Soup's On!

After dropping the kids off at school this morning, I had an appointment downtown. Upon leaving my meeting, I found myself walking right into my favourite Farmer's Market. Not one to pass up on the colourful bounty of Fall, I hummed and hawed over the produce and picked up some fixings for soup. With the brightest colour of the garden patch catching my eye, I decided upon Borscht for lunch. Sweet fall beets are yummy in my books (and with my children being at school I don't have to listen to them moaning that they "don't like it!"). While I sometimes follow recipes, when it comes to soup I wing it, so here is today's take on it;

Thursday's Version of Borscht

So you start with some beets. I picked these up at the farmer's market this morning. Can we say Fresh!

Cut up for the soup pot

and then you chop up some carrots (also purchased at my favourite farmer's stall last weekend)

Onions and garlic add to the flavour as well, so get them in there! I bet you can guess where the onion came from (Yup, farmer Rick again! Geez, you're good) That pile of garlic is purely home grown though. I pulled up a bunch of my garlic about a month ago and have been drying it outside. Into that pot you go! No, I am not using all the garlic on the right hand side (Vampires begone!). Just three little ones will do.

All chopped  and ready to go

Don't forget your bouquet garni. Here I have used thyme, parsley, oregano, a sage leaf and a bay leaf. It is all from my garden, but the bay leaf. I do have a Bay tree that I have brought inside for the winter, but there were some dried bay leaves handy, so I am using one of those up today. If the term "bouquet garni" is unfamiliar to you, essentially it is a collection of fresh herbs tied with string and thrown into your concoction for flavouring. It is removed prior to consumption, but flavours your soup, stock or sauce that you are making without leaving behind visible traces of it. Wikipedia has an entry here. I try to use them as often as I can (cus I love feeling foie de foie) when I have fresh herbs available. This time of year my herb garden is chock full, so herbs go in everything I cook. Nuff said.

Thyme, parsley, sage, oregano and bay

Voila! A bouquet garni.

Throw them in a pot with stock and simmer. Sprinkle in some salt and turn the pepper mill over the soup pot a few times. Stir it up. Now go write a blog post or something, as it needs to burble for a while.

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oops, don't forget to smash disconnect the smoke detector while your soup is boiling away. Mine goes off if I look at it for two seconds (freaking sensitive piece of @#$!%#@). I have just turned the fan on myself, so as the neighbours don't call the fire department (again - oops, last house and another story).

As an afterthought, some of the beet leaves got washed and tossed into the pot too. Mmmm, it is starting to smell good now! Tummy is rumbling, but the beets aren't cooked through yet. Run a load of laundry downstairs to fill a few minutes.

...

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Ok, it's got to be ready by now! I'm starving. Pull the sour cream out of the fridge. It is the traditional addition to borscht and I just happen to have some handy. 

Now,

Leave me be so I can eat my soup!

Happy Thursday all :)

First Moments

new babe
on legs none too sturdy
still blinking away
memories of birth, seemingly early

Majestic

stunned in moments 

too fresh to comprehend

with a walk round the hay patch

and audience's eyes to lend

Miraculous

Ah, Mama stands close

spent, yet dutifully present

ready to give life eternal

to child's needs in this moment

Your privacy
lost in ticket sales

by unscrupulous flashes
of visitors over the rails

Anon,
Whilst camera's eye

does pry

can we deny

the eyes of the young

with purity of soul

dipped in a white halo
with vision?

~~~~~

This wobbly newborn drew me in with awe at new life, juxtaposed against the spinning madness of a local fair. I was smitten. 

Tomorrow's poetry fare over at OneShot is already up and running, so head on over and take a peek at the offerings this week. 

Tender Blossom

I pry me open

gently with tender notions

of future's soft hands

Dahlia

Touching the Sky

Whirr,

Whizzz

Screams of virulent laughter

fill earthly aching ears

while lights bedazzle

Glossy faces

 that shine on a high

of cotton candy dreams

and adrenaline peaks

***

Our trip to the fair today 

was inspiration for

Monkey Man's Sunday 160.

If you think that you can craft a Sunday 160
only using 160 characters (including spaces) go visit him and give it a try.

The Mountain's Revenge

Dawn had not yet broken, but I certainly felt that I was; broken that is. A glance at the bottle I had been imbibing from the night before pulled a groan from my lips and made my head pulse. I was still feeling the effects from the whiskey, but feared terribly the imminent hangover that threatened. Going to bed relatively early could not prevent that, when my sorry 26er accused me of my indulgences. Five AM seemed extraordinarily punishing for my transgressions though.

No matter, it was rise and shine. Time to face the day and ready myself for the hike ahead of us. The plan; to hike into Chimanimani National Park and camp for two nights in the wilds. I showered with the false hope that this would somehow make me feel more human. While it didn’t hurt, it only served to make me more presentable to my fellow group of hikers. Of course we all were a little ragged from our evening on the piss the night before, but we were still game for adventure, so piled into the vehicle to head out.

We arrived at base camp shortly thereafter and signed in. It was policy that you signed in when entering the park and advise the office of how long you would be staying. If you were late to return, search parties would be sent out to look for you. Despite feeling a little disconcerted by this news, we advised them we would be gone two nights and paid park fees accordingly. From here we would continue by foot, as there were no vehicles allowed in the park. Our trek began.

Our rag-taggle group included Oliver, Rob, Miki and myself, plus a group of three other travelers from the lodge. Later, we would also meet up with three other Canadians, but for now; Allen fashioned himself as our leader and directed our route with arrogant aplomb. I was happy to fall into the pack, slugging at my water bottle for all I was worth.

While the climb up started reasonably enough, it gradually took a steeper and steeper incline the higher we went. I found myself lagging further behind and noticed my breathe had become labored. I remembered stories that my Mother told of her asthma as a young woman and wondered if I too had miraculously developed this affliction while trying to scale these mountains. Mt Binga, the highest peak in the range that spanned over 50 kilometres, measured in at 2,437 m or 7,993 ft, which might as well have been to the moon and back for me at that point. My friends that had occasionally stalled to wait for me, soon disappeared and I struggled on by myself. I stumbled and cursed this vile idea of a nice easy hike that would leave me with my heart sprung open on the side of a mountain. I wanted to stop, lay down and die. There was no going back though. By now we were miles from base camp and I was all alone in the universe, but for the buzzards that swung lazily over my head.

Finally, I found myself clinging to a rock wall. My fingers clutched at hidden niches in the craggy face of boulders. My backpack threatened to pull me off into oblivion, but I gasped and heaved and swung myself up onto a ledge. I stood panting, cursing my body, the mountains, the world, then my gaze flicked down to the world beneath me. Within the panorama, I spied my fellow hikers way down the hill, sitting below a boulder patiently waiting for me. I went limp, then burst into hysterical laughter. The mountain had beaten me and forced more out of me than I thought I had. I had survived though.

After catching my breathe, I made my way down to my friends. The worst of the climb was behind us, as was the worst of my hangover. Chugging back more spring-fed water nourished my body and soul and with that we re-grouped and headed out again. Before long we were pushing through chest-high grasses on a level plateau. The rock cairns that had directed our path became harder to see, but we finally made our way through the field and spied our home for the night. A short scramble up a little rocky path led to the yawning mouth of a cave.

We would spend the next two nights bedding down in this serene cave lit by the stars and moon, and nourished by a stream that gurgled at the back of our dark chasm. Arriving on the little ledge, I gladly threw off my pack in order to investigate. The caves were frequently utilized by hikers and there was grass strewn about for bedding purposes. A make-shift fire pit was in evidence as well. With the stream handy for fresh water to drink and cook with, we had all the comforts of home. After a hard day of climbing, I fell into an exhausted sleep with a smile that played across my lips with my triumph. 

The next two days filled me with indescribable bliss while exploring this magical place. We woke to cold and mist, but luxuriated in the quiet of this world. From my sleeping bag, I could see the surrounding grasses and rocky hills that encircled us. Tranquil repose filled our morning on the stony ledge, but with the mid-day sun burning off the mist, we headed a little further afield for some more hiking. The most delicious meal of our combined canned potatoes, tomatoes, brown beans, veggies, udon  noodles, a handful of rice and curry seasoning hit a high note in my culinary books on our return. Our communal meal and breaking of bread was like a prayer in this little piece of God’s country. Even the trek back down the mountain could not break the spell that I was under. Stopping to drink from a crystal clear stream, reminded me of the pristine beauty of this African park that I was privileged to call home for two nights. I might have broken, but Chimanimani put me back together again