The Spring of Pandemic and the Summer of Smoke

Last week this Fall, the overnight drizzle came for the first time since Spring. It washed the ash off the raspberries and figs, though we still rinse the fruit indoors to be safe. The smoke has covered the sun off and on for the past month, so the tomatoes think it’s now end of season, and are withering on the vine despite the irrigation. The bean trellis, though, is still in full bloom and Bug loves sitting inside, eating beans left and right without pausing to chew between mouthfuls. I hose down the vines every now and then to make sure she isn’t eating burnt redwoods and plastic appliances and aluminum siding and such.

2020 has been a year of many feelings, which I’m sure everybody can tell you. A global pandemic hit early on (“stay away from others!”) which led to school closings (“stay close to home!”) which then bled into dry summer wildfires and ubiquitous smoke (“stay inside!”). Papa John left his job at the beginning of the pandemic in March to stay home with Bug, and Mama Autumn found her continued office space in the bedroom on a folding table, and then a standing desk with an actual ergonomic chair for the Summer.  What luxury!  As long as we installed smoke-rated air filters into the Quail Cottage central air, it seemed like we could stay indoors forever!

Maybe some events may have been missed?  What’s a Bug?  What caused the smoke?  What … ?

I do apologize for not keeping things up to speed.  But life has continued as it tends to do whether we write about it or not.  We now have a Bug!  We have a Quail Cottage human denizen!  We have a fair-haired freckle-faced question-child!

Question-child surely, as in she questions everything her three-year-old mind can think of these days.  “Bug, we have to go to school!”  “Why?”  “Bug, it’s time for us to get to bed.”  “Why?”  “Bug, mama and dada would like to sleep in past 4am this morning.”  “Why?”  Such a curious addition to Quail Cottage has not been seen since Gertrude, Gertrude, Gertrude, Gertrude, and Gertrude were asking where breakfast was every morning back in the Summer Of Citrus And Eggs.  She has been such a delight for us at the Cottage;  helping us smoosh dirt into pots, scooping dirt from one pot to another, and most importantly, using her small wheelbarrow to put lots of dirt into, so that it can be dumped onto the ground.

It turns out that the Spring Of Pandemic was a bit rough; Bug’s preschool closed because of the global flu that spread quickly, and Papa John left his job to help take care of her full time, while Mama Autumn kept the family afloat with her job that moved to her new “desk” in the bedroom.  Grandma Carol and Grandpa Charlie in Maine were so happy to be called upon for FaceTimes every few days;  we started Grandpa School after breakfast for counting practice, building towers out of Papa John’s meadmaking supplies, and reading books over video.  Bug became good video friends with Sammy, the grandparent’s young black lab, whom she definitely remembers meeting almost a year ago in Maine.  Any apparel with a black dog logo on it is obviously a Sammy Shirt;  and though she’s really grown out of hers now, we’re expecting more for Christmas…

Grandpa Rob passed last year, which means that we don’t take as many trips down to Santa Cruz as we had been.  I could say immeasurable things about Grandpa Rob, but for his relationship with Bug, we have tried to capture in a book of his poems published called Supernova: Living and Dying.  Please let us know if you wish a copy.  Since fewer obligations to Santa Cruz, Nana has been such a wonderful gem for us, driving up to take care of Bug for a bit while the parent Quails head out for a much-needed quiet date without a kiddo.  Hey, let’s go out for a movie!  Oh wait, theatres are closed for pandemic.  Let’s go out for lunch!  Oh, we can only dine outside for pandemic, and it’s kinda cold today.  We could go hiking!  Sure, let’s just go somewhere out of the house.  #COVIDLIFE

To a degree this seemed at the time like something we could deal with.  It was a life-threatening challenge for some;  but we were socioeconomically privileged, were lucky to be at low risk, and able to stay out of danger at home, with a good Cottage to help take care of us and offer us protection.

And then California started burning.

I don’t quite know how to type these words without recognizing that there are so many that lost their homes, their towns, their friends, and for some their lives, to these wildfires.  For us it was a hindrance, a month of smoke off and on.  A month of not knowing whether our child could go to school the next day or not.  A month of trying to find indoor activities when our own backyard was too smoky to run and play in.  A month of running up and down our hallways because that was the only way to get exercise.  Yet, this is nothing compared to our friends that lost their homes.  Nana helped house her now homeless friends from the Santa Cruz mountains that will never go back.  State Parks that have stood for thousands of years have finally burned.  The Bay Area had a “Spare The Air Day” with unhealthy air quality for about 30 days in a row.

Bug slept through it, but the rest of us were woken up by the beginning in Santa Cruz.  While we were down at Nana’s for the weekend, the largest front of the season came through with big clouds, dry wind, and specifically, lightning.  Lightning is rare in the Bay Area, and when it occurs it’s a big deal.  From one of her books, Bug now refers to it as the Big Bang Booms! that she missed.  These strikes are what created the giant complexes that eventually burned more than 4% of the entire state of California.

We usually don’t feel the need to wash our lettuce, chard, and fruit that comes in from the Cottage yard;  unless aphids are visible, we know pesticides aren’t used and whatever dirt helps a good gut microbiome.  But this season a visible layer of ash needed to be washed off;  not only was it redwood ash from the Big Basin fires, but plastic and metal ash from houses, cars, and appliances that were incinerated in the Northern & Southern fires this year.  Such a reminder sometimes that the plethora of State & National Parks we live next to are such a gem for us to have... and also a tinderbox for us to be aware of.

Now that it seems the worst air quality is past us, we hope to get back to a more regular school schedule, and Bug can get back to becoming friends with her classmates…. in strict cohorts of 8, segregated by classrooms & bathrooms, with clear walking paths away from other classes, and teachers all wearing masks.  Wearing a facial mask has become familiar to her.  A saying she will now grow up with is “because a lot of people are sick”.

How do we get our children past this?  How do we get back to normal?  How do we, as parents, deal with this turmoil without imprinting it onto our progeny for all time?  Or, since it will be imprinted anyway, how do we accept that and allow us all to move on?

We are so lucky to be within this moment of technology while this is happening.  Every other morning this summer, Bug asked “can I say hi to grandma and grandpa?” (Over FaceTime.)  Video calling is part of her life now.  Papa and Mama Quail share photos and videos of Bug every day even with her friends just down the street that she should not see without masks and six foot social distancing.  Sammy shares videos of himself playing on the beach in Maine 3000 miles distant that Bug watches over pancakes.  We live in a golden age of communication.

It’s hard sometimes, as parents, to think of technology and its role with a three year old.  We prefer more physical toys and less tapping-and-watching of screens.  But there are certain things it has enabled, most especially during these very tough times, that have kept us all alive, and Bug especially.  FaceTiming with Grandma and Grandpa over pancakes, counting blocks and touching shapes with Grandpa, asking Grandma to give Sammy some treats, showing them my room and my new favorite books.  Asking for rainbow yoga? on YouTube when Nana is up for the weekend and we can’t go outside because of the smoke, and Dada wants to do an indoor bike ride on the trainer.  Video calling with Auntie Aurora and Uncle Ben because they can’t come visit because A Lot Of People Are Sick.  Birthday parties over Zoom with Eden and her friends after they’ve dropped off the birthday cupcake to our porch the day before, so everybody can eat it at the same time onscreen.  During such isolating and mentally crushing times, our friendships and connections have been what keep us healthy, and that mirrors so much of what Quail Cottage has stood for;  creating new friends across differences, nurturing relationships despite challenges, and letting us lean and rely and build upon each other to help ourselves thrive.  We need it now more than ever.

The Year of Absent Historical Accounts, the Summer of Citrus and Eggs, and the Winter of More Absence

During a quiet evening last winter, we buried Gertrude after dark, beneath the hesitant drops of the second of the serious winter's rains that were starting to drizzle down. We dug a small grave in the backyard aside the patio next to the roasting pit, laid her in, said a few ambiguous words, sipped a dosage of whisky and splashed the rest in before covering her up. She gave us many a good egg over the seasons, but something happened in the end to cause her quiet suffering for a few days before she decided to let it all be done. Despite a quiet box, some clean food and drink, and a warm heating pad underneath, it was time for her to leave. Cheers, Gertrude, come back again someday and let us know how it turned out.

Now a half year later we finish a cold bottle of mead and some stale magazines on the deck as the last light and heat of midsummer decay into the lively sounds of Mariachi bands in the park across the street. This heat wave reminds us of east coast August nights, with fireflies in the trees and the smell of a thunderstorm on the horizon. Unfortunately, rarely do thunderstorms really ever make it to California, and most nights we have to bundle up even in midsummer, so this feels all the more special.

A good deal of events occurred during the Year of Absent Historical Accounts, and the greatest sin is that we didn't write about them soon after they occurred. Do we need to document events immediately so that we remember them in perpetuity? Well, maybe not. But as the memory of old events fades by filling our heads with those anew, more often than not a quick account of recent memories serves to refresh the mind with associated visions, smells, and tastes of events gone past; clearing the palette and triggering a memory of drinks, meals, friends, and laughs that we love to recall over and over as years go by.

Late summer and fall did not stop while we honeymooned in Hawai'i. We arrived home to a multitude of adventures: sailing again out of Berkeley, traveling out to John's reunion in Wisconsin, another yearly trip with EFN to Tahoe for July 4th, and several cycling events that John had to quickly get in shape for. And the one event that stands out, Quail Cottage's first Thanksgiving! John's parents made it into town, as well as Uncle George. Autumn's parents came up from down south, and Ben and Aurora stopped by as well for the feast. Time to show off what the Quail kitchens could do! We found a decently sized bird from a nearby farm (easy to do in California), roasting it to perfection with a crisply browned skin fattened with its own drippings! Stuffing made its appearence as a special guest through the Quail Yeastery leftover sourdough, which when paired with a crumbled sausage and drizzled with the turkey's gravy was simply amazing, fatty and savory and bready and crispy! Greens shone through as well, with our favorite Brussels sprouts roasted under the broiler with fatty chunks of bacon, a large frisée salad with a light citrus dressing to smooth out all the other fats, and a crispy sautéed broccoli bowl. Aurora brought her favorite twice baked potatoes, and we made a cranberry avocado chutney as a token to California. Decorated with several magnums of our favorite winery's Cabernet, what a feast it was! Food and wine and laughter and family and friends: our first hosted Thanksgiving turned into the definition of what such a large feast should be!

I could regale you for ages with stories of foods and feasts, and that will probably come later, but I must continue by talking about our smaller friends and family. Early on in the Year of Absent Historical Accounts, we continued our feline fostering at Quail Cottage Senior by taking in a neglected pair of housecats, whom we renamed Onyx and Cream. (All cats who pass through the Quail Cattery get renamed. Autumn was adoring the book Oryx and Crake at the time and was trying to figure out how we could name the cats as such without being *too* obvious.) As exemplified by Dan and Jeanne then renaming them Fatty and Tugboat, they weren't the nimblest of cats, being rather a large black meowler and a cross-eyed white mottled. They eventually made their way to a quiet law student who was looking for somebody to care for other than textbooks. We took in after that a touchy but delightfully looking white and blue-eyed slender cat we named Cloud as soon as we saw her. She lasted a few days - long enough for John to take some glamour shots - before the photos were posted and she was desired elsewhere. (One of the secondary reasons for fostering so many cats is to get better photos on the adoption website; flash photos with a point-and-shoot isn't amenable to viewing these adorable cats as glamorous!)

Two boys arrived, however, shortly after Cloud left. Oh, these boys were so fitting for life at the Cottage, their ears were munched on, they were suspended upside down while their bellies were scratched, and they adopted us as much as we adopted them. And we did! After a worried phone call from a prospective adopter, Autumn looked at John and they both knew they needed to get them off the adoptive website. Permacats had arrived! Now as I write, they've aged and mellowed, but still exemplify the spirit of Quail Cottage as we like to teach: playful but mellow, loving without smothering, curious but respectful, and tolerant of anybody rubbing your belly and biting your ears. (Okay, they might not be as respectful of our space on the kitchen counter as we'd like, but that's more about teaching us to learn animal behavior with regards to exposed food than teaching them about manners.) Two more cats have arrived one after another since then, a gorgeous deep-red-haired Maine Coon whom we named Red (eventually adopted by Em and Jamie after finding she needed a quiet solo-cat home), and now Sepp, a very young and shy but loving black tabby who has a bit of separation anxiety when you leave him alone for the day (hence the name). The boys eventually adopted Sepp as well, for playtimes and cleanings, although maybe a bit eager to steal his food every now and then.

This account weaves back and forth in time slightly, but I must reverse and mention the chicks that arrived after we found a nice coop on Craigslist and found space in the backyard. What better way to have fresh eggs than backyard chickens! Unfortunately, a miscommunication with our friends that were sharing the quantity of chicken-lings with led us to end up with five of them. Oh, they were adorable when they were young! All in the same cage, you could reach in and hug handfuls of baby chicks, all peeping and sleeping and trying to keep warm by huddling next to the heat lamp. But growing up quickly, we found that five seemed to be a lot for the small space we had planned. In the end it didn't seem *too* small; and free-ranging in the backyard on the weekends seemed to keep them happy enough. If only we could feel as good about all the ground-level plants they razed or dug up...

Eventually the cycles of food within the Cottage became routine, if only for all the animals rather than the humans. First and Second Chicken grew out of the initial squawks of daylight and looking for breakfast, then the Egg Laying Song around midmorning, which all the birds joined in enthusiastically, as if on the cheering squad for the layer. First Chicken was adorable for the first part of Spring, until Summer realized that first light was getting on 6am or earlier. Then it was several months of trying to figure out how to get them to shut up for at least another hour or two until a decent human waking time. Mostly, this was ameliorated by reaching into the egg box for up to five eggs every morning ...!

First and Second Cat took a similar amount of time to figure out. Given the ... girth ... of Onyx and Cream, we had decided that our boys were not going to grow up to be free-fed fat cats. Which means that we were on call for all meals of the day; eventually this boiled down to breakfast and dinner. Until one day when Autumn got caught on a work call at a home in the morning after her own breakfast. Trying to finish up the call, she asked John why the boys were being all noisy and hungry only a few hours after breakfast. "Um, well, there might be a secret John feeding time that you don't know about." ... as he slipped a half cup of dry food into the cat puzzlebox on his way out the door. Thus was christened First and Second Cat, alongside First and Second Chicken, being not necessarily punctual but eminently reliably occurring times of the day.

Summer arrived, and found our kitchen loaded with dozens of eggs. Recipes flew around like papparazzi articles, with frittatas, quiches, souflées, shirred eggs, poached eggs, and egg bakes all making appearances over and over again. What a fascinating historical element, that we found nearly all worldy cultures had recipes for baked things with eggs dropped in, and scrambled eggs baked in a something with other things in it! This avian food source really is universal. Take the "baked things with eggs dropped in it": we found Italian (sautéed onions with tomato sauce baked with eggs dropped in it), African (tomatoes and peppers and spices baked with eggs dropped in it), Indian (lentils and onions and spices baked with eggs dropped in it), and American (bacon and bread and more bacon with eggs dropped in it). Autumn perfected her egg bake while John perfected his souflées. We even had to ask relatives how to freeze raw scrambled eggs! Might have to dig those out of the freezer soon...

Summer brought with it another obsession for Autumn, something that originated with the OCLF many years earlier; as the name implies, the Organized Citrus Liberation Front attempted to help neighbors with too much excess fruit in their yards feed those citrus-loving neighbors that might walk around in want of vitamin C. Thankfully this obsession took on a more philanthropic tone as she and Jesse eventually took over the neighborhood citrus pickers to form the local chapter of a food bank harvest! Spending weekend mornings harvesting fruit from neighborhood trees to donate to the local homeless food bank, she found a great way to pick, eat, donate, and then capture whatever leftover citrus was unfit for even short-term preservation. This led to a number of amazing things: thousands of pounds of fruit donated to the food bank, becoming a board member of a local nonprofit, and weekend afternoons of sitting on the patio squeezing leftover citrus margaritas and chatting with friends! We often filled our second freezer with orange, lemon, and grapefruit juices, if only just for a week or two until we had another craving for summer margaritas. What a life!

As the days eventually shortened, the weekends seemed to shorten as well, with a Fall of Weddings where great friends often required John & Autumn's attendance. Fall weddings led into late fall and winter holidays in other states. At the cottage, things slowed and prepared for the winter. While a summer heatwave had claimed the life of Gertrude, an early winter week-long drenching of rain caused the illness that claimed the second Gertrude at the beginning of this tale. (The five chickens had about seven names, along the lines of Helen, Carol, Margaret, Chastity, etc. When one was referred to in the abstract it was always "Gertrude".) And eventually, John & Autumn departed for a month-and-a-half sabbatical to Australia for the Winter of More Absence. Two great friends Cuyler and Elizabeth lived in the house during the time; they posted some photos, but too late did I think to ask them their stories for this history! The cottage stood strong though and they fed it well.

I catch up every now and then, but it still feels like so much happens beneath and around this roof. Too much, sometimes, perhaps? We work and we play and we drink and we eat and we host and we relax, and inevitably projects pile up, books and magazines pile up, and the garage and our closets get filled with things we'll take care of later. How nice it was when we took weeks of time off to spend on the cottage. Sometimes cleaning the house with a beer and a podcast is all it takes to make you feel once again like a true steward of this home.

But time moves on, and so shall our lives. Many of our close friends have continued their families with small ones, as shall we someday soon, which will just make the projects pile up even more. But isn't that the nature of the home? Never a dull moment, always an excitement here or a new friend there or a new recipe over there or another party next weekend. It's why we bought a house, to delight in the hosting of friends and the curiosity and construction of projects, or the delight in curiosity of small ones :)

It will have to be next time that we share the tales of the Spring of Tardy Plantings and Stone Soup. Once again, the photos have likely betrayed some of the punchlines, but hopefully you'll enjoy the stories and happenings nonetheless. Until then, sleep well, as it's far too late right now, and my nip of lavendar rosemary limoncello made from the cottage flora disappeared a while ago. Here's hoping you can come share a glass some day more early in the evening. Good night!

The Long Summer Days of Unpacking, The Winter of Engagements, and the Spring of Quail Beginnings

The last few days have been quite a spectacle. Tonight as I visit the Quail Cellars to check the temperature during a sudden summer heatwave, I'm struck by the near overbearing smell of sausage; close to 150 pounds of it, all hanging by various racks and shelving, from the cellar ceiling! A product of the most recent Sausagefest, it arrived via James, Alister, and Jesse, as our cellar seems to be that with the most stable temperatures (even more stable given the mass of wine and whisky down there!) Hanging around for a few months, it should grace our tables for a long time to come as appetizers, cassoulet ingredients, and just plain snacks; the previous batch turned out so well, might as well try again, but with more meat ...!

If ever there were a time we thought worthy of begging forgiveness for lack of journaling, now would certainly be it. We hope that these stories and happenings offer more to amuse and remind those involved, rather than keep informed; for as many of you are already aware, you have been involved yourselves in the amazing stories that have happened to Quail Cottage in the many previous months! Hopefully as things calm a bit more into routine, rather than frenzied projects one after another, we can continue to keep this journal alive more frequently as a letter to those absent today and a storied reminder for ourselves tomorrow.

It all began naught but the weekend after our previous account paused. Following many lovely years at Quail Cottage Junior, and many lovely years staring at each other and the lives we wove around us, all it took was a weekend in Monterey, a bottle of wine at a vineyard, and a secret that John had been guiding for months: a decorated ring of platinum, with polished silhouettes of mirrored quail stamped on each side, their head feathers proudly presenting a sparkling blue diamond! We were to finally be engaged! After so many years and travels and parties and experiences together, Quail Cottage Senior was more likely the harder decision; our friends knew we'd get married before we admitted it to ourselves!

(All right, to be fair, John took a lot longer to admit it to himself than Autumn did, but that's the nature of the beast, and the nature of waiting months to have a ring custom designed and molded, and a suitable diamond found...)

And so began the Long Summer Days of Unpacking, and the Winter of Engagements. Long summer days melted easily into long summer weekends, since a lovely holiday present of sailing lessons from the parents let us escape easily up to shore on the weekends. Boxes were left packed as we learned the ways of the wind in the Berkeley Flats, famous for their steady yet hefty winds. Further travels by Autumn out to Ireland and both of us out to Maine for Thanksgiving left the fall even further behind; would we ever find more permanent furniture for the cottage, and fewer boxes in the bedroom? Instead we found several weekends in Tahoe, several more weekends of afternoon parties with friends, and even more engaged in visits with wedding venues to fulfill the intentions of the original Engagement. Thankfully after several visits we found a location to seal the deal; a small vineyard with a courtyard out in the hills of Livermore, evoking enough California to make us feel at home, and delightful in not being overly grand! They promised good food, warm weather, and a lovely place to gather a hundred of our closest friends together for a casual and lovely celebration.

The rest of Winter and the earliest bits of Spring continued as a bit more of a blur (more true now, I suppose, looking back at my calendar a year later), but included lots of planning and decisions for the wedding, when there weren't ski weekends, bicycle time trials, choir concerts, and morning runs training for the half marathon that we signed ourselves up for two weeks before the ceremony date ("we'll have time to get in shape for the wedding, right?") Flower consultations happened, suit shopping for the "boys" (John succeeded in snagging one of Autumn's girls for a groomsman), and Cottage preparations for the post-ceremony brunch feast. John's cousin was visiting the area at just the right time to help; we had planned and schemed for a while, but finally executed on a backyard wood-fired brick roasting pit, a magnificently engineered red clay structure, cemented into the ground with notched sloping sides to hold various levels of rotisserie rods! It was quite an event to put together (including breaking the suspension on John's poor Honda to get all the bricks and mortar from the store), but in just a long afternoon, Michael, Jesse, and James all pitched in to help us craft something that a year later has seen such beautiful, glorious, and amazingly delicious dinners like the Six Rotisserie Chickens, the Coconut Braised Lamb Stew, the Cauldron Lamb With Omani Spices, and many, many random meats sizzling over the bare fire.

Spring finally occurred, with gusto. Despite our attentions elsewhere, the garden bloomed with the full might of the California sun; lettuces sprang up in the redwood planter we installed off the patio in the backyard, and the wisteria bloomed with the amazing attitude that wisteria blooms with. We culled a few overgrown trees and bushes from the backyard, planted and grafted a few others, and then suddenly the wedding date was upon us; our parents and friends descended upon the cottage, and our plans were swept into action without any stopping! Rehearsals, rehearsal dinners, bay cruises, the ceremony ...

... but the wedding itself is a specific story for a specific couple in a location different than Quail Cottage. What is the appeal to limiting a historic account to a place or idea, rather than focus on the people inhabiting it? Maybe it makes us feel more timeless, feel more a part of something larger and longer, part of a gathering place for friends and ideas in a period much grander than just a couple's lifespan. Maybe we hope that Quail Cottage, its gardens and dinners and friends and lovers will continue beyond the cacophony of years of daily life, embracing an ideology of community and tolerance around food, friends, and fascinating projects.

But so what happened then at Quail Cottage? I'll tell you what happened: nearly eighty of our best friends and family joined us the day after the wedding for the biggest, grandest, and most delicious feast the Cottage has ever seen! John threw six marinated chickens on the brand new brick rotisserie, with great spice rub help from Mom and Kathy; Autumn baked a large number of loaves of sourdough, the pride and joy of Quail Yeastery! Jesse brought a dozen pounds of citrus refried carnitas for tacos; Ben boiled up a ten gallon pot with lobster, clams, bay leaves and other spices! We harvested our gardens for salad, and several other friends brought further dishes, and please don't let us insult you by forgetting what they were a year later! But as the wedding dinner itself was hosted by the Winery, we wanted this Brunch to be hosted by us and our friends; and so it was, and was a beautiful event, and people feasted on steaming roasted chicken, overfilled tacos, fresh boiled seafood, delicious bread and salads and sides and spreads in all the nooks and crannies that the Cottage could hold. And even in the midday heat of almost-summer, friends found the best corners and trees and rooms to hide in to make eighty people feel not that crowded. Dare us to host another event that large!

Since then the Cottage has seen many more marvelous projects, more rambunctious creatures, and even more rambunctious dinners, yet those stories will have to wait until later. We've passed the Year Of Absent Historical Accounts, and have dived right into the Spring of Citrus and Eggs. You can hopefully infer many of the happenings through our photos, but just wait until you hear the stories ...! I bid you to bed as I finish a small nip of whisky so quickly secreted from the Cellar of Sausage Smells. Sleep well, sleep soundly, and don't let the chickens wake you up too early in the morning. Cheers!

The Fall of the Cottage Cattery, The Winter of Wandering, and the Spring of Settling

Nine months is truly too long to be away from the annals of Quail Cottage. Our sincerest of apologies! We hope that you've not been frightened by our absence; rather, know that such beautiful creatures and dazzling occurrences have befell the Cottage inhabitants that it's been hard to find a few evenings free to document the numerous stories and happenings. A lot has changed, and a lot has stayed the same, and the easiest place to start is sometimes just right at the beginning.

Autumn began well, with a birthday party for Our Favorite Season right on the equinox. (It's almost like she was named for it, or something.) Dinner parties were no stranger to the Cottage that fall, with a number of experiments in play: the first being a delicious evolution from our usual toasty fires on the patio; a spit-like rotisserie system poached from those made for gas grills! Wire-tied to two car jacks for height, this hacked-together system rendered absolutely delightful rotisserie chickens from atop our flames. A Peruvian spice blend was our first attempt, and even despite the finagling with nearness to the heat, the meat was still dripping such savory juices, the tenderness like sinking your teeth into a pat of butter, and the flavor such a delicate taste with the hint of hearty tang from the fatty spiced skin. A masterpiece! This method (if not the same recipe) was repeated a number of times that fall, with mostly the same success. A few other meats and things were seared on the flames with a bit less finesse, although no less tasty: a huge leg of lamb, spiced in Mom's Famous Fennel Spice Rub; a large chuck roast, wrapped in thick slices of center-cut bacon for moisture and flavor; and lots and lots of vegetables, drizzled with fresh olive oil and herbs, wrapped in tinfoil, and shoved into the red-hot coals. More often than not these foods barely touch a cutting board before being popped in mouths; so delicious, can't wait, no plates needed!

Another food success that season was the crafting and perfection of Autumn's sourdough. On a continuous quest to find the perfect recipe, to John's delight she started practicing on the Tartine slow-rise recipe, which eventually proved to be the most delicate flavored, easiest to feed and sustain, and overall most beautifully textured. Using the lovely red Le Creuset dutch oven, she perfected the final rise and bake so well that what came out of the oven was simply brilliant; crust the most radiant golden brown, deep but not too hard, the loaf a perfect circle with decorative slits so well ordered on top, and the taste -- oh, a wedge of fresh cream butter melting so quickly on the steam rising from a freshly cut slice of sourdough, you get the delicate sour of the yeast underneath the salt of the butter dripping through the cracks -- there's nothing more perfect on a weekend morning than that taste. Autumn even had so much fun and success that she felt the need to get a second dutch oven, this one bite-sized! Or at least smaller enough that we two could enjoy a loaf without creating enough to feed the neighborhood. (John correctly understands, but does not say, that this was mostly an excuse to get another matching red dutch oven.)

With the success of the sourdough and the workings of the meadery, we joked that we should start a business; the Quail Cottage Yeastery! Indeed, yeast ran rampant through many of our foods and drinks; aching to get back to "a darn good batch of mead", John set out with a plan, a really large pot of water, and 40 pounds of honey, eventually bottling enough to sit in four milk crates with oversized bottles! But thankfully, after a bit of bottle conditioning, this batch was indeed a Darn Good Batch. We used Blackberry, Raspberry, Meadowfoam, and White Sage honeys, and each turned out simple astonishing; bubbles that rolled off the tongue with a champagne delicacy, a lovely semi-sweet honey palette, with a finish of whatever flavored the honey. With a squeeze of lemon for acid, it was a brilliant win, and fed our friends for many parties... only continuing to get better in the bottle these many months on.

And speaking of aging, another experiment began, one late Friday party with several friends around to help. The quarter cask wine barrel that had been sitting unused (stabilized with sulfated water, of course) was finally put back to use. Four cases of port was purchased from Trader Joe's, and all but a half dozen bottles made their way into that barrel! Plugged up and rolled (not really) back into the garage, it sat for many months while breathing into the rich oak of the barrel walls. (We tasted it recently; an amazing addition to such an inexpensive port! It mellowed out the harshness and added great depth. Must be de-kegged soon...)

Aside from food and wine and friends and parties, after long last we decided to open our doors to a foster care system suitable for working professionals. The Quail Cottage Cattery was started with a pair of siblings; Roz and Gil (named after Romeo's literary cousins) were a great introduction to the world of fostering cats. Gil was large and brotherly, while Roz secretly dreamed she would grow up one day into a bobcat. Although they had other names in a previous life, all cats that come through our doors get freshly named; a virgin name for a new beginning, and it's not like they respond to any name whatsoever anyway! The two beasts were great friends, if not just as aloof as their stereotypes. They exercised with the laser pointer all over the couch, delighted our guests with acrobatics, and generally caused us to smile as soon as we walked in the door after a long day at work.

So as the days started leaving more shade in the deep corners of the garden, we counted our metaphorical chickens and harvested what was offered up by our flora. The rains arrived early this year, watering what we didn't and causing cool weather to stall the ripening of the tomatoes, which Autumn eventually harvested after the new year in a beautifully tart green tomato chutney; best with goat cheese on a cracker, we still have it to this day! Many of the heartier fruits and vegetables we picked with larger success: lots of lemon cucumbers in the central wine barrels, enough that we started pickling them, first with an unsuccessful salt brine, and then with a much more tasty vinegar brine; several decently large pumpkins, which looked gorgeous! and beautifully smooth bright orange skin, making for a delectable pumpkin brie cheesecake for John's birthday, the brie adding some a small and delicate edge to the cheesecake; and then the apples! Both apple trees ("apple sticks") had produced a good number of delicious, crunchy, perfectly tart and acidic apples with flavors that danced on your tongue. We rescued them from the clutches of the jays, and munched on them happily, thinking how easy it is to grow your own apples: a little bit of dirt and a stick, some water and lots of patience, and there you have it! Who wouldn't want to grow their own apples?

We definitely learned some good lessons from this year, and it wasn't just about how many boxes we had to stack on top of the cat's auto-feeder to prevent them from knocking it over. Some foods we had too much of, and some we didn't have nearly enough; although we managed great rotations of lettuces and carrots to continue producing nearly constantly, there was lots of parsley and greek fine-leaf basil, neither of which we use on a regular basis. (And not enough large-leaf basil for pesto!) The muskmelons that we planted in the central wine barrel performed fine, with delightfully small melons that smelled amazing! Like a deep, hearty melon scent, as if it were on the last edge of ripeness before starting the descent into mush. But their flavor was rather bland; a nose so great with nothing to back it up. And squash really need their space; as much as we tried cramming butternut squash into the back rows behind the pumpkins, the only fruit we got was an adorable tiny fist-sized butternut squash; if only it were ten pounds heavier!

Winter finally arrived. Usually a season of traveling, we followed suit this year to Thanksgiving in Maryland with John's parents. John went back a month later for his last Christmas in Maryland; the parents are retiring to Maine very soon. Autumn made a few trips down to her parents in Santa Cruz, and a few off to New York City. And over dinnertime musings and glasses of wine on the patio, we got to talking about how we feel we had started to outgrow the tiny Quail Cottage. Although delightful and quaint, the gardens were small and shaded, the patio large enough for moderate gatherings but no larger, and the house itself with so little space for friends and guests and company from out of town. Was it time to consider moving out of the Cottage, and finding some place better suited to our desires?

So one wet January afternoon, with Autumn back in NYC and our realtor leading his son's boy scouts, John made it by himself to a Sunday open house just a few miles north in a neighboring town. The third house for that day, walking through the house suddenly seemed as fresh as the rain that was gently falling; spacious interior, with modern fixtures, a lovely large kitchen with a hefty stove, a breakfast nook! just like what we're used to, a back patio with well-grown roses and a wisteria trellis, a fig and lemon tree, and a hot tub! Large garage, guest bedroom, huge master bedroom! And the gardens so well trimmed and planted and green! It seemed so well sculpted to have so little room for improvement; how could you stamp your own signature on it? But when Autumn flew back and visited it, she loved it! And in the end, we decided to go for it; Quail Cottage would be moving!

Through inspections and millions of signatures (literally, we signed a paper that said "you agree to sign any papers that we forgot to have you sign") and a pre-planned trip to Mexico just before close, things eventually turned out the way they did and the house was ours. A house! Ours! Crazy! Frantic weeks of packing eventually turned into Moving Day on April 15, enticing our friends with a "celebrate John and Autumn's new tax deduction" day. Boxes were purchased by the bundle-full, color-coded stickers were slapped on everything being moved, and our best friends showed up to bagels and coffee for loading a U-Haul. The move went smoothly (because we have awesome and technically proficient friends), the new garage and office and master bedroom (we now have enough bedrooms to distinguish between "master" and "guest"!) were filled with boxes, and the old bed was assembled in the guest bedroom -- the master is so large that we wanted a larger bed to fill the space! After a long and hot Sunday all fifteen of us movers gathered on the new back deck to celebrate with pizza and beer, and our first champagne cork was popped onto the roof, the first of what will be many bottles, many friends, many parties, and many smiles that we intend to fill the new Quail Cottage Senior with.

Although we part with our old lovely location two blocks away from our favorite downtown, we realized that we spend so much more time having fun with projects, friends, foods and wines, that we truly think we'll be able to grow in this new delightful space. It's still a mess of boxes and unarranged furniture, but we can already see the plans in our heads taking form and creating a few growing spaces here, a lounging area there, and a relaxing oasis from the stresses of the world everywhere in our home. When you're next around, come stop by! Hopefully we'll have a bed ready! (We're still sleeping in the guest bedroom, several months in.) But come say hi, stay a while, relax and enjoy our home, as we ply you with foods and wines and meads from the latest project in the barrel; one of the best reasons we found this new home is for you, our friends and family. Until you visit we'll toast to you in your absence: May the sun shine warmly upon your face, may the wind be always at your back; may the rains fall softly upon your garden, and may the road be forever downhill to *our* door! Sláinte!

The Summer of Solid Results and Good Lessons

One of the biggest ideas that makes farmers salivate is the idea of Promise. The promise of a good fall crop ensures survival, sustenance, and surplus for a progressively increasing harvest. Thankfully, Quail Cottage is not solely reliant on the harvest of its gardens, but the feeling is still there; when you (attempt to) grow your own dinner, you want the harvest to be as successful as possible, and when you compare it to last year's, it strives to be more and more successful as the years go on. If you ever grew "less" food than the year before, then naturally you must be doing something wrong!

As we started into the season with good promise, more than a handful of seeds, some great compost, and Jesse's help with more wine barrels and soil, we felt like it was going to be a great year. And it was: this summer's growth, regrowth, and multiple decent harvests at the cottage was a great example of Solid Results. There were many things to learn; Where do peas like to grow? Can pumpkins climb trellises? Will the blue jays eat the nectarines? In most of these cases, Good Lessons were learned, notes were taken for the following years' plantings, and still a good harvest was taken. The peas, in fact, don't like heat at all; stunted and bitter at a foot tall in the full sun on the potters bench, they shriveled up and declared "holy crap it's hot!" Reseeded in the shade of the house next to the coolness of the basement, already in a month's time they're two feet tall and producing succulent, toothsome peas. What a difference a microclimate makes! Melons, seeded in pots on the bench, grew rather stunted in their tiny houses, but as soon as they were transplanted into the wine barrel, they dug in, stretched their feet, and soon started producing darling fuzzy melons the size of tennis balls. (We're assuming the fuzz wears off...) The beets were rather more puzzling, since they haven't done terribly well anywhere they've been. But with a shuffle into a more shady and steadily temperatured pot near the side door, they've seemed to grow once again, although the skin of the bulbs might be tough from an overly extended seedling season.

Carrots, though, oh my... Three types of carrots, planted in the mid-sized patio planters back in March, were the first to harvest; Chantenay, Dragon, and St Valery. Chantenay seemed to be the overall winners, a fragrant, almost perfumed, awesome carrotty flavor! Red Core Chantenay was planted as a second round, and now the regular Chantenay is back for three excellent carrot harvests this year. Easy to seed, eager to grow, and tolerant of heat and slight drought, carrots are the eager puppies of our thriving garden. Several other vegetables yielded nice foods as well; China Choy in the house-side planter box, harvested quickly before (shortly after) bolting in the summer heat, made a great sauté with the remainder of last year's leeks. And two lettuces in a patio wine barrel were a nice (albeit slightly bitter) contribution to the Quail salad plates. (A lettuce reprise with the last pinch of seeds from last year's glorious lettuce made up for it in a later planting, more buttery and delicate... must find those seeds again!)

So, while Italian pole beans grew like wildfire up the various trellises on the back garden's wall, tomatoes on the potter's bench grew like hardwood trees, stalling for months at a time while the weather calmly decided to warm up a bit. Lemon cucumbers in a wine barrel on the patio soaked up every ounce of water they could find, wilting in the heat of the day, yet giving us good sized fruits (also the size of tennis balls, and slightly fuzzy) with a hearty skin and a casual lemony flesh for our salads. Tiger's Eye bush beans planted in pots on the bench were dwarfed, yielding pretty much the same number of beans that were planted. Pumpkins grew like green wildfire up the back walls, helped by a solid trellis that John built, sturdy enough to rest pumpkins on; five fruits are already orange, with more on the way! The fruit trees, although bearing a good amount of nearly ripe fruit, also netted a problem; humans are not the only beings who enjoy ripe fruit. Squirrels or birds, destined to enjoy the fruits of our labor, gnawed away at the nectarines on our tree, nearly destroying half our harvest. The apples, thankfully, seem a bit harder to wear down...

Now, the tomatoes are finally starting to ripen, and there have been some hidden pleasures found in their recesses; not only did several cherry tomatoes ripen deep in the undergrowth, but the green onions that were planted and immediately overwhelmed have stuck their heads out, tastily added to our Saturday morning huevos rancheros. And an experiment with strawberries turned out decently, with a couple of alpine berries nibbled on as a snack every few days; such potent, almost candy-like strawberry flavor! A few yellow zucchini, not nearly as threatening as some claim, have grown a few extraordinarily large, half-yellow blimps, which tend to make great sautées.

Aside from the Quail Gardens, the Cottage itself was productive and happy this summer. An organization quest led to a cleaning of the garage, which sadly evicted the Cottage Mouse; far from Martin the Warrior, this poor little guy was living in a bed of John's socks, although at least he had the taste to choose the French imported Marriage-Freres teabags to raid from the compost pile (even the mice at Quail Cottage eat well!) A new commercial drink fridge was added to the Quail Cellars, a handy storage for leftover mead, some white wine from a pair of friends' wedding, and the cases of cava and prosecco that flow through the house like... cava and prosecco. Some new Chinese lanterns were painted by visiting friends, many fires were built in the fire pit, and several grand dinner parties passed through. We experimented with meat on the fire; after an embarrassing attempt at creating a spit out of a cast iron fire poker, we found a great way to cook with flame is the standard notion of sear quickly and roast slowly. A chuck roast turned out beautifully, likely because of the large wedges of fat that we saw in there as we wrapped it up. A large leg of lamb also turned out well, although a bit more dry, since it started a bit more lean than the chuck. All of these were powdered with whatever remained of the spice rubs from John's mom, a fennel spice for the lamb, sixteen spice for the chuck. And over the smoldering coals, Jesse, John, Joe, and Josh hatched out a plan for a sturdy iron spit that could be hung over the fire pit... We'll have to work on acquiring some the pieces!

Autumn continued her famed production in the Quail Yarnery, hatching together a plan for a wedding gift for two of our great friends. With some Scottish visitors in town for the wedding and other more local talent, they crafted together a ginormous crocheted quilt, iconic of an EFN gaming favorite. Such a large effort! After crocheting fifty white granny squares, Autumn declared one night over a glass of bubbles, "thank goodness for a change of color!" and promptly brought out the green yarn with such relief. (The project was very well received.) Other projects included an intriguing but stalled attempt at Tunisian crochet (beautifully consistent, but oh so time consuming) and then a cute little cozy for the French press. What other things can we cozy in the kitchen, we wonder...

Tonight the first rain of fall continues, as we finish this tardy account of midsummer. The weather is finally cold enough to close the windows at night, although we hesitate because the sound of gentle rain is so lovely. Recent occurrences need accounting but will have to wait for another time when the night is younger and a new glass of wine is in hand. Until then, bottoms up, sleep well, and may you dream of running your hands through forests of ripe tomatoes!

The Winter of Absence, and the Spring of Seed Overload

Fall raged on in full force as it became apparent that it was going to be a wet "Wet" season. (California has two seasons: Wet and Dry. Often the temperature changes as well, but this is not necessary for the seasons to change.) November and December gathered together five inches of rain; considering a year ago it was not even half that, we knew the soil and reservoirs would be glad to have the moisture this year. The gardens at Quail Cottage were harvested, groomed, and shuttered; the greencycle bin was filled with tomato monster shells and withered squash vines. A few last-minute projects hindered us as we tried to bed down the Cottage for the holiday season. Our friends had a new baby a short distance away, so we played the good neighbor and brought dinner; and John's choir held its last concert of the year, which being a 40th anniversary year, included the purchasing (and storing) of twenty-four dozen customized champagne glasses. Additionally, with another friend, we traveled down to Hollister to make one of our favorite winery's release party. John's poor Honda was riding low with more than thirty liters of wine in the trunk on the way home (yes, we say "liters" on purpose to make you think!). All in all, December ended with a full garage, a busy schedule, and a lonesome farewell as we parted ways for the holidays, knowing what was to come.

Shortly after the New Year, Autumn left the Cottage for a long period abroad. She had successfully applied to an Ambassador program at work, which consisted of a three month stay in Dublin, Ireland. Although the experience was thrilling, it left the Cottage with half a heart, half the warmth, and less than half the energy. An electric blanket staved off the cold from the bed, but did not share any bedtime stories (especially after it stopped working a few weeks after being purchased). While the gardens slept, January saw John keeping busy with choir events, bartender classes with a close friend, and estate garden building at another friend's new house. February consisted of more choir, work, losing himself in Minecraft, and a four day weekend jaunt to Dublin (yes, it DID happen to be over Valentine's Day). And finally, March was coldest at the Cottage as the heat was turned off for an extended trip deep into the Irish heartland. Only in late March did life gather agin; the Cottage was opened, the gardens tilled, seeds (infamously) bought and planted, and the garage was (barely) cleaned out for a triumphant return of Our Favorite Season.

We quickly sprung back into life in California, hosting crafting parties, dinners with the parents of a not-so-newborn-anymore (they change so much in three months!), and celebrating the three-month-earlier graduation of John and Eric from their bartender's course with a cocktail party, which included some extremely tasty non-alcoholic drinks for some non-drinking friends; ginger beer, lime juice, sweet&sour, almond extract, and agave... a superbly delicious beverage! Throughout the spring rain, we continued reviving the gardens. After Autumn retrieved a wonderful helping of dark, rich organic compost from the bin, John finished tilling the beds and planted the last of the seeds; shortly before heading out to Ireland, he had purchased a number of varieties of vegetables from Seeds Of Change. Enticed by bulk pricing, we found ourselves sharing seeds with friends, neighbors, coworkers, acquaintances, strangers on the street, etc ...

As photos document, nearly all seeds have sprouted by now. After helping Jesse with his new home, John pieced together a redwood potter's bench; a self-described masterpiece! Standing at a good height, the bench bore good sunlight to a large number of tomato seedlings, which with a miniature hothouse and heating pad sprouted well. Several varieties of beans are up on the top bed in the back, behind where the tomato monsters usually resprout every season. Green onions and leeks will hopefully provide a quick harvest before the tomatoes get too big. In the bottom bed, the chard has never faltered, and actually regrown surprisingly with the spring sun and fresh waterings; who knew chard in California was a perennial? In the house-side bed, sugar pumpkins have sprouted, although the melons and squash have not as much; we remain optimistic for higher temperatures later in the spring.

Two new half wine barrels dot the side patio, which now contains an abundance of green and red lettuce, three types of carrots, red and golden beets, basil and parsley, and the remaining trees and herbs from years gone by. One last wine barrel was planted with lemon cucumbers and leeks as a backup harvest to those in the back yard. (Autumn loves her tangy lemon cucumbers and we didn't want to go without! ) The nectarine tree has baby nectarines (which *will* be thinned this year, we can learn from our mistakes!), and both apple trees are flowering, although it's questionable how much the pollinator née paint brush will work. The potter's bench contains a multitude of pots, many tomato seedlings, but also include some peas and beans (hoping to climb the walls), greek basil (which smells divine when you shove your face into it), and other experimental projects (an apricot from seed, an old rosemary bonsai, and some bamboo). Almost every variety of seed purchased was planted; now we just have to make sure we have room for them all to get into the ground!

Passover, Easter, concerts and plays all came and went, yet through them all one theme remained, which was summed up one relaxed morning over a classic "poached eggs on homemade english muffin with garlic mustard, fresh basil and tomatoes" Sunday brunch under the umbrella on a sunny patio: it's good to be home. Travel is exciting, but so is creating a home to live in. Finding new places to explore can be educational and inspirational; yet nothing can match the feeling of waking up to a day with no responsibilities, in a place completely familiar, with your favorite person staring back at you. Contentness is contagious. With Autumn gone again for a quick week in New York City, a reminder of what's missing is enough to bring back the pensive remembrance of earlier travels, but thankfully gives a week to sort photos at work, sing in a choir concert, fight the invading slugs in the garden beds, or type up a post to the Quail Cottage annals. A full bottle of Cave in the fridge awaits being split, always ready to welcome Autumn home again, wherever she may end up. Cheers to traveling to exotic locations... if only to allow ourselves to come home with exotic stories!

The Fall of The Harvest That Did Not Live Up To Expectations

The Fall of The Harvest That Did Not Live Up To Expectations began with a dark omen; a tragedy! The double fruit tree that Autumn had become a proud parent of, the peach / nectarine hybrid, was growing like a weed. The peach side was the only side that grew fruit this year, and we decided not to thin the six large fruits on the tree; why bother thinning, we'll have more fruit! But one sunny day when the tree was thirsty enough to drink just enough water to fatten the fruits just so much, we came home to discover a fruit parent's worst nightmare. The peaches grew so large that the weight of the six fruits was too much for the grafted branch to bear, and it broke off, letting such delicious potential fall, unattached to its umbilical, to the ground. A fretful week of hastened ripening in the sun led nowhere, and the soft, sour peaches were sadly tossed into the compost.

As the patio in its entirety lived on, the high summer sun was hitting it with a vengeful force come the noon hours of the weekend, and we easily convinced ourselves that a patio umbrella was finally in order. A quick and easy trip to Home Depot allowed us to purchase a wonderfully large, bright red patio umbrella! With a bit of cardboard rigging and wood sawing, John succeeded in setting the umbrella firmly in the "universal" umbrella holder, without the large original amount of sway. The color is fantastic, if not a bit faded by now, but at the time it served us exceedingly well. A saturday morning breakfast brunch in a world colored red was all the more merrier by not having to wear sunscreen two hours before noon. It helped enable noontime parties and late afternoon leisure, and everybody commented on the bright color; this included the neighborhood hummingbirds, who on several occasions either tried drinking from the umbrella or mating with it.

In high hopes of our bountiful spring plantings, John christened Zucchinigeddon as it began with a nice harvest of a couple of the French zucchini, tossed into a pasta sauce for a superb late evening dinner. Encouraged, the lone surviving sugar pumpkin decided it liked life and started climbing into the zucchini, only to be encouraged upward with the help of a trellis leaning against the back garden's wall. A row of trimmed, manicured cherry tomato monsters hung, ashamed, out from the wire supports, but proffered a healthy amount of delicious, dark red fruits. The lettuce grew like there was no tomorrow; for months on end, we didn't have to buy salad at the store! Behind the lettuce the chard evolved casually, but eventually populated our pans and plates every week with an assortment of colors. On the patio, the heirloom tomatoes grew fitfully (probably due to John's lack of soil knowledge) but eventually produced a good number of green zebra, pink brandywine, and red tigerella tomatoes. And so the promise of a harvest was seen.

Soon the days grew more even and the sun started missing the deepest nooks of our garden. Autumn's basil plot seeded quickly, leaving us either frantically clipping off flowering buds or ignoring it entirely. The original columnar apple tree had blossomed once, but refused to successfully accept any bees' offerings of pollen. After the two original zucchini, only one more grew out of the myriad blossoms from the plants, and we slowly admitted that Zucchinigeddon had passed us by this year. The lettuce bolted eventually, and growing tired of clipping it back we found a recipe for (what else?) lettuce soup, which, with enough leeks, tasted good enough to dub a success... although it really started tasting more like leek soup. Being inundated with a slow but constant supply of chard we also found a recipe for chard pie; more like a sour cream quiche with a fluffy egg filling, but it worked! We were feeling good about using whatever we could from the soil we had sown.

The mead factory did not stall this summer. A friend of John's, known well in the wine industry, procured a curious element to age mead in; a new french oak, quarter cask wine barrel! The nearly eight gallon mini-barrel was the perfect size for a healthy amount of mead to sit for a few weeks. With a thirty pound bucket of honey bought from a beekeeper up north, the biggest batch ever of Quail Cottage mead was made; enough to fill the eight gallon barrel as well as several other control growlers! The hunt began for a good brown bottle beer to start drinking enough of to be able to bottle the mead when it finished. In addition to mead, a welcome addition to the brewing pantry was a tart green apple cider made from young apple thinnings of Autumn's parent's garden. Pulverized in the juicer, seeds, skins and all, the juice mixed well with a simple agave and brewed into a wonderfully delicate hard cider! After sending some bottles back home to Santa Cruz, the rest were added to the growing supply of mysterious brown bottles packed into the three mini-fridges in the garage. It was considered, at some point, just to air condition the entire garage, but sadly it's not insulated well...

Fall came into full swing and an introduction to October cuisine began with using the lone pumpkin from the back garden. The plant decided it lived long enough; the small pumpkin, hanging from a brown and broken stem at the top of the trellis ripened slowly, gathering more and more orange tint as the sun weakened, like a last offering from a mother's life. We honored it well; getting bored with the standard cheesecake recipes, John decided to substitute mascarpone in this pumpkin cheesecake. With the baked and shredded pumpkin blended in, served on a frozen slab of marble with fall berries and its own pumpkin seeds sprinkled on top, it was a dashing success. Hardened hurriedly in the freezer, it was a delectably smooth, creamy texture with a beautiful pumpkin enhancement for the less sweet Italian cream cheese. Served at a late summer party on the patio with some of our best friends, it became a symbolic culmination to this year's harvest. The night ended well, friends stayed late, much wine and mead and whisky was sipped, and old, rancid flour was thrown onto the fire in a spectacular display of fireworks (although leaving John's car covered in flour dust for weeks to come).

The rain has finally decided to stay more frequently, and like a welcome but mysterious stranger, we regard it with cautious appreciation. Deep fall weather means deep fall foods. The slow cooker is being used more often, once for a hearty Guinness beef stew so good that it made grown men cry. Autumn successfully grew a native sourdough starter that regularly feeds our kitchen (and our neighbors, too!) with tasty fresh sour breads, rolls, and biscuits. And a new kitchen toy now graces our oven; after months (years!) of looking at recipes that suggested a heavy Dutch oven, Autumn finally broke down (with John's encouragement) and found a beautiful, cast iron, deep red Le Creuset "French" oven. Christened with a new motto of "a new recipe per week!" she made a mouth watering cassoulet of duck confit, sausage, and tender pork shoulder, with white beans and vegetables. As rich as needed for this cold weather... duck confit is made by marinating duck legs in duck fat for a good number of days! We may be on our ways to rendering ourselves fattened before the holidays even arrive...

As the darkened skies of evening arrive tonight an hour earlier, we finish up a light chicken soup (made in the French oven!) with whatever can be salvaged from a great evening of roast chicken the night before with Autumn's parents, made with the promise of a useful new kitchen tool (the French oven!) and with champagne in our quail glasses, newly acquired this summer. Reading a history of Ireland to prepare for a vacancy of Autumn's side of the bed in two months, we share a bottle of wine and think that despite what lays behind, there is always a promise of more in the future, correlated directly to our desires, promises, and actions. Tomatoes may whither and die with a waning sun, but what falls from their fruits lays in the ground until a flood of warmth rises them up, gives them life, and lets them grow into even larger plants. So too shall we hold on to our dreams and plans, until the time is right, to act and grow even larger. Until then, we toast to you a calm goodnight, with rain at our door and each other in our eyes.

The Spring of Verdant Forests

Spring arrived with a good amount of rain and left with a good amount of heat. Both were welcome, although both reminded us that we've still forgotten to buy a nice patio umbrella. Daytime parties at the cottage resulted in some elaborate mechanisms designed to create shade on the couch; a few ropes, a few bungie cords, an old bedsheet, and lo, some shade was created!

"Spring cleaning" (which usually occurs every month before our housekeeper arrives) included some household carpentry. We found a larger and longer wooden rod for hanging pots over the stove, painted it, screwed in eyehooks, and created a hanging pantry! Now we have no large pots cluttering our cabinets (leaving that to random pans, mixers and mixing bowls, and tupperware that never seems to stay the same). In March a wind storm picked up as we left for work; having just watered the back garden, John forgot to shut the gate, arriving home to find it shattered off its hinges, hanging forlorn in the middle of the passage. But a few quick screws and it was back in action (never mind a few subtle wood pieces that were not returned to the backside of the gate). Then a call (and another, and another) to our landlord finally fixed the stripped bathtub faucet, although with slightly less water pressure than before. But now, at least, guests won't try to turn on the shower and not be able to turn off the water...

Easter came and saw John's cousins flock together for an impromptu family reunion. Three generations of relatives enjoyed the food, wine, and toys that are regularly stocked in the Cottage; charcuterie of brie, gruyère, and various dips and spreads were washed down with the typical De Rose wine of the month. Pizza for the kids, and green cupcakes: too tempting for anybody to resist! iPads, magnets, and good healthy gossip entertained us all (thankfully, the iPads and magnets did not entertain each other). A few trailing pencil scribbles on our fridge's bottommost greeting cards bear us now a smiling reminder of how nice it is to have kids (of all ages) in the house.

We accomplished more spring maintenance with the welcome arrival of some experienced homemakers. John's parents arrived in May with a few excuses of seeing us, seeing the cottage, and listening to John perform in a CalBach choir concert... something they've been missing for five years! Joining forces, we terrified the front garden into something much more organized and flowery, arranged strings in the back garden for the beans to grow into, planted some new flowers and new jasmine on the patio, and replaced the ugly bare lightbulb overlooking the stove with a three-headed track light that makes working on the stove *so* much better!

With the parents around we had a grand old time, sending them on their way to galavant around the peninsula by day, and reconvening by night around the cozy Quail Cottage dining nook. Breaking out the pink himalayan salt plates one night we dined on tuna sliced and seared just enough to leave a pink hue in the middle, dribbling its juices to soak up enough salt making it to die for! Matched with an old cellared De Rose fresh from the garage, a grand meal was had by all. The next day Autumn's parents made it up to the cottage as well, joining John's in various errands, the ladies to Filoli Gardens and the gents to the Computer History museum. That evening's dinner included items we had savoringly obtained from the farmers' market the weekend before; bruschetta with fresh plump tomatoes and spring basil on a toasted baguette rubbed down with garlic, teriyaki marinated beef patted down with a fennel spice rub and seared on the trusty cast iron grill pan, and a swiss chard dish sautéed with garlic and onions (a Cottage classic!)... likely as a portent for the backyard chard explosion to come!

Both sets of parents eventually left, and things quieted back into the normal buzz of Silicon Valley life. Autumn flew on a quick trip to New York, and John on a quick trip to Wisconsin. Old friends now in the UK visited, and newer friends from around the peninsula enjoyed a number of dinners and drinks in the kitchen. John practiced slug jujitsu and nightly raided the back yard to keep slugs and snails off the lettuce and squash seedlings. And like a rising dough ignored on a warm stove, the gardens silently grew and grew until one day we realized we had a real explosion on our hands. The lettuce was finally big enough to eat; delicious, tender leaves of butter and oak, varieties too delicate to buy from a grocer but amazingly supple on our plates! Chard was a wonder to pick, as handfuls of red, green and gold stems blossomed to bouquets of gigantic green leaves! Walking inside was always a treat; whoever picked the greens would deliver a basketful of produce to the other, always remarking "it didn't even make a dent in the forest!"

Carrots were pulled with good (and tasty) success, beans climbed high along the string, Autumn's basil project grew widely (she being a big fan of fresh pesto), and several squash — french zucchini, sugar pumpkin, lemon cucumber — sprouted well on the other (more shady) side of the back garden. (John's mom had convinced us to plant them there... "you say you don't have a better place, and are they really going to sprout in your fridge?") And the devilish second generation of cherry tomato monsters grew slowly, catching up to the beans. We finally caged them and gave them a haircut, hopefully preventing them from reaching the full escape of the bougainvillea as they did last year. Heirloom tomato seedlings — green zebra, brandywine, tigerella — finally sprouted as well, and relegating the cherry tomatoes to the back, we fit the new elites snugly in some large pots on the patio, three large wooden buckets and a half whisky barrel. Not daring to thin the seedlings, we ended up with 10 zucchini plants and some 15 tomato plants. We hope the Cottage friends will look forward to squash and tomato parties come fall!

A bountiful summer awaiting, we enjoy running our hands through the basil and tomato leaves, our noses imagining what culinary delights we'll be able to make in the months ahead. New Cottage visits are promised, with two of Autumn's friends moving into town; an old hometown friend (the same that showed us across Africa), and Autumn's brother, now settled with a good job nearby. And despite the heat of the summer, three new fridges in the garage should keep the wine chilled for them, and for you, when you come back to grace our cottage. Come knocking, and we'll feed you fresh harvest and chilled spirits; until then, have a cool evening and a good night, and if you see any squash recipes, pass them our way!

The story of the cherry tomato monsters

[ submitted to Seed Stories, from The Splendid Table / APM ]

[ update: published! Seed Story number 8 on the Splendid Table :) ]

Last summer, I tried growing several varieties of heirloom tomatoes from seed. We live in Palo Alto; summers don't really get all that hot, except for a few days, and I didn't have a heating pad. The seeds never sprouted, and in frustration I tossed them in our compost a few months later.

In the meantime, though, I kept looking with despair at the empty plot of soil in our tiny back yard, wishing fervently that the tomato seeds would sprout and I could move them to their lovely, patiently dedicated spot. A few weeks before giving up on the seeds, I gave in and bought some cherry tomato starts from a local nursery.

Being a relatively new tomato parent, I watered and watered keeping the plants happily growing and rather leggy. Only after stories of dry-farming and how tomatoes burst if they get waterlogged did my girlfriend convince me to stop watering. But, by then it was too late; they reached over our heads (yet producing superbly sweet fruits), and a month-long fall vacation resulted in arriving home to a full-grown tomato monster crawling through a neighbor's bougainvillea, over the fence, to reach ten feet tall.

We vowed to cement our resolve to trimming next year's tomato bushes, and in the spring cleaned up the yard to redo the soil with fresh compost and build some raised beds. Tearing out the tomatoes meant whatever fruit remained fell on the ground; hundreds upon hundreds of small or large, orange or green cherry tomatoes. Great soil material, we thought! We turned over the decaying fruits with new compost and built up our beds, planted lettuce and chard and carrots and beans, and so began spring.

Once again, I tried growing heirloom tomatoes from seed. I left space, hopefully waiting, between the lettuce and chard and carrots and beans for these new seedlings. With a new cold frame I took more care of the seeds; a week later, they sprouted! The rest of the vegetables also sprouted; our back garden was looking to create a bountiful year.

While weeding the garden, we noticed a foreign visitor. Some sprouted weeds we were familiar with and easily pulled out. But one type of sprout we didn't recognize. Two long, slender leaves. Some had already started secondary leaves, fragmented but lush. They looked like... tomatoes?

Six months on, now, the second generation of cherry tomato monsters have almost surpassed our climbing beans. We have vowed to trim them this year, but as our resolve to thinning them did not turn out so well, I'm not entirely hopeful. Stone-hearted we removed the poor seedlings from the second half of the garden where the lettuce and chard lay; they lucked out to escape the tomato monster's wrath (merely to be eaten deliciously on our dinner table). To the bean's chagrin I have already stopped watering that garden, but by now the tomato's roots are so deep that they likely tap into the neighbors irrigation. The successful heirloom seedlings were relegated to large pots on the patio, but are still growing well; as Garrison Keillor jokes with squash, this year we will likely shower our friends with unwelcome amounts of tomatoes. Hopefully in the next month one resolve will deem fruitful: I resolve to learn how to jar and can tomatoes...

The Winter of Bikes, Seedlings, and New Beginnings

A new year began as a grief-stricken glimpse onto what lay in the back yard. With seven-foot high half-dead tomato plants and a thick layer of green tomatoes covering the ground (enough to make a noise like crackling snails when you walked over them), we harvested the last of the crop (in this case, mostly leeks and carrots buried underneath the tomatoes) and ripped everything out, tilling it over to barely cover up the mounds of crushed cherry tomatoes. However, upon finding that a month and a half away from the compost pile made it into a nice healthy heap of black soil, we decided that it was time to reconstruct the yards to become something glorious. So we built up raised beds in the back, filled them with rich new compost, and planted fresh seedlings heralding the beginning of a new growing season.

Unfortunately, before the beds became anything useful, they were drenched with what became the heaviest rainfall California has seen in a number of years. Three storms in four days meant constant water pouring from the sky, sifting our soil in the gardens and making us realize how many stones we had left behind! A day or two of sun afterward saw thousands of tiny seedlings attempting to sprout in our newly tilled beds. They looked, strangely, like cherry tomato seedlings...

Eventual planning of the next year's plantings led to a few valiant attempts. The first was when Autumn attempted to "move" the spearmint from one large herb barrel to another... although as we know (as did she), the mint does not liken well to being "moved", it merely "replicates". Missing a few grams of spearmint root from the old barrel, we now have wonderful amounts of mint growing in both barrels, hopefully to be trimmed back avidly until we've drunk as many possible mojitos as our taste buds can handle. Here's to forced planning of the summer's drinks!

The second attempt was slightly more successful, when we decided to build a cold frame (or hot box) to allow earlier sprouting of our late-winter seedlings. A few hastily nailed one-by-sixes led to a rough sketch of a frame with a plexiglass roof on top. Success! The lettuce, chard, leeks and carrots planted inside have sprouted since, making us salivate with the anticipated early spring crop that lies ahead. The temperature inside still gets fairly chilled at night, although a humid greenhouse climate likely helps the seedlings during the day. Additional protection against blustering rain and winds, tree droppings, and blue jay foragings is a huge bonus.

The third attempt was entirely successful all around! It included a primary realization by John's mother: "Wait, you mentioned you have an apple tree from last year... but those aren't self-fertile. Do you have a second?" This led to a buying spree at Raintree Nursery, which within the week included a second columnar apple tree as well as a dual peach & nectarine tree at the behest of Autumn, who leads the peninsular chapter of the Organized Citrus Liberation Front. Both arrived well, were planted, and are budding and blossoming! Delighting Autumn every time she walks past, the peach & nectarine tree looks healthy with beautiful pink flowers. What fruit may come, will always be welcome!

Another big event in the Quail Cottage garage was the christening of John's new time trial bicycle. Actually occurring back in November with the help of a great friend Adam, the whiskey splashed across the bow of this Leader was finally put to good use this month as John zoomed into the new year with a few stellar rides, including the best time yet at the first Beat the Clock Time Trial in February. As construction on the bike dwindled, space in the garage increased, if only to house a few new cases of wine that were picked up as the Quail Cottage occupants toured South Bay wineries with friends Kayla & Devin. If not one hobby, then another!

A winter fire in the fireplace commences with a new bellows to help stoke the flame, and dinner parties come and go from Quail Cottage. New kitchen toys are played with, such as the pink Himalayan salt plates which so beautifully seared tuna, beef, and vegetables with Fraser and Eric, and mead is mixed and stored, bubbling in the bottle. Friends unite, part, and unite again, and we try to lend a helping hand, and a helping home, in the meantime. As the first ski trip of the new winter approaches, we look around the Cottage and see some welcomed changes; a new bed frame in the bedroom, more photos posted on the walls, and some fresh flowers in the kitchen. What better way to spend a winter!

An early bedtime, a newly promised early morning running schedule, and a small nightcap of a Scottish whiskey brings the evening to a close. Cheers to new beginnings! To new seedlings, freshly sprouted, and new buds freshly bloomed on our various trees! To friends new and old, and to their continued success with freshly minted relationships. To the promise of a vibrant garden, a healthy summer, and a clean garage, we toast with champagne leftovers and brand new wine club shipments. And if you ever need a place to stay, or some friendly smiles to talk to, we'll be here. Good night!

The Fall of Entropy

Creating an account for the Fall (now a few weeks into Winter) is a bit of a trial, thanks to the laziness of the Quail Cottage historians and the business of their lives of late. But living in four distinct time zones in the space of a month created opportunities, stories, chaos, and good bragging rights. September finished with an Autumn birthday, October raced by with choir concerts, Swarthmore events, and many, many dinners with newfound (and oldfound) friends, including Kayla, Devin, Josh & Jesse. EFN delightfully lost themselves in a straw maze at a pumpkin patch, and netted the Cottage three quaint pumpkins, which were sadly left un-carved in the excitement that became the Winter. Dinners in Quail Cottage with mutual college friends — Fraser from Swarthmore, and Eric from Lawrence — created a new happy couple (pleasingly, more frequent visitors thanks to Fraser's Stanford domicile). WhiskeyFest Palo Alto was held, on the second day of Entropy Week, as unfortunately the California Bach Society concert occurred during WhiskeyFest San Francisco. And at the end, the Cottage was bedded down for a cold, lonely December which saw merely two occupied days.

Some years back in his old apartment at 528 Everett, John was looking for games suitable for EFN activities and found a good selection of jigsaw puzzles at a toy store next to the Prolific Oven coffee house on Waverly. The 1500 piece soothing French Impressionist café scene was completed on the kitchen table at 528 within a few days; the 1000 piece beach sea shell puzzle was unwrapped in anticipation, although never started. Yet a mysterious dark horse — a 5000 piece jigsaw puzzle depicting a painting of the Tower of Babel by Pieter Bruegel — was left wrapped, to be seen by more adventurous parties. Thus began Entropy Week, the idea to finally piece together this puzzle, on the floor of Quail Cottage, open to any and all that would brave the chaos. From Friday night to Friday night, it would last eight full days (or from 7-11pm, work schedules being what they are), with drinks and snacks helping everyone in their fight. Monitored by webcam (attached to the Mac Mini media center) and by digital SLR (mounted on tripod with a fisheye lens), Entropy Week was publicized heavily, attempting to attract many foolhardy revelers to gather as much help as possible to finish the puzzle. Unfortunately, the event was a distinct failure; only two friends outside of EFN actually made it to the Cottage, and the puzzle was left, less than a tenth finished, mocking us from the floor on which it sat. Packaged up carefully, it will hopefully grace the floors of a few more friends before it gets completed; although the exact plans should remain secret, as they involve people that may be reading this journal as soon as we post it ... !

Shortly after Entropy Week, we began occupying ourselves with preparations for one of our largest trips yet: a vacation to several countries in Africa! Between Thanksgiving and Christmas, we had planned to visit Leah, a good friend of Autumn's from childhood, who had been in Namibia for the past two years working for the Peace Corps. Preparing ourselves meant getting vaccinated against Yellow Fever, Malaria, and Typhoid, and figuring out what exact pieces of luggage we wanted to travel with us to a different continent. After a final cleaning of the fridge and trash bins, we shut off the heat, parked the car that wasn't on loan to Autumn's parents on the patio, filed for a month-long mail hold, renewed the lease on the Cottage, and flew the coop! Cushioned by an amazing pie-baking class a week before we left, Thanksgiving in Maryland was an amazing conglomerate of food, wine, family, and great relaxation.

Gratefully, the stories and happenings of Quail Cottage were pretty darn silent while the occupants were in Africa. With a great friend and neighbor watching over the Cottage, it survived the rains of December and the cold absence of body heat for a full month and change. Autumn arrived back home, after much Air Kenya, Air France, and Virgin America tribulation, to change her clothes two days before Christmas, and promptly continue onto Santa Cruz. (John didn't get back to the cottage until two days before New Years'.) A few pounds of mail were picked up, the car moved back out, the heat turned back on, and the fridge re-stocked. A new year begins now after a champagne party with city friends, and the prospects of another full year in the Cottage raise our spirits with fanciful dreams of new gardens, more advanced mead, and many, many more dinner parties.

The wine (& beer/mead) cellar is restocked now with some African imports, and 30 pounds of local honey lay waiting to be mixed and fermented. Cheers to a new year! Cheers to new dreams! and Cheers to the return of friends and family to our lovely Cottage, while we welcome them with tasty food in the oven and an extra drink in hand. Good night!

The September of Musical Graces

September came and went, bringing a return of old music and a new musical visitor to the cottage. John's favorite choir held the opening volley of the fall season via an all-day rehearsal, and the day after, a new piano was delivered! Buying the piano was a treat (and a fluke); Stanford was holding a used piano sale before stocking up on new instruments for the year, and John went to "just window shop... honestly!" The appointment to view the pianos was scheduled for a Friday afternoon after work, and we were headed up to the city via Caltrain immediately after, which led to a hasty viewing, love at first sight, and a hurried phone call to verify that John would be allowed into the house with his new 120 lb love. A rushed sale to John was conducted at Stanford while Autumn was waiting on the Caltrain platform, ready to hop on the train as soon as John arrived. The train was late! Biking frantically from Stanford, John reunited nine and a half minutes late with a patient Autumn, just as the train stopped to collect them, ten minutes behind schedule.

The (admittedly electric) piano now graces the wall between the fireplace and the front hall, in a perfect location to broadcast as much sound to our neighbor as possible. Thankfully, volume controls, headphones, and the frequent absence of our neighbor due to a seemingly pleasing new boyfriend make the piano a welcome addition to the cottage. Already spending money on classy new Henle Verlag piano scores, John has taken to the piano like a puppy to a new sock; mildly, but when engaged, ferocious! Mixed with traveling guitars and voices, it makes a worthy instrument.

In other news, a surprising front moved throughout the peninsula in the middle of the month, awakening the inhabitants of Quail Cottage well before dawn with a good number of thunderous crashes! Lightning and thunder, it turns out, doesn't need rain to develop, and soared through the area leaving a wistful John recalling great storms from his childhood. A slight burst of rain ... unusual for September ... shattered some records around the area; Pleasanton, instead of the 0.01 inches of rain recorded back in the '50s, saw an amazing 0.05 inches of rain. Raise the dikes, save the town!

The slight rain hasn't helped with our attempted discouragement of the backyard tomatoes, who continue their reign of both the smothered beans and the stone path, still yielding amazingly sweet fruits in an attempt to ameliorate our scorn. They produce so many, the ground is littered with over ripe tomatoes which have fallen off from our lack of picking. Unfortunately, that will have to make up for other mistakes around the patio; overzealous in getting fluffy/aerated soil, John added too much vermiculite to the pots, preventing good nutrition from making it to the plants. Our potted tomatoes and basil are still vertically challenged; lessons learned, perhaps our skill will be better next year.

We've been hard at work! Wine has been drunk, (much more bought when we discovered Picchetti and Ridge merely minutes away), and many pounds of honey made their way into mead form. After the experiments with mead recipes (batches 'A' through 'L') started and finished, the big guns came out, and a twelve pound jar of blackberry blossom honey from the Ferry Building farmers' market made its way into a nice three gallon carboy, bubbling away to provide us with homemade refreshments weeks from now. As the old adage says, drink your last batch as you make the next one, and thus it was! A strawberry mead cordial made, tastes all around, and with our neatly rearranged chinese lanterns, a patio party toasted the encroaching dusk. With days' and nights' lengths now matched, and darkness falling earlier these days, we wish you similar luck; great food, great drinks, and wonderful friends to help reign in the end of summer, looking forward to a hearty fall. Good night!

The Summer of Divine Tomatoes

Our kitchen smells of red wine, butter, onions and beef; it's 10:30pm, but that's okay, since we just got back from seeing Julie and Julia, and we were inspired to make our attempt at Beef Bourguignon (although the not-two-hours-in-the-oven-version given the late starting time). A quick trip to Whole Foods, some French jazz, Prosecco in our glasses, and we were on our way!

It's been an excellent summer of food so far; the cherry tomatoes out back (from small starts that John planted since he was impatient with the seedlings) apparently decided they enjoyed living and went gangbusters, enough to knock over the wire frames attempting to hold them up. They're now taller than John, and trying to bust out of their second layer of scaffolding. After John was sufficiently scolded for watering them (and everything else in the garden) too much, we are now enjoying the fruits of their less-recently-watered labors so much that breakfast is often solely a trip out the back door. We love the fruit that appears so dark as to look nearly purple under the shade of deep green leaves, and so ready to burst that they split easily when you try to pick them, and is so divine in taste... almost as sweet as a peach, with that fresh tomato smell that you get by shoving your hand deep amongst the leaves to pick them... it's been a beautiful harvest.

Other things pepper our garden as well, although not nearly as well understood. The basil remains somewhat small, although in three pots, even underperforming basil is enough to decorate our brie or early morning eggs. The pot of mint, thyme, oregano, and marjoram is doing well enough to grace our dinners every now and then, although the mint is indeed attempting to overtake everything else, despite our warnings that it'll be made into late summer mojitos. The apple stick (so called by naysayers) has grown well, although has yet to bear any hints of flowering; Autumn warns that apples take multiple years to bear fruit, but John hopes this custom-bred columnar apple was a smarter student. A dwarf orange tree, rescued from the Santa Cruz garden because it was root bound and facing transplantation, found a nice home inside a large pot at Quail Cottage, and has done so well that it decided to start bearing oranges (possibly to attempt making the apple tree feel inadequate). Contrary to popular rumors, the French Zucchini hasn't exploded, although we could just be seeing effects of planting seeds in May (note to self: plant earlier next year). John was introduced to lemon cucumbers, one of Autumn's favorite vegetables. Carrots and leeks in the back yard are coming along slowly... due either to schizophrenic water habits, not enough sun, or the previously barren soil.

Although honey is not a harvestable food in this cottage, much mead was made, racked, finished, and drunk. A good number of small batches (batches G, G+s, G+c, H, I, J, K) reside, patiently and casually bubbling, under the righthand breakfast nook bench. A few experiments include strawberries, cherries (the G+s and G+c batches), light and dark honeys, oak chips, clove and cinnamon, many of which turned out quite well (especially to those with a sweet palate). We adhered strictly to the code of "drink your last batch while making the next." This code also helped free us to be more experimental with our ingredients. John's ego was boosted by a very friendly fellow food and wine snob, who declared his mead "spectacular!" (Times like these make John wish his growlers made more than five beer bottles.)

Friends came and went, the sofa bed was used often, and our half-size dishwasher was run many, many times. Hand painted chinese lanterns were crafted one Friday night as a testament to our friends' artistic skills, strung casually through the side yard hedge, and now cast a warm amber light, gently coaxing us from evening into night.

As the Prosecco drains from our glasses, we toast you Good Night, and if you are near Quail Cottage, there will be Cherry Tomatoes for you in the back yard (at least for the next couple weeks!)

The Spring of New Shoots (and the animals that eat them)

After four months of bare walls, it was surprisingly easy to get John's photographs on the wall of the dining nook. A dash of impetus, five minutes to order, and a few days later just 30 minutes with a level and some poster tape. (Really more of an eyeball level than an actual level. Sorry, dad, no iPhone.) The added character made the nook much homier with a good source of satisfaction (silently attempting to make friends jealous of all the cool places we've been to recently). With Bangladesh on the "west" wall, and Hoath on the "east" wall, the Santa Cruz coast sits in the middle and ties it all together on the "north" wall. Pay no mind to that compass in your head. To give visual intrigue from both near and far, these were all vanishing point studies, attempting to enlarge the space (the nook is a bit tiny for modern standards). In a bit more scattered fashion, the fridge is now plastered with snapshots... assorted exciting things, as well as photos of Autumn and John from around the world (including abstract representations thereof, from relatively near locations).

The seeds that Autumn planted before the February of the Needed Rains received loving water, enough such that they become victims of other beings in desire of food; the squirrels and the jays, forever in a turf war along Everett Ave (back in 528-b as well), happily dug up our new shoots, which left us with barely a third of our original planting. We took stock, replanted, learned from our mistakes and bought plastic netting to cover everything that suggested it had seeds within. Unfortunately this leaves us now (after a rampage at Seeds of Change) in late Spring with several small flats of seeds, well watered and well covered, which have yet to fully sprout.

In a desire to promote some unifying theme in the backyard, John bought a large number of whisky-barrel-looking planters, which are now fully irrigated through discreet holes in the sides and stacked neatly within the existing planters on the patio. Three planters of basil will promise amazing amounts of spicy fresh pesto for our dinner table pastas. Two large planters of heritage tomatoes will deliver exciting green zebra and brandywine fruits to drizzle with Bariani's fresh-pressed green olive oil. One and a half planters of spearmint, peppermint, and chocolate mint will grace our mojitos on hot summer nights out on the patio while we reminisce of similar hot nights in Bangladesh. The other half planter, as well as small pots, include chives (in the same pot since 2005!), rosemary (a small bonsai that housed an ant colony until repotted), oregano, thyme, and marjoram. The seeds currently in flats, poking their small heads through the first layers of dirt as we speak, will likely go in the back garden (or edges of the patio), to some day grow into sugar pumpkins, lemon cucumbers, green and burgandy bush beans, french zucchini, and more heritage tomatoes. The back garden was indeed fully transformed from January's Jungle into Iron Garden America when John tilled the entire area with new soil and chicken manure, with the help of a large trip to Home Depot, half a dozen Coronas, and a full lime.



Of the things that we become thankful for in Quail Cottage, as summer increases, the patio becomes more a happy haven during evening. We took this to the extreme one (morning) during the previous Lyrid meteor shower, waking an hour before dawn and hustling out to the chilly, but dark and (very) close-to-home patio. (Sometimes, this beats driving half an hour out to Skyline.) Grabbing a few blankets and the bean bag chair, we dozed off catching a few brief shooting stars lighting up the dawn.

Other events from late winter included the departure of our duplex-mate and the preparatory painting done by our landlord's management. Surprised one day to come home and find our windows wrapped in plastic, and chips of old paint all along the garden beds, our annoyance at having no communication about the work being done around the house faded slowly into enjoying some new trim on the garage, fresh paint around the windows (to which John subsequently took a razor to, disturbing the dried paint that had fused them shut during a heat wave), and new mulch in the garden (which within the week became overcome, again, by the oxalis). The mulch helped highlight the rose bush by the patio gate, which in the course of a few days had suddenly sprouted hundreds of beautiful deep red roses. A few ladybugs to keep the aphids down, and they lasted a long time, just beginning to wilt now in the arriving heat of summer.

Let's drink to a successful winter: a new snowboard for John and dusting off Autumn's skis allowed four weekend trips to Tahoe and Bear Valley with good friends; redeeming a gift certificate from Mom to take lessons on how to make a molten chocolate lava cake; photography class and knitting class for Autumn, culminating in an intricate cable hat for John (just in time for summer). Time moves on; friends move to the city, new bonds with old friends form on the peninsula, and a home becomes well established in the heart of Palo Alto. With mead in the cubby and seeds sprouting on the patio, it should be a full summer. Cheers!

The February of the Needed Rains

February of 2009 left quite a bit of water laying around. Such abundance came from the sky that we had to rescue the cacti from outside and put umbrellas over their heads! To rescue Autumn's old family table from the same we finally varnished and found a nice canvas cover to protect it. Seedling starts that we protected with a glass window (rescued from Santa Cruz, soon to become the top to a hot box / cold frame, we promise!) unfortunately were victims of the rain's psychological warfare: everything else was so wet, so must they be! But forgetting to water them regularly stunted their growth a bit, so hopefully next month they will receive a little more love (in the form of an irrigated hot box / cold frame).

We finished constructing the last of the spice shelves, sold the bed and coffee table (to get much of our garage back), pruned the roses of last year's deadwood to happily produce new shoots, found a TV stand (Ikea!) to place the "TV" on, and finally felt that we could enjoy the living room more than certain unnamed boxes would in our stead. This month also saw the christening of the fireplace, to some moderate success. The first attempt to follow our lease contract and burn a "DuraLog" left the entire house smelling something like burnt plastic and a middle-earth peat bog. Further attempts to use actual wood made us realize that the flue was not quite big enough for all the smoke that newspaper "kindling" produced, and verified the good fact that our smoke detectors were working well. The results of our last two attempts worked well, producing a warming hearth with a lazy fire on a cold, rainy February evening.

John constructed a lavish wine cellar in the garage (after realizing that the superb wine rack he bought couldn't be secured in the living room, and giving the proximity to the San Andreas fault, that seemed a necessary requirement). Autumn crocheted new variations of iPhone socks (beta, gamma, and omega releases) to John's exact specifications. He did a little dance after receiving them. Which was slightly concerning given that he was driving the car to Tahoe at the time.

Experimentations with food was a good theme this month. After growing frustrated with trying to transcribe Indian food recipes off of YouTube while cute little Indian mothers cooked palak paneer in their suburban kitchens, we broke down and bought Cooks Illustrated Best International Recipes. Inspired by reading recipes on injera and John's christmas gift of beughjjjeria spices ("bizaar", in non-Autumn speak), we set out to make a Middle-Eastern / African lamb stew with a Ethiopian flatbread and homemade tej to go with it. What a meal it was! Savory free range lamb lovingly cooked with lentils, carrots, onions, parsnips, beughjjjeria spices, and Autumn's classic homemade vegetable stock (made from leftover vegetable scraps; nothing goes to waste!) The parsnips made the stew slightly sweet, which contrasted with the heavenly flatbread, slightly sour from the heaping tablespoons of lemon juice used to react with the baking soda. And the tej! Ah, mead is a favorite drink around Quail Cottage. That night we enjoyed the remains of Growler Batch C, which was brewed with a hint of cinnamon and clove, and (thankfully?) left around a bit too long to help encourage a bit more... alcoholic growth. Seeing our dwindling supplies, last week John found a local beekeeper based out of San Jose that was willing to sell thirty pounds of honey at a time. Exhausted after brewing a mere six pounds into Growler Batches D and E, John left two large buckets in the garage with some wonderfully tasty light amber and dark amber honey to be used soon.

In another couple of weeks we should write about our Tahoe adventures, since by then we'll have gone thrice, hopefully with more enjoyment in each successive visit (so far meeting the goal!) Until then, let's toast to the increasing late afternoon sun of non-daylight-savings daylight, while thanking the rains that so heavily drenched our parched soils last month. Slainte!

Victory over ... strawberries

The January of jungle conquering and shower gnomes!

The bottles were stacked on top of the fridge with care, and the fruit bowl graced the center of the kitchen table. Another spice shelf (number four) was (nearly) installed into the formerly secret ironing board closet. Autumn noted, as she walked in the door, that a portable toolbox had been created (out of an old Clementine box [see: neatly stacked citrus in the fruit bowl]) to keep the hammer & nails, sandpaper & pencils, screws, screwdriver, and a lizard for good measure [pun: sorry] off the kitchen table.
This was the scene after a long month of settling and unpacking, which included: moving boxes to the garage and back again (and then back to the garage and, rarely, back again), hanging up clothes in the closet, learning how to (peacefully) share a dresser, swapping out two installed towel racks for four installed towel racks (like Goldilocks, the new ones were too short for the back of the door, but the old ones were juuustright), installing a washer and dryer after watching YouTube videos on how to install a washer and dryer, reconquering the back jungle for vegetable planning (and later, planting), and seeding starts of beets, bok choy, carrots, swiss chard, oh my!
[John] To a small degree, we feel like the old story of the family that lived in a shoe. In this case, the shoe is a 1930s well-traveled and tanned leather Oxford with some sand from the back deserts of Egypt wedged into the cracks. It has the class of a good, quality crafted item, well worn but still alive and kicking [pun: sorry], with great features, yet we found it at a yard sale and our foot is still molding the shoe to fit us well.
[Autumn] I'm really not sure where he's going with this shoe thing. I mean, everyone knows it was 'an old woman' who lived in the shoe, not a family, and that she believed in corporal punishment for her children, and you mustn't think we condone that. But if we are to use the shoe analogy (and keep the Oxford) I'd actually call the cottage a much classier piece of footware. I'm seeing shiny black and white, with high contrast stitching and the little punched out holes that look so nice on tap shoes or on Cary Grant. Maybe the shoes pinch a little on your toes (or maybe it's just that you've hit your toe on one of John's boxes again) but we'll make them fit with time - and maybe even dance!
[John] Let's walk away from this argument, shall we? [pun: sorry]
A few things we can't easily walk away from include shower gnomes that like to play tricks on the water temperature, large snails in the garden, wasps building nests in the garage, and a doorbell that sounds like a 1990's electronic greeting card. We'll see if time will give us a victory over any of these, or perhaps merely soften to the enemy (gnome / snail / wasp / doorbell). Thankfully, in the course of life (or building a new life in a delightful cottage), things like these are just minor distractions; ultimately the most important things (the vegetable garden, fine food, wine, good company, and each other) will receive our love and attention.
At the agreement that we should take the night off and write about our (mis?)adventures, John wanted to post a declaration of victory over unpacking. Autumn correctly pointed out that we still couldn't walk in a straight line through the living room without stubbing our black and white toe on a box. So we mused fruitfully [pun: sorry] about other things to declare victory over, and behold, there was a package of strawberries in the fridge. [With apologies to Kingsolver, these were purchased for John's CalBach benefit party and originated from Mexico, not Salinas as they will be in June. We promise we'll eat local February beets next week.] We are currently enjoying strawberries drizzled with yogurt and brown sugar on a nice breakfast & coffee tray that John received as a present for a year ago Christmas. Now we can toast to a victory (even if only over fruit)!
Cheers, and good night!

The Fall of India Travels and the Founding of Quail Cottage

The finding (and founding) of a new home came, alas, as Autumn was already used to living out of a suitcase for months on end. Moving into the new cottage shortly before the holidays did not encourage John to do much unpacking. Photographic evidence of the cottage around the beginning of December shows the true damage of a block-and-a-half move; not far enough to sell anything major, and not close enough to not put everything in many tiny boxes. Christmas presents were packed in a box labeled "gifts to take home", although forks for the pizza party rewarding those that helped us move were packed deep in a box labeled "kitchen supplies (minus sink)". It was an impressive sight to see the line of EFN ants stretching down the block, carrying boxes, crates, lamps, brooms with the entirety of John's closet hooked on the handle; enough so that the trip back was often rewarded with a ride on the dolly for anyone lucky enough to scam others into pushing them.

Our biggest victory on the first day of the move was removing the front door mat that had cultivated several species of chlorophyl-producing visitors, and replacing it with ladybugs (or a mat thereof, at least). The next course of action was to toast that victory. The rest of the day remains a bit fuzzy...

Smaller victories of the next week before the holidays included learning the thermostat and how hot air really wasn't very hot, cleaning the tops of everything that were missed by the building inspectors, and rearranging the garage to match version 1.0 of the garage layout schema (cans of leftover paint were an added easter egg).

Now that the holidays are over (in eastern and central time, at least) we hope to continue cleaning and unpacking while living amongst the various forts and shelters that the boxes provide. Being disgruntled at the slight oddities of the cottage are generally replaced with delight at small things like a huge storage garage, a garden (barely alive at the moment), and the prospect of a prosperous year to come. The potential of the cottage to achieve great gardens, legendary meals, and aesthetic gallery showcases seems to propel our spirits forward... even if, after a day of unpacking, we crash into bed before the New Year rings its bells on the west coast!