A Year In Review

Above: Liz holding a quartz-bound book of mica over the newest addition to our yard – a Brown Turkey Fig tree.

I recently turned a year older. The point was driven home today after I walked into one of our local restaurants to grab lunch to go. I decided to have a pint while I waited on the order. The girl checking me out checked my ID to ensure I was of age (a compliment I will take) before smiling, and stating, “That looks nothing like you.”

Have you ever seen those side-by-side images of presidents before they enter the office, and when they finish their presidential term? That is what this past year has felt like. That said, much has happened in the past 12 months.

•  Liz and I bought our first home in Durham, NC, and committed to our love of the wonderful city, by growing roots here.
• I quit my job at an advertising agency (after almost 7 years in the game) to take a leap, and follow my heart. It has been the hardest, and simultaneously, one of the best things I have ever done for myself.
• I proposed to Liz on a snow-covered beach on Lake Superior.
• We began planning a wedding, before saying “Nope” to tradition, and running off to the mountains to elope at the base of a waterfall.
•  I (finally) successfully made the transition from “agency life” into personally fulfilling activities that I want to give my whole mind and heart to. More on that later, but it has been a long time coming… and I couldn’t have envisioned a better new beginning.

Presidents before: bright eyed, smooth skin, and minimal grey. Presidents after: experienced eyes, more wrinkles, and grey hair galore. The past year has kinda been like that. I still have (and will always have) the child-like twinkle in my eye. I’m pretty sure I will act like a kid until I throw in the towel. My smile lines have deepened, and hopefully will only continue to deepen.  And my hair… well, let’s just say I might be a silver fox before too long. It is both hereditary and inevitable (a least it is not falling out). If wrinkles and grey hair equals progress and a happy life, then may I age quickly… and hopefully gracefully.

I can honestly say that this year has been perfectly imperfect. While it is not the future I considered one year ago, it has turned into more than I had hoped. Cheers to the next 12 months of life.

Weekend Breakfast

Top: Seared grit cake, avocado, pea shoots, poached egg, roasted okra.

Middle: Buttermilk cracker, cream cheese, smoked salmon, garden cucumber, spicy dill mustard, “everything” spices.

Bottom: Buttermilk biscuit, sharp cheddar, cream cheese, avocado, fried egg.

I like to make breakfast. Liz highlighted it – here – before we were even man and wife. I’ve continued to play in the kitchen, and think that I just might pick up the Weekend Breakfast baton.

Chocolate milk cheers.

To Thirty

To a brilliant, beautiful, fiery, red-headed sweetheart, full of nothing less than piss and vinegar.

Happy birthday, Elizabeth. To 30 plus more years.

Appalachian Trail Care Package

Since I moved to North Carolina, 3 years ago, I have found that I very much enjoy hiking. I’m pretty proud of myself when I leisurely knock out a 3-mile loop at Eno River State Park. That said, what I call hiking is humorous compared to what a former coworker, and good friend of mine, is in the process of doing. This Spring Mr. Schwing put his career on hold to follow his heart, and hike the Appalachian Trail. The entire Appalachian Trail. In June, he started his trek in Mt. Katahdin, Maine.

Before he is finished (in less than 500 miles now!) he will have entered, and exited, 5 national parks over the course of 6-ish months. He will have hiked 2,185.3 miles through 14 states.  That is 5,500,000 steps (give or take). 5.5 MILLION steps! Occasional tweets note his progress (and reassure friends and family that he is, in fact, still alive). Inspiring Instagram photos share the magestic scenery he is trekking through. And this morning I got a text from Schwing. A care package I had mailed intersected his path in Damascus, VA.

It was a challenging process deciding what to pack, and send him. Who am I kidding? Hiking the AT in its entirety is challenging. Deciding what to pack, and send him, took a little bit of consideration. Consideration because he will have three options when he receives the package. 1) consume the contents immediately 2) pack them for later or 3) give some away/leave them for others. When hiking nearly a marathon daily, the less weight the better. So, he was sent all kinds of nonsense. Here is the break down…

- 2 packages of natural and unscented wet wipes – don’t want bears sniffing him out, and dude probably needs a shower.

- 10 assorted tea bags - the guy enjoys his tea.

- 12 Starbucks VIA instant coffee - although he is a tea drinker, he can trade or earn some trail magic (aka random acts of kindness), +12 xp!

- 6 Justin’s nut butters - the more calories consumed the better.

- 3 mini liquors including Maker’s Mark, Jameson, and Patron - for sterilization purposes or bug repellant, of course.

- 1 bottle of Trappistes Rochefort 10 - thoughtfully provided by a friend of ours… Good luck chilling that beautiful beer, Schwing!

Realizing he won’t carry it all with him, I hope that he can make another hiker’s day by giving them some coffee, honey peanut butter, or a stiff shot. Boost that trail magic karma!

As an aside: I could hear the single bottle of beer, and all 3 mini booze bottles, slosh around as I set the package on the post office counter. My tell-tale package. Glug-glug. Glug-glug. Thank you USPS for not asking me a single question about its contents. Cheers!

After the crazy amount of time, the crazy amount of miles, and the crazy, crazy amount of steps, I have this vision of Schwing emerging from the wilderness. He is changed both mentally and physically - a sense of enlightenment, wrapped in a slender Grizzly Adams package. He has a bird on his left shoulder, and a trail of small-to-medium-sized mammals following behind him as he emerges triumphantly... Either that, or he stumbles out of the forest mumbling something about beer, pizza, and a soft, air-conditioned place to sleep. In either scenario he has accomplished much, and has a wicked unruly beard.

Whatever the case may be, I hope the little package helps him along the way.

Homemade Sausage

Recently, good friends of ours gifted us with a sausage making attachment for our mixer (they know me so well). After much anticipation, I finally dove into the challenge of making my own, homemade sausage.   

I bought a “Boston Butt” – the “A” portion (actually a shoulder) from the image above. It is my favorite cut since moving to North Carolina. That is a big statement coming from a boy that was born and raised in an area of the country known for beef. I’m pretty sure I knew the saying, “Beef. Its what for dinner.” before I knew how to cook dinner.

That confession made, I carved the butt/shoulder into small cubes before throwing them in the freezer to get firm while I mixed spices, and ground herbs from our yard. One portion of spices was for breakfast sausage, and the other was for Italian sausage. I hooked the attachment up to the mixer, and apprehensively started the process. Liz pulled a chair into the kitchen… partially because my 90’s R&B music was too loud for us to speak to one another from different rooms, and partially to support/supervise the venture. All right, mostly for support.

We watched the cut cubes of meat turn to ground bits as I fed them through the grinder. It was impressive to see the meat, and fat, exit the contraption in a way that was recognizable as… well, meat. I could see meat. I could see fat. It wasn’t pink paste. It wasn’t sausage-flavored mush. It wasn’t elbows and assholes. It was sausage… that I made. I knew everything that went into the sausage before it went into my mouth. And I’ll be damned if both kinds didn’t turn out better than expected. 

A Second Week In The U.P.

I had the pleasure of spending a second full week in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. It was more laid back than the first. The first was celebratory while the second was … chill. I took the opportunity to get more familiar with the area. I had been to the U.P. several times before, but wanted to explore a bit this go ‘round.

I found myself aimlessly driving around downtown Sault Ste. Marie (better known as The Soo) stopping at thrift/junk/antique stores, before picking up m’lady to go to a Soo staple, Clyde’s Drive In. It was great to see Liz get visibly nostalgic about a burger joint. Come to find out, her parents had a meal at Clyde’s prior to their high school prom. Queue my forever love for the place.

The exploration continued after Liz realized I had not been to been to Tahquamenon Falls. A hop, skip, and a jump from the cabin, I decided to take the touristy trip while she worked. Luckily my mother-in-law decided to join me. We drove Lake Superior Shoreline Road, stopping along the coast of the lake to explore and reminisce about memorable moments from her past. The falls were great, but the day trip was made by the stories provided along the way. It didn’t hurt that a pit stop was made at Tahquamenon Falls Brewery.

The week started to come to an end with a hike to “The Point”. A jutting peninsula that guides the freighters through Whitefish Bay, into Waiska (Whiskey) bay, and through St. Marys River. Liz and I gathered driftwood and beach glass that would make the trip back to North Carolina. The week culminated with me making (needless) excuses to kayak out into the bay, and floating peacefully in the glass-like waters.

It was difficult to drive south, with Michigan in the rear view mirror. However, if I realized one thing on my 1,000-mile drive back to Durham, it is that you can’t return to a place unless you first leave it. 

A Celebration

Week one in Michigan culminated with a celebration. While “not-a-wedding-reception”, it was a celebration of marriage.

Lights were strung. Food and drinks were had. Family and friends, old and new, were hugged. Toasts were shared. “Cheers” was the word of the day. It was an amazing time. I am genuinely grateful to be a part of another big family.

The evening settled with a Superior sunset, fireworks, and a bonfire. The week ended just as it had began… with big smiles.

On The Road Again

 

Earlier this month I did something that, three years ago, I vowed never to do again. I got in a vehicle to drive 1,000 miles, give or take, by myself. Durham, NC to Brimley, MI. Any farther and I would have been in Canada. 

This drive was a little different than the last. Three years ago I was picking up and moving to the east side of the country. I just wanted to get there. This trip, on the other hand, was about the drive itself. The destination would welcome me when I got there, regardless of when that would be. Don’t get me wrong. I was very much looking forward to getting there. I simply had no set time to arrive. And more importantly, it had no scheduled return date.

ETA? TBD. Return date? Meh.

So, I took off in the car one day before Liz caught her plane to the same destination. I would arrive in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula before her. In the car were two suitcases, and one backpack. One suitcase, and the backpack was mine. The other suitcase was Liz’s. I could just imagine her walking through airport security saying, “Yes, I am only carrying a purse.” Except she wouldn’t call it a purse. A bag maybe? A tote? A satchel? Let’s stick with a bag. “Yes, I am only carrying a bag.” And knowing Liz, that bag only had an ID, money, reading material, and a bottle of water. I am sure the TSA was wondering what this confident redhead was up to. Nonetheless...

In Charleston, WV I stopped for lunch at a hole in the wall taco joint. Think if a beach shack was dropped half a mile from the state capitol building. It was golden. As I crossed into Ohio I had an impromptu phone interview, before seeing farm, after farm, after beautiful farm. At the 10-hour mark I reached out to click “like” on the dash of the car. You know, similar to Pandora or Facebook. That was the moment that I knew I was in an I’ve-been-driving-for-quite-a-while place. Both the music and my right foot got heavy after that. The road straightened, and the land leveled. It was energizing to give it gas and just go.

“Welcome To Michigan” the sign said. “Exit 1 Starbucks”. The clouds opened, and the chorus sang. All was right with the world. That is until I found the Starbucks… in a grocery store… and closed. So, I picked up an energy drink and a coffee drink, and pounded both as I sped north through the middle-mitt of Michigan — fireworks bursting all around the highway.

The day had taken me from the mountains, through plains, to the Great Lakes. I wasn’t tethered to my phone. Often times I didn’t have reception. Maybe I was in a tunnel, in a river valley, or simply out in the middle of nowhere. I enjoyed the view of the road coming to a point on the horizon (except maybe for a little while in Ohio), all through the lens of a bug-splattered windshield. It was nice. There is a lot to be seen between point A and point B. 

After I crossed the Mackinac Bridge, and entered into the Upper Peninsula, I rolled the window down to take in the clean, fresh air of the Upper Peninsula —a new-to-me tradition recommended by my father-in-law. The white bark of the Birch trees shone through the dark evergreen needles. The wildflowers were in bloom, and fragrant. This, I thought, is what I drove 1,000 miles for.

Cast Iron Anniversary

After Liz and I eloped in Asheville we wanted to bring some things home with us to remind us of the time we ran off to the mountains to stand at the base of a waterfall, profess our love, and commit our lives to one another. When all was said and done, we brought back several things (all from Oddfellows, a perfectly curated shop of dead people stuff).

We returned with two mid-century, narrow-legged chairs. The kind with tiny-tipped feet that Liz loves so much. A few old cinema signs. Days of the week. Matinees anyone? A couple of grey-green cans of “EMERGENCY DRINKING WATER” that are/were “PROPERTY U.S. GOV’T”. Drink up! And something that I had my eyes set on from the start – one of the few things that I knew would last the duration of our marriage, our lives, and beyond – a cast iron skillet.

Not just any cast iron skillet. A Griswold 5 cast iron skillet. Based on the logo on the underside of the skillet, this particular one was born between 1919-1940. It has been around for a bit. At minimum, more than Liz and I combined. Why Griswold? Why the 5? Well first, Griswold was manufactured in Erie, PA. My grandfather (the Simon of Simon Curtis) was born in Erie. And second, every time I hold that handle, and see the 5 emblazoned on it, I will remember that I married The One on 5/5.

The Griswold 5 was in need of a little care. I didn’t want to break her down with chemicals, but wanted to clean her up a bit. I cut a small sweet potato in half, poured course sea salt into the pan, and scrubbed. The poor girl had all kinds of gunk on her (I’m going to assume the good old cooking type). After a good scrub, oil rub, and a stove sauna, she was as good as new.

Maybe I am expecting too much out of a piece of old metal, but if it is up to me and Laverne, we will endure. We will be strong. We will serve the family. Oh, yeah.. My new/old cast iron skillet is named Laverne.

My family is going to have me committed if I keep naming my cast iron skillets.

Home Work: Raised Beds And Rocks

Where did that come from? What the hell is that? Why is that one in the middle of the yard? These are the questions I have been asking myself over the last several months of spring. Bulbs that have been buried all winter, monkey grass that has been waiting in the ashes of last year’s life, previously hidden honeysuckles, have all recently been reaching to the sun with all of their might. Now don’t get me wrong, much of the blooms and blossoms have been pleasant surprises. However, they have been a bit… confusing. Confusing in that I did not see them coming. In that I don't entirely understand the thought process of the previous owner. 

One thing I have not had to question is the vegetables and herbs that we have planted. It has been exciting (yes, I get excited about growing food) to see them thrive in proper soil as opposed to the brick factory we were trying to force at our old place. All this brings me to my latest backyard adventure: reinforcing the raised beds. 

When we moved in, I envisioned removing the existing raised beds, and constructing a more solid vegetable garden elsewhere in the yard. However, there were two existing raised beds, and turning the yard into my own sandbox wasn’t the highest priority on our to do list (close, but not quite there). There was also a flowerbed in the center of the back yard lined with large stones. The same stones, but smaller, lined the front yard. In the “level and rebuild” mentality I broke it all down. I stripped them for parts. I… created a rock pile in the back yard. With that I was left with two deteriorating, raised beds and a pile of rocks. Lots of heavy rocks. So, I did what any boy would do while playing in the back yard. I built a castle. 

So when I say reinforcing, it is not because the beds needed the structural support, but because I had two sad looking raised beds and a pile of rocks. By the looks of it, the result could guard against the invading hoards. A moat is the only thing that is missing. 

In all honesty, I am happy with the way it turned out. Especially for a temporary solution. There is a long term plan for the vegetable castle.

We have an area in the back corner of our yard that we refer to as the “thicket”. It is a group of small trees, bushes, and otherwise dense growth. It serves the purpose of providing privacy from beyond the fence, but that is about it. On the list of future “Home Work” assignments is to level the thicket and build it back up with berry bushes and fruit trees (and a pecan tree if I can swing it). Ideally, it would not only provide privacy, but also food, which seems to be a focus when we put things in the ground. The rocks would be repurposed to form rows, and borders, for new bushes and trees. As for the raised beds, they will be rebuilt elsewhere in the backyard with more room and more sunlight.

To be honest, I am looking forward to creating a more edible landscape. There is something natural, fulfilling, and simply nice about stepping into your yard to gather for a meal, garnish, or treat. I mean, I’m going to need sustenance if I plan to continue moving these stinkin’ rocks around the yard. 

Honeysuckle

I have a nostalgic love for honeysuckles. For me the smell is directly tied to playing on Papa’s farm as a child. They will forever be one of my favorite springtime smells.

When Liz and I began discussing what to plant around our new home, honeysuckle was near the top of my list. To my surprise it has recently began to bloom in several places in our yard. The sweet smell that now hovers in the air makes being in the yard that much more enjoyable.

There is a certain timeless joy in pulling the pistil through the base of the flower before placing the smallest drop of nectar on the tip of your tongue.  I revisited that joy today, and thought that someone should somehow capture it. After some quick research I found that honeysuckle simple syrup is a thing. Excited, I spent the next hour outside – large mixing bowl in hand – picking four cups of the delicate, white flowers.

To my pleasant surprise, the end product captured the floral sweetness perfectly. I have successfully captured a childhood memory in liquid form. Now to mix it in cocktails, sweet tea, and flavored butter to top buttermilk biscuits. 

Blue Ridge Parkway

One of the nice things about eloping is the inherent flexibility of it all. It definitely makes for a more laid back experience. For example, we did not know where we were going to hold our ceremony until approximately 36 hours before it happened. It made for an enjoyable, exploratory adventure down the Blue Ridge Parkway.

We attempted to scout a few locations a couple months before, but found the Parkway was closed. The postponed hiking adventure gave us a chance to see the potential locations exactly how they would be during the ceremony. Just before our wedding day we meandered down the Blue Ridge Parkway to explore four locations.

Devil’s Courthouse: Milepost 422 - Legend tells that the devil held court in the cave that lies under the rock. Or according to Cherokee lore, the dwelling space of the slant-eyed giant, Judaculla. Regardless, it is said to have some of the most spectacular views in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and touts a variety of rare, high-altitude plants. We eagerly began our way up the .5 mile, paved trail before laughing at our lack of breath two minutes in. The trail description of “strenuous” is quite fitting, but the view is worth the effort.

Black Balsam Knob: Milepost 420.2 - A knob or bald is a treeless mountaintop worthy of many immature jokes. This one in particular features forests, meadows, and spectacular views from the clear mountaintop. We walked though a washed-out-waist-high trail, through a meadow, and up lava-like rocks to the top of the bald. A great hike, and a gorgeous experience, but we were determined to press on to the next trailhead.

Graveyard Fields: Milepost 418 - After skirting the chain link fence (technically Graveyards Fields was closed for renovations) we began walking through a tunnel of Mountain Laurel and Rhododendron. As we proceeded we took an unintended turn towards the upper falls. Come to find out smart phones are less than smart when between mountain peaks. We took a snack break before doubling back. We made our way to my favorite part – the boardwalk in the middle the fields – before playing like mountain goats (I speak for myself) on the rocks of the lower falls. The trail featured many great characteristics, but…

While we were worn out, our photographers had given us a last minute recommendation.  Our fourth and final destination.

Looking Glass Falls: 9.2 miles south of the Blue Ridge Parkway on Highway 276 - Looking Glass Falls drops sixty feet in the Pisgah National Forrest. The lush foliage, coupled with the cool mist from the falls, sealed the deal for us both. As we climbed back up the stone stairs, we were already beginning to discuss what our ceremony would look like.   

While neither one of us envisioned saying our vows at the base of a waterfall (and totally wanted to say we were married at a place with a metal sounding name like one of the first three locations), we left the site knowing that it would be just right. And it was.  

As an aside, Looking Glass Falls is in Transylvania County. 

I Thee Wed

“Since the invention of the kiss, there have only been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.” ― William Goldman

At least that is what I felt when I closed my vows with Elizabeth. Admittedly, I referenced The Princess Bride in the ceremony as well.

Last week we disappeared into the Appalachian Mountains of western North Carolina to elope. Kathleen and her family made us husband and wife in the Pisgah National Forrest. It was an unforgettable moment/day/week in which I was overflowing with so much emotion that I only hope to remember it clearly… which is just one of the many reason that I am anxiously awaiting the photographs of that day.

I’m sure more will be shared, but in the mean time you can get a glimpse (if you haven’t already) into our planning process here. We’ll be sure to update as the elopement photography comes rolling in. 

Making A House A Home

Liz and I have finally found soil in which our roots want to take hold. We have been making the house our home over the past 6 months. Periodically painting some walls white and some black. While Liz re-skins the interior I tend to tackle the yard. She keeps track of it nicely here. 

Well, the ante was upped as my future in-laws came to visit recently. They came with a vision and knowledge. A magical combination. It was the first time I heard the phrase “exploratory demolition”.

The kitchen backsplash and the upstairs bathroom were the primary focus. Now don’t get me wrong; other things were addressed as well. To date 60+ bags of leaves and pine needles have been removed, and the tally continues to rise. Trees and limbs have been cut, bundled, and hauled off. Flowerbed borders were disassembled, and compiled into a centralized pile.

The Fabry visit was a great crash course in demolition, renovation, wiring, and other knowledge that only comes with hands-on experience. I personally learned a lot including the confidence to say, take a swing at the tile floor with a crow bar or reach into a wire-filled hole where a light fixture once was. My small hatchback has gone from being treated as a clean, cute car to a tiny “truck”. Most likely never to be the same.

I’m still impressed by what was accomplished while they visited, and look forward to continue to carry on the momentum of modifying. The house is becoming more Liz-and-Micah-like each day. Come visit. We’ll put you to work.

Buttermilk Biscuits

How have I never learned to make buttermilk biscuits before now? I grew up with a fear of the combustible breakfast breads. Peel. Peel slower. Slowly now. BOOM! Prepackaged biscuits still, to this day, scare the crap out of me. It is an AM jack-in-the-box. That is not what I want to wake up to.

For one reason or another I have been enamored with making a proper homemade biscuit lately. Maybe it is because I have a bit of time on my hands. Maybe it is the yin to my gravy-obsession yang. Maybe it is because I am channeling my inner southern grandma. Nevertheless, I have recently been committed to figuring out the proper ingredient ratio for comforting, crumbly, buttery, biscuits.

After only my first batch, White Lily self-rising flour was brought to my attention, and highly recommended as the flour of choice for biscuits. Game. Changer. With the search for a great homemade buttermilk biscuit shorter than anticipated, I have found myself seeing what additions work with the recipe. The latest batch had lavender in the mix. It works.

In no way did I reinvent the wheel. I just learned to drive. I look forward to embracing my inner southern grandma. Wait, would that be like giving myself a hug? Regardless, buttermilk biscuits are just a start.

For The Birds

When we bought our house last fall I found myself with a greater interest in wildlife in our area, on the trails we hike, and more specifically, in our back yard. My grandfather always seemed to have that type of knowledge. “That’s Bermuda grass.” “That’s a Silver Maple.” It was something I assumed just came with his life experience. And then he would throw in things like “That’s a saber-tooth crotch cricket.”

I have casually looked for books that cover bird species found in North Carolina, but found myself looking for lists more specific to the area. Naturally, there will be coastal species that won’t find their way to Durham. Likewise, birds in the Blue Ridge Mountains may not make their way east. With my own self-imposed specificity I decided to begin compiling my own list of backyard birds.

I have been placing bird feed outside our windows, on the patio, in the feeder, and on the fence. By the time I get back inside there seems to be several birds eyeing the fresh spread. Like an indoor pet I’ve become interested in everything going on outside. Part of it even though only looking out from a window. Excited every time something different is seen. Frustrated when a squirrel, or three, can’t be bothered by attempts to scare it away.

While I’m not sure if this quirkiness comes with age, homeownership, or excessive available time, I have decided to give it a purpose. A personal project of sorts. In addition to identifying the species I see in our yard, I’ve entertained sketching each type. The goal wouldn’t be to get all Audubon on it, but rather to compile a collection of simple sketches for reference. As I accumulate sketches of several species perhaps I will share a few. 

Playing In The Dirt

I have been playing in the dirt lately – namely in the front and back yards. Liz and I have decided to cleanse the two before we start adding. No need to be stuck with someone else’s vision. Let’s wipe the slate clean then make it ours. Flower beds have been disassembled. Large stones have been gathered and piled. Many, many leaves have been bagged up and hauled off. And volunteer saplings have been removed – with an axe no less.

My yard tool selection could use some diversity, but in the mean time, I am content with using an axe for everything. Oh, that tree branch that collapsed under the weight of the winter precipitation needs removed. Axe. Those grapevines on the arbor need cut away. Axe. What is that? The whole arbor isn’t your jam. AXE. As long as I don’t have to start congratulating people with high-fours I’m good-to-go for a bit. 

As I hack away at everything, and the neutral colored blanket of leaves and pine needles is pulled back from the yard, it is nice to get a glimpse of what spring holds. Small patches of bright green moss have started to stand out. Previously hidden bulbs have sprouted all over – in the flower beds, along the back of the house, in the middle of the yard – and are blooming yellow and purple. To be honest, I will sometimes come across a bulb, sprout, or blooming plant and save it from the purge by finding a place for it in another area.

In the same vein, I thought I'd get the ball rolling by starting some seeds for the gardens. I found a couple starting kits and seed packets that had made it through the move – including ones that Liz had left from the Clyde Oak urban farm seed collection – and took the opportunity to try to give them a jump-start. Maybe I’m trying to prompt spring weather, or maybe craving fresh vegetables, but if nothing else it gives me an excuse to keep playing in the dirt. 

Anniversary in Asheville

Liz and I spent our fourth anniversary together in Asheville. We planned a weekend of hiking, eating, and drinking with a few stops at antique malls sprinkled in for good measure. All went just as planned – except for the hiking part.

The stretches of the Blue Ridge Parkway that we were hoping to use, to access the trails, were closed. I was a bit disappointed and surprised at first. I was hoping for some scenic views. In fact, the only “scenic” picture I took was of the quote above, printed on a wall size image, in the Blue Ridge Parkway visitor’s center. However, after taking a moment it completely made sense. Elevated, narrow roads on the sides of mountains probably aren’t the best to drive on in sub-freezing temperatures. The time we had allotted for hiking and exploring the mountains, turned into hiking and exploring antique malls and breweries. Not a bad plan B at all.

We hit several antique malls that took me back to my grandparents’ barns in Oklahoma. The familiar sights and smells brought about a joyful calm as I casually walked through the comfortably crowded booths. Liz captured it nicely, here.

If I am not mistaking, eleven craft-breweries call Asheville home. We got the pleasure of visiting three while we were in town. The highly recommended (and for good reason) Wicked Weed Brewing lived up to the hype. A Double IPA known as the Freak of Nature, and French Toast Stout? Yes, yes, a thousand times yes! It was nice to relax in the Green Man Brewery tasting room. And pizza and pints at the Asheville Brewing Co. was just the cherry on top.

It was nice to spend additional time running around town taking in the shops, brews, and ever-present street art. Asheville is always a refreshing change of scenery. While we didn’t get the chance to drive the scenic parkway, and hike the picturesque trails, Mr. Blake’s quote still holds true. We are already looking forward to returning when the parkway opens up later this spring.

Daruma

The little, cockeyed guy pictured above has been keeping me focused lately. He is a Daruma wish doll. A couple of good friends gave him to me as a gift of encouragement as I entered a time of change - ­a shift in my career. I had not heard of the Daruma until I saw one at Hatch, a seasonal pop-up shop in Durham, and have seen them at a variety of places since. I grew fond of the concept as I learned more about the idea behind it.

Traditionally shaped so that they return upright if knocked over, the small Darumas recover as needed and rise to success. The Japanese talisman of good luck involves several steps in perusing a goal or wish. First, the individual identifies a goal, and signifies intent, by filling in one eye. In this instance the goal is to make this career shift successfully. The one-eyed Daruma is then placed in a visible area to serve a dual-purpose. One, as a reminder to keep working towards the goal until it is realized. And two, so the Daruma’s stare can also focus on the goal. Once the goal is accomplished the second eye is filled in. The resulting, two-eyed doll a symbol of accomplishment.

The idea of identifying a goal, and giving it a tangible form has grown on me.  So much so that this little guy has taken on a life of his own. I imagine, when he is not focusing on the goal at hand, he is outside hiking through the grass and hanging out in the trees. I am very much looking forward to filling in the other eye, patting the little guy on the head, and saying “thank you” for all the hard work before setting him free in the wooded, back yard.  

Strawberry Milk

I like milk. A lot. I remember, as a kid, my dad going to the grocery store to get a gallon of milk for dinner. He had to return to the store because the milk had disappeared before it was time to prepare the meal. The taste for milk remained into adulthood. Liz just laughed the first time she saw me pour Hershey’s chocolate syrup directly into the half-gallon jug, instead of a glass.

When not using it for gravy, or dunking a cookie into it, my go-to has normally been a large container filled with Hershey’s syrup and milk. I say “normally” because I recently made the mistake of looking at the ingredients. Now, I can look past some less-than-natural ingredients in favor of some tasty flavors, but when the first two ingredients I am adding to my beloved milk are high fructose corn syrup and corn syrup, I have to take a moment to reassess the situation.

In an effort to find a more natural flavoring for my milk, I spiraled down a deep, delicious rabbit hole before emerging pumped to prep a simple strawberry syrup. While I wouldn’t tout it as “healthy”, I would consider it more natural than its store-bought counterpart. In fact, it only has 4 ingredients. Strawberries, sugar, water, and vanilla. Ok, maybe a few more ingredients if you count those that made up the vanilla - vanilla beans soaked in spiced rum. Nonetheless, when combined, reduced, and strained the result is the beautiful blood red nectar of the gods. When mixed with milk, and raised to the lips, the clouds open followed by a chorus of hallelujah.

As Liz succinctly put it, “Mmm, it tastes like melted strawberry ice cream”. “Try some more. The strawberries taste like strawberries, and the snozzberries taste like snozzberries… We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.”

Monuts Donuts

Having previously sold their sweet and savory goods from a modified tricycle, Monuts Donuts is approaching the one-year anniversary of their shop on Parish Street. With a line that consistently reaches the door, you know that what they are selling is worth waiting for (or getting there early for).

Everyone raves over the thoughtful, delicious breakfast bagel sandwiches, and while I visually admire them each time the Monuts everything bagel has been the staple of every one of my visits. Toasted everything bagel, with cream cheese, and a Maple Bacon Bourbon donut. Toasted everything bagel, with cream cheese, and a Chocolate Earl Grey donut. Toasted everything bagel, with cream cheese, and a Banana Cardamom Walnut Donut. Wash it down with a mismatched mug of coffee or a box of chocolate milk, or both, and all is well with the world.

Liz is a connoisseur of everything bagels, and I’ve joined her for that ride with no complaints. While the standard everything bagel has big onion and garlic flavors, Monuts takes a more subtle approach (and more effective in my opinion). The “everything” is definitely there, but not in a sand-blasted-with-seasoning way. And my favorite part, the bit of cayenne that warms the mouth before giving the taste buds a gentle slap on the way by. 

I say all that to simply give a heads up to anyone who comes to visit Liz and me from out of town. When you arrive, just go ahead and assume that you will end up at Monuts.