Garden mysteries on early lakeside morning

An early-morning shot of my new herb garden. More to come in evening, in brighter light, with a virtual tour of the varieties of herbs.

The benefits of waking up early are so numerous. Here it is, 10:40, and I've listened to BBC world service streaming for two hours, having already finished planting the mint borders in my garden, transplanted the oregano/marjoram (I still can't tell the difference) and thyme, prepared more than a quart of yogurt (which will incubate and be ready this afternoon), and put another big loaf of quick rye bread into the oven.

Yogurt, so very easy. Just heat the milk, cool it a bit, add a hint of yogurt culture, and cultivate it in containers.

The bread is also a breeze.


Here, a couple shots of the mint I've been planting as a border to the path to the cottage. I've been irritated by the ugly black PVC dividing the sod from the path since I moved in, so my concept is finally to cover it with mint. I hope the walkway will be a lot more attractive as it inevitably fills in.

. . . So now I am puzzling over one plant in my garden. It looks like it could be a variety of thyme, because the placement of the leaves, the color, and the stem formation look very much like thyme. But it doesn't taste like thyme, from the tiny bit I tasted, and the tiny, thin needles don't look much like the leaves of most thyme plants I know.

It also grows in a pattern that is unlike other types of thyme I know -- it grows a bit like a groundcover, very close to the ground, and spreading outward from its central root.

Anyone familiar with it? I'm wondering if it might be summer savory. Or, it may just be a big, hardy weed.

Baking bread, breaking bread

Last night I baked my third yeasted loaf since I got out the Tassajara Bread Book again after years of it hiding in my boxes and/or cupboard. This time, since I was running low on almost all the flours, and need to restock, it was a weird hodgepodge of things: buckwheat, spelt, and regular (white) bread flour, 9-grain cereal, and cornmeal, with leftover sweetened condensed milk, a few eggs that needed using, a bit of leftover brown rice, a little lowfat milk, some almond oil, and of course sea salt, yeast, and filtered water, with raw sunflower seeds on top.

I was getting toward the end of the second rising when Katie and John arrived in the evening, so Katie helped me knead and shape a couple of the loaves. And then I baked it, while we sat back and chatted and enjoyed the smell of freshly baking bread. And it came out . . . brilliant! The uncooked cereal and cornmeal gave a great crunchiness throughout the loaf, but the overall texture was soft and delightfully chewy, with a lovely crust that was notably crusty without being "painful" like some crusty breads, as John pointed out. We ate almost a whole round loaf together, straight out of the oven, with organic butter and organic strawberry jam, me and my companions. . . :)

My camera batteries need replacing, but maybe I can get one more shot out of them to add here . . .

Why I moved to the country?

People in Ann Arbor, who know me as a full-time doctoral student -- or perhaps as their Anthropology instructor -- are often bewildered when I announce that I live in the country. I can tell by the blank looks or even by the curious responses. Why did you decide to move, they want to know. How can I begin to articulate the meaning of the transformation I have undertaken in my life recently? It is so much greater than I could possibly convey in a casual conversation. The explanations for me, besides, seem to be captured in the senses far more readily than in words. In fact, the departure is about the distance from language. (Words, words, words. . .)

It's captured, for instance, in the smell and concentrated pulse of heat and the ambient glow from the wood fire in the fire place . . .



And my fingers rediscovering dough. . .
. . . and the smell of homemade quiche baking in the oven.
. . . for instance.