my ride home a bit…sweeter?

After tasting these pickles, I am convinced that everyone should have a quick pickle recipe in her/his culinary repertoire. 

Kelly is kind enough to pass her Nannie’s recipe to me. And, she’s a true friend to permit me to share the goods with you.

There are two notes of importance that she stresses when making these pickles:

Use pickling cucumbers because they appear to have less seeds than others. Soft, kind little seeds. For the lot you see in these photos, Kelly used pickles from her garden and a few store-bought—not her ideal as they all weren’t pickling cucumbers, but we make due with what we’ve got. 

She also advises stowing away in the fridge whatever remains in the bowl after packing the jar. Once the oil and vinegar have their way with what’s housed in the jar, and all settles a bit lower, the jar will have more room. (Or, if you’re like me, you’ll need some for after you’ve eaten a bunch and need to freshen the count.)

Kelly’s Nannie’s Homemade Pickles

1 32 ounce mason jar

6 medium pickling cucumbers, sliced thin
1 medium red or Vidalia onion, sliced thin
1 cup vinegar (either cider or white)
1/4-1/3 cup sugar
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon oregano
1/2 teaspoon each garlic powder, marjoram, lemon pepper seasoning, ground mustard, dill weed
1 teaspoon mustard seeds

In a large mixing bowl, toss together the cucumber and onion slices. Pour the vinegar into the mason jar. Add the sugar, oil and spices to the jar. Seal the jar with the lid and shake well. Unseal the jar and squish the cucumbers and onions by the handful into the jar until all is nice and snug—best accomplished with your fingers. And, yes, they will get nice and oily. Seal the jar with the lid and shake again. Place in the fridge for at least four hours before serving.