May 2012
17
The rhubarb keeps growing, its dark leaves nearing the size of cafeteria trays as its stalks thicken and redden, reminding me of stiff penises. I slice them off, smiling in amusement at the connection, one that I cannot share with my husband nor sons unless I wish to see them cringe and clutch themselves. But still I smile, this time a bit wickedly as the sun slips in the sky and the yard glows green and glitters, imagining I am the wicked witch in Oz.
I have given bags of rhubarb to neighbors, frozen some, converted more into compote, and processed another five pounds into jam, a grapefruit-and-rhubarb combination that tastes like a sunny morning. This weekend I plan to challenge the family with a new recipe of braising brisket with honey and rhubarb. But despite my aggressive harvesting the rhubarb is endless, the thick rhizomes thriving under the hills of mulch and manure I unwittingly piled on top of them in the fall. Oh, well, at least this part of the yard is growing while the front’s conversion from lawn to vegetables has me chewing my lip over seedlings that sprout and then yellow.
Though I fret, I am enjoying this discovery of my new house, the secrets being revealed outside and in. I have delighted at the apple tree blossoms’ change from pink to white before falling like snow, and I have heard others’ voices echoing in small, dark corners as I discover handwritten notes that share the home’s history.
In the late afternoon the backyard beckons, and I decide dinner will be late so that I may spend time on the stoop, drinking a glass of wine and eating a bagel slathered with jam made from ruby-red stalks grown right here, because, you know, there is no place like home.
Rhubarb Grapefruit Preserves
Adapted from “Chez Panisse Fruit” by Alice Waters.
2 pounds rhubarb
2 grapefruit
4 cups sugar
Wash the rhubarb and cut it into 1/2 inch chunks. Peel the zest of the grapefruit and chop finely. Put the rhubarb, zest and sugar in a pot, and juice the grapefruits over it. Let the mixture stand for 30 minutes to allow the sugar to dissolve and the rhubarb to release its juice.
Sterilize 5 8-ounce canning jars and lids, following the manufacturer’s instructions. Put a small plate in the freezer to be used later to test the consistency of the jam.
Bring the pot of fruit to a boil over high heat, stirring to prevent it from sticking. Skim off any foam. Cook the jam, stirring often as it thickens. Begin testing its consistency by putting small spoonfuls of jam on the cold plate, which allows it to cool quickly in order to determine its thickness. When the jam has cooked to your preference, turn off the heat and ladle the jam into the prepared canning jars, allowing at least 1/4 inch of headroom. Seal with the lids according to the manufacturer’s instructions. Makes 5 cups.
Some instructions I overheard while watching the 800-meter dash:
“I was late so I changed into shorts while driving,” said a man sitting behind me in the bleachers.
“Were you wearing shorts underneath your pants?” a woman asked.
“No. I did it at three lights. At the first light, you take off both shoes. At the second light you pull off one pant leg. At the third light you pull off the other.”
Suddenly I remembered something I saw months ago while waiting at a red light. The driver of the car ahead of me had rolled down his window and shaken out a pair of jeans, then folded them up before driving off.
This morning I am kicking myself for not turning around to look at this one and the same man.
My house and my head
are alike in their need for
a good spring cleaning
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A DIY brew by Raleigh Briggs, author of “Make Your Own Place: Affordable, Sustainable Nesting Skills,” I have been mixing since the fall:
1 teaspoon liquid castile soap
2 tablespoons white vinegar
14/ teaspoon each of eucalyptus and lavender essential oil
3 drops tea tree oil
1 teaspoon borax
2 cups hot water
Mix all ingredients together in a spray bottle. You can use this on everything but glass. Spray it on, scrub and rinse off with a clean, damp cloth.
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A reason provided by Brenda Ueland, author of “If You Want to Write: A book about art, independence and spirit,” for not making it:
If you are always doing something for others, like a servant or a nurse, and never anything for yourself, you cannot do others any good. You make them physically more comfortable. But you cannot affect them spiritually in any way at all. For to teach, encourage, cheer up, console, amuse, stimulate, or advise a husband or children or friends, you have to be something yourself. And how to be something yourself? Only by working hard and with gumption at something you love and care for and think is important.
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Two questions wrung from a dishcloth pattern: Is there a part of you that is collecting dust? What are you going to do about it?
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And finally, something beautiful:
Charles Bukowski’s “The Blue Bird,” which begins:
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.
The poem was adapted by Cambridge School of Art student Monika Umba.
