Stories

A hive has been part of my menagerie for almost a year now. Our bees were transferred from a friend’s chimney (where the bees had been pretty happy for a while) to a couple of bee boxes under an olive tree. Kirk Anderson, a.k.a Kirk O’bee, did the job, and has been our bee guide ever-since. Kirk leads the the Backwards Beekeepers, a group of Los Angeles area bee enthusiasts. Monthly meetings are open to the public and they’re quite informative. The last few meetings have been held at Farmlab, and that’s a place that is cool to see.

Since positioning the hive on the hill, we have basically let the bees be. We figured whatever honey the bees had made, we would let them keep it for their winter food supply (which is what honey is). Commercial bee keepers often harvest honey in the fall, and then feed their bees sugar water though the winter. We sort of ignored ours all winter, just checking for activity (flying in and out) occasionally. Ever since it got warmer there has been so much action! Busy, busy bees.

.....well, it's really an Asparagus Popover but it looks more like a fritatta to me. I feel like a popover should have a thicker crust but that's just my opinion. Maybe if I made this in a slightly bigger pan there would have been more extension of the crust, but it's water under the bridge at this point.

We could call it a Po-tatta? No? Either way it doesn't matter, it was good. It calls for gruyere cheese. Anything with gruyere is pretty much fine by me. I'm easy to please. The recipe does say you can substitute Swiss for the gruyere but really, why would you? It's not going to be the same.

This is a great brunch item. Simple to make, easy to find ingredients. I suppose you could have it for dinner too.  It would be fabulous with a salad and a glass of wine.

Everyone wants to move to Maine these days...It wasn't like that when we were growing up. In fact, very few people that lived here wanted to stay here, but they couldn't afford to move. No one knew where Maine was, they would stare blankly at you like it was a foreign country.

My neighbors are still the neighbors that I have had for the last fifty years or so. They watch out for you in a non-cloying way just as you watch out for them. That is just what you do in a small town. I always am thankful that my nearest neighbor is over a half mile away except for my sister's house a mere 100 feet away.

It is heavenly to be in a dense oak tree forest on a bucolic lake watching the snow storms make their way across the frozen lake. It has been peaceful and people-less for the last 35 years. Neighbors in seasonal cottages that stayed a month or two but never more than that – until now.

"I'm alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic...I'm alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic--I'm alive, awake, alert--I'm alert, awake, alive--I'm alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic!" (Insert dance moves through entire song).

Since I went to girl scout camp in middle school (yes I'll admit that), this has been my morning mantra. I was recently reminded how important the days of sleep-a-way camp were for me, how they affected me, and how they shaped me. 

I spent several summers at Camp Mosey Wood in northern Pennsylvania forging friendships with people from all over the world. I remember meeting new friends from Maine, new friends from Virginia, new friends from Florida, and new friends from New York City. I remember meeting counselors from Ireland, England, and Australia. I remember asking the New Yorkers to teach me how to say Florida with a real New York accent. I remember staying up all night sharing ghost stories, and I remember sitting by the sides of home-sick campers and telling them jokes until they felt better.  Home-sickness seemed to be a violently contagious disease that laughter could cure. I should have known my life would revolve around laughter then.