About Familia

I’ve been living here in my town Palcamayo in this nice country home with my host family the Diaz Rojas’, since December, nine months now. This part of my Peace Corps experience has entered my life and being in a way that I know will be a part of me forever. Very recently, things changed around the house dramatically. As with any major event, it’s brought about strong reflection, a new self-awareness, and a strengthened sense of my family and my connection to these people I call home.

When I first showed up to present myself as the Peace Corps volunteer who’d be living in their house for the next two years I brought a gift. I had seen a humongous avocado, the biggest I’d ever seen, for sale at a stand in Chosica. Immediately I figured it would be the perfect present by symbolizing a bit of me, as avocados are my favorite, and my hope for a good fruitful relationship with my host family. Little did I know just how receptive of me they would be, and how kind and happy they would prove to be for my being here. It showed in the way my host sister Alisu placed the huge pit in water. We’ve been watching it grow in the kitchen ever since, and it’s roots have begun to curl in the bottom and the stalk has reached tall adorned with five strong leaves. So now, nine months later it’s ready to plant. And now, nine months later, my sweet host mother has just passed away. We’ll soon be putting the avocado tree in the ground as a memory to Mama Aida, a symbol for her spirit continuing on, and also a symbol for my permanence within this family as well. Just days before she died I left to work in another region, I said goodbye to her and later she told Gladys, my other host sister, “Laura has gone, but she will come back, I will be leaving, but I’m not going to come back..” Her words, her wishes were at last granted. Her suffering had ended as her body stopped trying to live.

My grandfather back home died a couple years ago. I remember that’s when the realization of the importance of family came to me.

I remember sitting in the airplane looking out the small window onto the vast upper crust of sky, where the bright blue backdrop held these billowing white clouds and I sensed that he was among that unspeakable beauty that we tore through on the way to Indiana.

Once there we drove through the Midwest’s dilapidated parts. I imagined my father’s childhood as kids ran around porches, and the land stretched long and flat forever. I was dressed in the restriction of shiny black boots and fancy clothes, all borrowed, with my long blond hair contrasting the uniform blowing in my face. It all felt so different from my life in California. It always did whenever we’d venture to these states for family functions.

I felt as if I were in a movie, especially as we walked out onto the lawn of the cemetery, crunching the winter snow beneath my feet. The place was stoic to say the least, sprawling for miles, with gray stone sculptures marking the graves, and leafy trees lining the roads. I watched as my dad’s family, my family, trickled together slowly like blood through tired vessels, towards the small church, which sat doors open to us with a warm glow eluding from the wintry property.

I remember the somber heaviness that was held together with importance and respect. It pervaded the event from the moment we endured words in the small church to the placement of the triangularly folded American Flag that was placed on his casket honoring his work in the war decades ago. I watched my three tall brothers carrying the heavy box, dark but glimmering with brass adornments, towards the perfectly cut rectangle in the ground. It wobbled over their shoulders, but they each held their faces and the burden and a sense of duty. I cried a few times that day, and that was one of them.

Family is maybe the only thing that can be grasped, visualized, and understood with any certainty in life. Life provides us with a plentitude to question and be unsure about. People we meet may let us down, or lead us astray. Family is a safety net that has always been there for me. It’s the answer to our questions of what our purpose is here. I feel that support and love and two reasons for our existence, and two things family is sure to give and sure to get, no strings attached.

So now here I am, thousands of miles, voluntarily, away from my family in Indiana, California, South Carolina, Florida, and New Jersey…but I’ve found an incredibly strong a sense of family living day to day out here in the Peruvian campo. In another form these people are my family.

My host mother took me under her wing and saw right through to my core. She never looked at me as a strange “gringa,” and I never felt out of place, only supported and cared for. In those first months here at site I would come back to the house each day to find her in the kitchen, where we would talk about Palcamayo, my day, or Peruvian recipes, and then she’d always make sure I was fed. Yet, we didn’t always have to talk, sometimes I could just sit with her while she knitted and feel better and less estranged. I value her for making me feel so welcomed and comfortable in the house and in the town.

Unfortunately she was sick then (osteoporosis and arthritis) and her conditioned only worsened since my being here. Towards the end, in the final months, she was bedridden as her muscles and bones had deteriorated and failed to work anymore. Her entire body was shutting down and she couldn’t stomach anything. I’d sit with her and witness her happiness fading. She asked when it’d be over, the pain, her life, but her sweetness remained and her wide frightened eyes were heart breaking. I did what I could to help, and took out my book on Ayurveda to search for a possible cure. I bought some sesame oil and massaged her aching body. It was a relief she counted on, and so I’d enter her room almost daily and massage her thinning arms and twisted arthritic feet. I wished I knew more, but the entire family thanked me for the relief I could offer. Others in the town started to ask me about this “cure” I’d brought for their own ailments. My host dad joked that I was a curandero.

 Last week I was getting ready to leave for the city of Huancayo, which I frequent. Gladys told me Mama Aida was not very doing well that morning. I went up to her to sit with her for while, see how she was, and say goodbye before my trip. She couldn’t help how her ailing body had taken over her existence. Her stomach wanted to throw up and her movements followed suit, but nothing came up. I sat with her for a while trying to soothe her, and then as the Father came up the stairs to pray for her I said my goodbye and left.

“Laura has left, but she will be back, pero me voy y no regreso.”

She was right.

I got five missed calls from Alisu on my phone when I arrived in the small town of Tomás with the other volunteers. Mama Aida had died. Overwhelmed with sadness I just started walking away from the town, back to Huancayo, back to my family.

Family is the people we welcome into our hearts and lives with trust. This trust is that they will be supportive through the positive and the negative. It was hard as a kid for me to take criticism and harder as an adult as it comes more as a surprise. Yet, accepting someone with that is a special thing, its in trusting that they will see our downfalls and though point them out do it to teach us and keep us in their lives.

I stopped in Huancayo for a few days to get grounded. Although I am close to my new host family, they aren’t my real family and they do things within a culture that isn’t my own. I was nervous for what to expect, but I knew I could be strong in the situation and handle it. My American friend let me know this and let me see I could be myself for two days before running head on into the unknown. He took me in and helped regain a sense of normalcy, and the touch of reality that life goes on, and that I must be the strength for my family. It was all what I knew, but in the fragility of the event I couldn’t through to the clarity. I’m thankful for him, for caring enough about me to give his wisdom and supportive friendship. Powerful friendship begins to blend into family and so my family has just continued to grow.

Mama Aida, Papa Agosto, my sisters Alisue, Melba, and Gladys, Raul a.k.a Chino my brother in law, and Monica, Roy, Keiko, and Neil my nieces and nephews, mi abuelita, and the many tías y tíos y primos that surround me here in Palcamayo. Then there’s my family in the U.S. my mom, dad, my three brothers, Matt, Mark, and Dylan, my sisters in law, my niece Taylor, my nephews Luke and Oren, and my three youngest nieces Millie, Josie, and Stella Mae, my aunts and uncles, and cousins. My closest friends and my Peace Corps family all are supportive and important to me now and forever.

As my family expands so does my heart in this world, because I’m being contently understood, loved and supported. I am allowed to be me and am given space to be the version of me and show the worst and be okay with it. I feel that every edge of my shape becomes clear and is accepted by the growth of my family tree. Like that avocado seedling, which we’ll soon put in the earth, the spirit of family is forever growing strong and tall.

Buenas Días Todos.

Last week marked the two months that I’ve been at my site, in my town Palcamayo, in the valley of the central cordillera: the high Andes of the department of Junin, Perú. My jefe Diego came to visit with Caroline, his assistant and a third year volunteer, and Jorge, one of our Peace Corps doctors. They pulled up to my host family’s home in a shiny white steed: one of the Peace Corps issued Jeeps. After they had come and gone I felt lighter. My two months of trying to get used to Palcamayo, and getting Palcamayo used to me had been affirmed at last. We sat in my living room filling out the mandated questionnaire, and then chatted with my family and checked out my bedroom. Despues we walked down to the vivero (tree nursery) at the colegio (secondary school) to check on my bolsitas (little bags) of Tara seeds (a native Andean tree species). We ended the visit with Jorge’s famous videos. One was a short clip of me in my beautiful plaza, with a large sculpture of climbing red flowers and a hummingbird, and the other at Huagapo, the famous cave 3km. up the road.  The three visitors were constantly admiring the greenery and abundance of foliage within the clima templado of Palcamayo where bright blue skies and bulbous white clouds, so low you could reach up and grab one to eat like cotton candy, mark the days. I was made grateful for my wonderful site all over again. In talking with Jorge, who’s had a taste of the costa and other regions, I realized how unique Andean culture is, and how lucky I am to have the ability to be living within it. Andean culture is a beautiful thing, from the food, to the clothing, to the ganado, (livestock: sheep, donkeys, llamas, alpacas, bulls, cow, cuy, a few goats here and there), and even the horrible dogs guarding their respective homes.

The Andes folk munch on kernels of colorful corn, called “canchita”, daily. It’s toasted on the outside and white and dry on the inside, and it is one of the things I would like to push through customs when I come home. We also eat choclo (a maize with huge light yellow kernels) con queso (which is a fresh soft cheese made into rounds and sold up and down the mountains all while the days are long). It’s simply a boiled cob served with a thick slab of queso. The simple things really are the most delicious. Of course we have Pachamanca. It’s a meal as old as the Incas, and worthy of the Gods it surely is. It is muy rico, and saved mainly for birthdays around this house. It’s made in the ground and cooked on hot black rocks for an hour. My tíos fill the hole with potatoes, abas (green pods filled with lima-bean like verdura), and humita (a sweet tamale), which all char perfectly against the piedras. Then in goes sheep and pig, which has been rubbed in a mixture of herbs the night before. After covering the spread with heavy-duty paper, a mound of earth, and a customary cross, kissed on the cheek with a bundle of flowers, we wait with a game of “volley” for the steaming mess to be uncovered and devoured off a communal manta. One famous drink of these parts is Caliente of which I consumed my fair share of on New Years Eve. It’s Caña (an herbed liquor) cooked warm with cinnamon, spices, and sugar. Its sweet appeal can be lethal, as the strong alcohol content is masked so well. Patasca is another favorite of mine, and is a customary meal for breakfast on holidays or birthdays. It is a soup made the night before by simmering sheep parts, most importantly the head, into a broth and then adding choclo I could go on and on about food of course, but the point is that the Andes have a sabor unlike the rest of Perú, which is both comforting, and incredibly rich. I have yet to explore the rest of the country, but until I do I have the stance to highlight and appreciate the culture of the Andes here in Junin.

The older women, called respectfully by all as tias, wear the same ol’ clothing daily. They all walk about looking so similarly as if they’re a part of a special “mamalita” club. From head to toe we have: a tall white hat, re-painted a veces for upkeep and tied round with a big black bow, a sweater usually adorned with a gaudy design of flowers made with shiny beads, a manta covering the shoulders and pinned at the collarbone with a special pin or a wrapper as my abuelita specially dons, a conservative skirt seemingly made for a reform school usually seen with a fallen zipper in the back, and of course “granny panties” as my nearby volunteer friend Nicole and I call them: basically thick long underwear, ribbed and sometimes beautifully covered with a layer of tights, then some good ole’ loafers for the feet and they’re good to go…for a long while, as the weather and day’s work seems to keep folks in the same outfit for a few days.

As a Peace Corps volunteer I have a basic outline with certain metas (goals) that keep my work focused. Ahora, I’m still in my phase one. I need to compile a full “Community Diagnostic” of Palcamayo. It entails a lot of investigative work. I have to interview knowledgeable people from the Alcalde’s (mayor) office to the Health Post for data and facts. Then, I have to disperse encuesta’s (surveys) to a goal of 100 Palcamaiños, to get information that will help my cause. My questions cover what people do with their waste, including organic wastes, and recyclables, to if they have environmental concerns in Palcamayo, to finally an extensive interview on agriculture, which is the largest economic income for this town. I would say at least 85% of the total income is from agriculture. Chacras (small farms) surround the central pueblo down deep into the valley, up the mountainsides, and in the outlaying areas. People here work so hard and constantly it’s hard for me to explain the energy. For example, my dad often will wake up at 5am to start out to the chacra, work all day come home around 5pm, sleep around eight then do it again the next day and the next and the next. I have to say, regardless of the extensive use of fertilizers and other agroquímos, it’s a beautiful site to see everyone working in their chacras, hands against the earth, or walking slowly behind working toros, oftentimes with their few sheep and children lounging in the nearby grasses. The energy around here can be a bit exhausting in it’s consistency, but the spirit of Palcamaiños abides and is much admired. A large part of my encuesta asks about the chemicals used on the chacras: what, why, how much, and when. It’s a huge issue, to me and to the land here and the health of the workers. No one uses protection, and they spray liberally with small children at the chacras. Then, they’ll throw the bottles and bags of “medicinas” into the fields, roads, or rivers nearby. It’s awful to see the natural beauty of Palcamayo being destroyed by such negligence and disregard. I have begun my small hand in helping alleviate the problems with my little class of children. Every Thursday is recycling day. We walk up and down Palcamayo, to the river and through the chacras, picking up garbage and recycling. Next week we’re getting out our boots and collecting the abundance of garbage from within the river itself. I hope to begin biweekly charlas (talks) about the dangers of pesticides and chemical fertilizers, the benefits of organics, the ability to make use of organic wastes in compost, and more. That’ll be Phase Two.

These days I’m teaching vacaciones útiles (useful vacations), because the kids down this side of the border have been on summer vacation, and Diego encourages we start out there to integrate and get known in the community. I talked to the two primary schools and the one secondary school just as school was getting let out. I got a radio announcement put out to Palcamayo as well. It got me an aula (classroom) in one of the primary schools, and a group of 21 and counting estudiantes. Some days I’ve had twelve kids, but these days the numbers have dwindled to more like 5-7 a day. It’s fine though, because teaching can be stressful and I work better one on one with the children. I’m really grateful for the students that love my class and seem to like me too. (I was gifted a huge bag of abas, a popular and delicious bean here, by two of my kids the other day). I remember how influential teachers in my life had been, and that makes me feel great about the little part I play. These kids will forever remember how much the “gringa” stressed keeping the environment clean. We have designated Thursdays as the “Camina de Reciclaje,” where we walk up and down the dusty streets picking up the abundant garbage and recyclables. The kids get really excited, as if it is an Easter egg hunt. “Botella!” And they go running to retrieve it.

The other day a “tía” walked by and asked us about our outing. After my explanation she shook her head, saying “microbios.” Little Jaquelim looked up at me and said that the older people just don’t understand, but it’s really important to clean up. Yes Jaquelim, Yes, yes it is!

Summer school ends in February, but I hope to continue with an after-school environmental art club. I’m really excited about recycled art, and the energy and spirit of the kids. I have ideas to use plastic bottle caps for a mosaic, we have a mural project in the works with the wonderful director of the school, and I have access to all the old plastic bags used for starting trees….

So how are things personally? Well, after the visit from Diego, Caroline, and Jorge, and the passing of my second “Compra de Reciclaje,” and my first out of region vacation scheduled, things are starting to whirl down. The big bang of brand-newness is settling and I can finally see bits of my old self, coming back into focus. I simply enjoy being here. I feel an independence that I’ve never fully felt as of yet, and it feels wonderful. I hand wash my clothes weekly, which is a great use of free time, and I feel stronger and closer to my own process of living in doing so. The sounds of my scrub brush against my jeans, is like a meditation. I am so very pleased with my bedroom, and my host family, and their house. My room was once a tienda (store), so it’s quite large for a bedroom. It came with a standing counter, which I have used for fruits, vegetables, my cutting board and gas stove. I have abundant shelf space, and wall space, which I have already covered with some of my painting. I just received my bike from Peace Corps, and it rests lovingly in one corner. I’ve already been riding up a storm. I have my bed covered with three cozy wool blankets, a colorful manta on the nearby wall, I have a little table and a chair, where I can work on my diagnostic or study Spanish, and a large bench leftover from days of drinking Cristal (a very popular and cheap Peruvian beer, which tastes much like Bud Light) in the tienda. The space also allows me to do my yoga freely.

Living with my host family has been great. They are very pleasant people, very kind, and honest. The house is usually bustling. As I previously mentioned the farmers are early risers. My “sister” and her family will come over early to take the red Toyota truck down the hill to one of their chacras, and “dad” will be talking with neighbors as he leaves for another chacra.  Neighbors, family members, and friends are always coming in and out, knocking on the large blue metal door outside the driveway yelling “Alisue!” Alisue is my 20 year old “sister.” She has amazing energy as well, and is always answering these people’s calls. She sews up holes and cares for a baby named Angela for money. She also washes her parents clothing, and cooks when “Mama Aida” is too ill to do so. She is increíble! It’s a lot getting used to. Palcamayo is a constant working agricultural machine, and at times this home feels like a mini-version. I’m lucky though. I have a large family here to talk to and who support me. Getting used to having alone time, when there’s still commotion outside is a bit tough, but this is an experience for growth. I take hikes up the incredible mountains where I encounter sheepherders and their flocks wandering up the steep rocky face. I like to wander down by the river, or through the chacras as well. It can be exhausting though, day to day, just being here. I stand out like a blond-haired, white girl in a sea of brown Peruvians. I am constantly stopped and questioned, “Dónde se va?” “I’m going to my house, I live here, I am a volunteer from the United States.” I might as well wear a sign. Usually the people are kind and are pleased to meet me and I feel like I’m achieving being known. Poco a poco voy a acustumbrar. Little by little I will accustom. It’s like weaseling into a narrow crevice within the dark and dusty cave of Huagapo. It’s tough at times, slow going, but I’m inching my way in, and it’s interesting, and fun.

It’s been awhile. A few months about, since I’ve had the time and space to really sit down with myself and be. Here I am, two weeks into my life in a small town in the middle of Peru. I am a volunteer. I am a gringa. I am the only American here. I am working to learn to language and the customs of Peru poco a poco with the immense help of my amazing host family.

Palcamayo is an agricultural town that produces many vegetables for the capital city of Lima. Moving up or down the road in any direction from the center plaza, the land is full of chacras (plots of land used for harvesting). It’s a beautiful and tranquil site to see families seated in the fields, picking avas (important Peruvian lima bean like vegetable), with carneros (sheep) and children wandering about. Almost everyone who lives in this town works in the chacras. They wake early to begin work en la tierra, and return before dusk with burros backed with pasto (grass for cuy or carnero), or canastas (baskets) brimmed with espinaca (spinach, which is most profitable).

Palcamayo means running river in Quechua and is aptly named for the river runs through it. It is polluted at points, and full and gorgeous at others. It serves the farmers as a place to wash huge bags of carrots and the large canastas of espinaca before packing trucks full for Lima or other surrounding cities. The lush river makes the paisaje (landscape/view) verdant. Jagged mountains escape the chacras in formations unlike those of Northern California. Their immensity speaks about the movement of the earth on its grandest scale. And continuing the grandeur, some kilometers up from Palcamayo sits la Gruta Huagapo: the largest cave in the Americas.

I have much to explore here and two years time to do so. There are ruins of the Pumpush people, lagunas, y muchos pueblitos veining off from here. I have a lot of work to do as well. I will begin in January teaching English, Art, and Environment classes to the children of the two schools and one colegio (middle school/high school) here. I have the go ahead from one of the directors to start a mural project at the school with the children, as well as an organic garden on some of the school’s land. I hope to start a recycling buy, since the town lacks any formal recycling program. I also would like to begin a compost project at the colegio or better down at the organic garden. I hope the organic garden can inspire the farmers here, because all use fertilizers and insecticides. It’ll be a tough mountain to climb.

Aside from projects I am learning to really be on my own for seemingly the first time in my life. I have the space and time to complete tasks as I see fit, at least thus far. I feel so free to begin my own creative projects like painting my room, writing a book, making sculptures. And yet so inspired to learn and grow here with the community as well. I feel so supported and open to the change around me. This is my life, the beginning of my life, the rest of my life. It is truly amazing.

These are the little things that carry kindness on their shoulders. It is the invisible part of the emotion that holds so much power, found in a smile, a hug, a glimmer of excitement. Kindness makes the world go round.

There’s a giddiness in me that arises every once in awhile, be it through inspiration in a recipe or lack of the substance in my life, but making a cake is something I desire deeply to do.

This time it came from both places. I wanted to eat cake, and I found a fantastically inspirational recipe. It goes by the name origianlly, of “Grown-Up Birthday Cake,” which sounded instantly intriguing to me.

The adultness of the cake come with wine and olive oil as main ingredients. It’s almost an italian meal in a dessert,  yet the chocolate and sugar bring it back  to place.

I found it on this new site I’ve fallen for: Food52.com. If you haven’t heard of it already go take a look, because it is a haven for foodies. You can even enter contests, as I have recently for a “corn off the cob” recipe. A woman named “Midge,” won the wild-card pick for this cake.

So, “Midge’s” cake called for white wine, and I immediately thought of replacing it with red. “A dark red cake!” I thought.

Wrong.

Mine turned out a color I cannot even describe, but let me try: grayish, yellow, with a hint of brown and blue? It doesn’t sound very appealing, but damn this cake is incredible tasting. It’s super moist (thanks to all the eggs, olive oil, and wine), and is dense and spongy: a near perfect cake consistency.

I made a simple chocolate ganache recipe to pour over the top. The drips, which stop solid as they travel down the edges of this cake, give it classic appeal.

The kindness in the world gave me wine and a great cake recipe. With that unspeakable air of delicious, happy, and blessed. I say cheers to you.

Salud.

I took the initiative at the grocery store this week, and instead of buying my usual bunch of kale (which looked a bit wilty that day), I opted for the collards. They are a wonderful green. Their leaves are wide, solid, and proud. And they should be. They offer tons of Vitamin C, anti-cancer nutrients, and soluble fiber.

My first attempt gave me little spring roll kind of things. One leaf gives you two. I combined, garlic, lemon, and dill the flavor these rolls. Quinoa maintains the body, carrot the spirit, pickle the spine, and the sauce the mmmm.

They ended up tasting a bit like dolmas, but fresher, crunchier, and even better.

Lemony Dill Pickle Collard Wrap (makes 2 small rolls)

1 collard green leaf (de-spined, and cut in half)

1 small carrot shaved (I used a peeler to do this)

half of one medium sized pickle

4 T. of cooked quinoa (soaked and sprouted if you want this to be all raw)

Lemon Garlic & Dill Sauce

1 clove of garlic chopped

1/2 t. yellow miso

1/4 t. apple cider vinegar

1 T. Olive Oil

Juice of 1/4 of a lemon

fresh cracked pepper to taste

1/2 t. dill

1/2 t. agave

How To Do It:

Rinse and carefully cut the spine from your leaf. Slice the top to make into two equal halved. Keep the top-side down. Dollop two T. of quinoa onto each leaf, somewhere around the top bottom third of the leaf. Peel one smallish carrot into shavings. Sprinkle these over the grains. Chop half a pickle into lengthy chunks and place over the carrots. For the sauce mix all the ingredients well and spoon evenly over the top of your filling. To wrap fold over the edges towards the filling and then pull the bottom of the leaf over and tighten over the mass then roll and let rest on the seam to keep the roll together (like a burrito).

Fennel Frond Pesto (raw)

3-4 C. Fennel Fronds (green part only)

1 C. Raw Cashews

1/2 C. + 2-3 T. olive oil (add extra in while it’s turning as needed)

1 t. sea salt

juice of 1/2 lemon (roughly 2 T.)

1 garlic clove roughly chopped

One little piggy went to market, bought fennel, and wanted to put the green fronds to good use.

In my pondering I soon came to pesto. The most creative way to cook, I find, is just changing a star ingredient in an age old dish. In this case fennel takes the place of basil. This pesto is different in other ways as well. It’s also raw and vegan, if you’re interested in knowing. Instead of pine nuts and cheese, cashews add the creamy/nutty element, with lemon bringing a bite that keeps things interesting.

I really needed to process this long and hard, to break down the strings of fennel. And, while it’s churning pour the extra olive oil through the top to help ease it in. In the end it’s a beautiful green and delicious pesto. I was worried the licorice taste would be too strong, but it’s really surprisingly mild! Letting your creativity flow always brings lessons, but here it also brought a great reward.

I spread it on this flat bread I created yesterday, and topped with cherry tomato halves straight from the farmer to the table.

This bread worked perfectly. I was so excited. It’s more like a cracker than a bread, but the recipe it could work for a pizza as well. It’s so simple. I’m glad a raw bread has finally worked out so well for me.

Raw Flatbread

adapted from “Raw Food Real World”

2 C. Walnuts

1 C. Sunflower seeds

3 med. Zucchini

1/2 C. Flax seeds

1-2 t. Salt

and water (1/2 C.)

And, that’s it! Easy.

1. Soak the walnuts and seeds together for 1 hr. drain, and then process until it looks like a coarse meal. Transfer to a LARGE bowl.

2. Chop the Zucchini into chunks and then process. This should end up a similar coarse texture, no visible chunks, but not a puree: somewhere in between. Add to the bowl.

3. Turn the flax into a meal, using a coffee grinder or blender. Add to the bowl.

4. Add salt, and enough water to get the mixture to stick together. Using wet hands flatten over 2 teflex sheets. Dehydrate at 115 for about 4 hours. Flip and transfer to a mesh sheet and continue dehydrating for 10 hrs. or until crisp. Then cut into even rectangles.

This one lacks a key ingredient: cucumbers, but there just weren’t any organic and intriguing cukes today.

I went to the farmer’s market hopeful, and left heavy laden with full bags of produce. I mostly purchased a lot of sweet tomatoes. I talked some with the farmer, who offered me tastes of both of his variety. I opted for the less popular, less attractive, yet sweeter and tastier type. He threw in a couple more for free. Really sweet.

So, I used what was at hand and made a gazpacho-esque, summer soup, fit for the farmers.

Sweet (and Spicy!) White Wine & Carrot Gazpacho

4 halved small-medium sweet variety tomatoes

1/4 C.olive oil

2 T. white wine

1 t. fresh ground pepper

1 t. sea salt

1 clove garlic

1 half jalapeño (take the seeds out for a milder taste, with them it’s pretty spicy)

2 carrots chopped well

1 handful fresh cilantro roughly chopped

2 tomatoes chopped

Place the first 7 ingredients in a blender and blend just until pulverized. It combines pretty quickly. Add water if it needs to be smoother. Then mix in the remaining ingredients by hand. Garnish with a pinch of fresh ground pepper and a few cilantro leaves.

There you have it: a perfect meal for a hot summer’s evening.

Gazpacho: A Super Brief History

This soup is famously from the Andulasian  region of Spain, but it’s roots stretch much further away. The concept for it, most likely came along to Spain with the Moors. The Arabs had a popular dish made of bread soaked in olive oil and garlic. In Spain farmers added veggies to the mix to get a more hearty meal. Today traditional gazpachos are still made with soaked stale bread, and also cucumbers, bell pepper, onion, garlic, olive oil, wine, and vinegar.

This particular endeavor was born from a handful of eggs. These beauties are farm fresh, organic, and cage-free (rather, the way eggs are supposed to be!). They are, or were the cutest little things. Au natural, they had pleasantly small yolks, in great contrast to the steroid ridden commercial variety, and their’s were a deeper orange, enriched with nutrients the chickens were able to gain by feeding in real grass on bugs and grubs.

I love the multicolored array that the farmer picked out for this box. One donned a near green hue. Upon cracking and releasing their contents, I noticed a few had a very interesting pattern running alongside the inner shell. Nature is incredible.

With this precious collection of real, and expensive eggs I wanted to create something that gave the eggs the limelight, rather than hiding them within a cookie dough.

I thought of doing a savory quiche-like tart. I based the crust recipe on an olive oil crust found at chocolateandzucchini.com. In my own modification I traded some of the flour out for cornmeal and it boosted the crunch in this tart’s finale.

It’s a very simple crust to make, and can be filled with just about anything. It could become a sweet pie or stay a savory tart, or become a sweet and savory pie-tart. The possibilities are limitless.

In mine today, I added dried rosemary. It beautifully studs the yellow dough, and it really elevates the aromatic effect.

Olive Oil Cornmeal Tart Crust

Heat the oven to 375˚

Mix together 1 C. Flour and 1 C. Fine Cornmeal (Make sure it’s the texture of almost a flour, if not you’re teeth won’t like it!), 1 Tsp. fine grain sea salt and 1 Tablespoon dried herbs (optional/your choice of which ones). Then with a fork combine 1/4 C. Olive Oil to the mixture, and then 1/2 C. Cold Water, raking the dough together with the fork.

It won’t be completely combined, just push it together with your hands on a floured surface and then roll it out. Place it in your tart dish, prick the bottom with a fork  a few times and chill for about 15 min. Then place in the oven for 10 min. weighing the tart in the middle with a layer of tin foil and dried beans.

Up the temp. to 400˚ to ready the oven for the next bit of baking.

The beauty of a savory tart is the filling. Again, whatever you have at hand, that your creative itch thinks might work together, go for it! I chose to keep my tart simple, but full. I was interested in layers, imagining the mushrooms representing the meat at the bottom and the other ingredients building up from there, in terms of texture and taste.

Earthy Savory Tart Filling

5 cloves of Young Garlic, 2 medium Yellow Carrots, 7 Crimini Mushrooms, 2 leaves Purple Kale, 1/2 C. Goat Cheese, and 1/2 C. of Parmesean. Sea Salt and Fresh Ground Pepper

Also, five beautiful farm-fresh Eggs and 1/2 C. water whisked together

Slice the veggies, turning the kale into bite size pieces. In a heated pan at a dollop of olive oil and throw the carrots in for a few minutes, with a tsp. of sea salt, and tsp. of fresh ground pepper. Add the garlic and stir. When the carrots are halfway cooked throw in the mushrooms and kale and cover to steam. Once the kale has wilted, take the pan off the heat.

Transfer the veggies to the tart crust. Crumble the goat cheese over top with your fingers. Then pour the egg mixture evenly over the whole thing. Grate the parm. over the top and grind a bit more pepper over.

Now, if you want you can place the extra crust dough over the top in any desirable way. I simply added it to the crust’s edge imagining a crust growing over the tart, from the outside in.

Bake for 30 min. Let cool, cut, and serve.

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The young garlic provides the most sensational taste, without being too overpowering. (I love garlic though, so adjust to your liking). The carrots are sweet, but earthy really marrying the mushrooms and the creamy goat cheese in this dish. The black pepper provides a deep layer of flavor that reminds you how wonderful the rosemary is in the crust. And you are pleased with the kale, biting into the tart. Because it’s dark and healthy, providing some lightness.

This morning I didn’t have the usual ingredients I use for my green smoothies. I thought about what I did have and became instantly inspired. I could use my remaining rejuvelac and that luscious organic cantaloupe and blend it with ice to make a Cantaloupe Icy. So that is exactly what I did.

I like Cantaloupe, but I fall in love with Cantaloupe flavored things. I think I first realized its incredible sweet pungency and beautiful capabilities in a sorbet. Alone, it’s great when super sweet, don’t get me wrong, that surely is a wonderful thing unto itself. Yet, for some reason Cantaloupe set against a new backdrop magnifies its greatness ten-fold.

So, I was excited to get this thing in the blender this morning.

I put about 3 cups of roughly chunked, de-rinded, de-seeded, orange fruit flesh in the blender with about one cup of Rejuvelac* and 6-8 ice cubes. Then pressed the button letting the appliance produce a light orange icy sludge.

It’s so simple and so refreshing. The cantaloupe reduces into a soft velvety texture, which is offset by the cold crunch of ice. And, there’s a slight bite from the ‘juvelac that helped the whole thing to marry.

So here’s to Summer!~

*Rejuvelac

This is something I’ve only recently come into cahoots with, but am glad that I did. It’s light and refreshing, and so simple. It’s more like a healthful elixir than a beverage, because it works wonders for the digestion. So, what is it?  It’s a fermented water, made with grain. Most common is for wheat berries to be used, but almost any grain will do. It can be made with barley, quinoa, oats, or rye.

And, it’s easy to make.

I haven’t done it myself, just yet, but I’ve started my research, and  I’ve found two different approaches as to how to do it.

Either you can soak your grain, or sprout your grain. In both methods you first want to rinse your grains. Also use 3/4 cup of grain, which will expand to a cup. This will make a gallon (use a gallon of water). It is also fine to cut the recipe down, or use more grain to water, this will only make a more powerful rejuvelac. If at any time the grains or water smell putrid discard and try again.

Soak Method:

Leave grain in water for 12 hours, covered with cheesecloth or a paper towel so it can breathe. Pour off the soak water and refill, soaking this time for 2-5 days, twirling it once to twice a day. When a light foam is evident around the top it’s ready. (In hot weather it may only take 24 hrs.). Sieve the mixture keeping only the liquid in the fridge. It’ll last about a week, and sweetens over time, supposedly. The grains can be sued for a second batch, but not a third. And, this next batch takes only 24-36 hrs. to ferment.

Sprout Method:

Soak grains overnight, and pour the liquid off in the morning. Lay the covered (cheesecloth) jar on its side and allow tails to form (this is called sprouting). Leave out of the sun so the grains think they’re in the soil. Let sit 1-3 days, rinsing often so grain doesn’t dry out. Fill up with water and let sit 1-2 days until the foam occurs. Refrigerate and throw out the grain.

I love snow-cones. I’ve been wanting to make some with natural syrups and unique flavors, and I still have that idea in my back pocket for later use.

I also always imagined cubing watermelon and freezing them for instant popsicle bites.

Something finally propelled me into the kitchen, which combines these two previous wants of mine.

I came across a recipe for watermelon granita. It looked like a snow cone and used mostly just watermelon!

Wow. So I did a little research and found many different ways to approach the watermelon granita, and the granita alone as well. I also discovered that it’s a treat, which hails from Sicily, and typically is made in lemon style, but can also be found with chocolate, almond, jasmine, mint, and mandarin orange flavor! Sweet. It also various in texture from city to city across the island, and is coarsest in Palmero on the west coast and finest, like a sorbet, on the east. Interesting.

So I got the basic idea of how granita with watermelon is made and then threw my own version together.

It’s savory and sweet

and cannot be beat,

on these bright summer days

when we sweat in the heat.

Watermelon Granita with Cilantro and Black Pepper

1 small seedless watermelon cut in chunks

Juice of 1/2 a line

Juice of 1/2 a lemon

1/4 cup agave syrup

pinch of sea salt

1/2 cup fresh cilantro

Throw about half the chunks of watermelon into a blender with the rest of the ingredients, save for the cilantro.

Blend till smooth and add the rest of the watermelon, while it’s whirring, until smooth again.

Add the cilantro and blend until specks of green float around the blender. You don’t want to blend it too much!

Pour the mixture onto a casserole type dish.( The one I used was about 12″ x 7″)

Then freeze it! After an hour come back with a fork and rake it up so it’s textured and fluffy like a snowcone.

Freeze for about 2 hours and serve in a bowl with fresh cracked pepper over the top!

Cover with tin foil to store in the freezer.