november again

It’s 7:08am, the sun not quite topped out on Raider Ridge, though the sky blueing up outside. The kids have cordoned off a section of our livingroom for indoor soccer, chair legs serving as goal posts on opposite sides of the room. They’re running, panting, and calling fouls on each other while I drink coffee and read the newspaper as if our house wasn’t overtaken by the soundtrack of galumphing elephants at dawn. Like an auditory version of a mood ring, Rose sings a little tune while defending her goal, “Happy through the roof…I’m happy through the roof.”

It’s like two soccer world powers ensconced in fierce historical rivalry coming together for a little friendly scrimmage. In fact, any bickering on the field tile floor is so predictable and prescribed, it’s like two baby coyotes scrapping over an elk carcass. No reason for concern.

“Lets do a soccer championship every morning,” Col says.

“Yeah,” Rose agrees.

In the kitchen, it’s the time of the fruit fly, their frenzied breeding and creepy red eyes something we probably would have tried to get the kids to investigate were we still homeschooling. Their population fluctuations are a direct result of the cleanliness of our kitchen, which is feedback no one really wants. Dan diagnoses it as us needing to “keep more of a 1st world kitchen.”

Can’t imagine what he’s talking about.

Just an innocent vat of fermenting vegetables.

Rose Raven at 10: (and at 6 1/2, for perspective)

Rose has TWO baby teeth that are being moved in on by big, thuggish adult teeth and if they don’t come out on her own in the next few days, they have to be pulled. Which is giving new meaning to playdates.

Itty bitty cold frame greens:

And the mighty and coddled greenhouse greens:

Thank goodness for national holidays (minus all the actual dubious political implications and sleazy commercial pressure). We ate six types of local wild meat on Thanksgiving (elk, deer, bear, trout, lake salmon, and grouse) and had the best week shuffling work commitments to the bottom of the pile in favor of looking for ducks on the Animas river with the kids. “Why are we even looking for ducks? I’ve already seen plenty of ducks,” Col said tweenishly while grabbing my hand on the river trail, secretly happy to be required to spend time with family.

Every night at 4:30 I’d festively open a beer, inevitably leaving an inch of beer at the bottom, which could partially explain the Thanksgiving fruit fly proliferation.

Dan’s been, as per November usual, cruising around at “buck hour” (dawn and dusk) looking for rutting deer and coming home with photos, video footage and stories of sparring animals and swollen-necked bucks in pursuit of females. Which is to say, if you were thinking this blog was like a book where characters evolve and plots move rapidly forward, sorry to break the news.

Rose got concerned that there wasn’t enough daylight between me and my dance partner and bumped me off the dance floor:

We made beet/onion pickles with the last of our garden beets: Col said, “we should just start pickling everything: apples, deer meat…”

I wrote an opinion piece for our local paper that was not about food or kids, but about my dream that we solve conflicts by truly listening to each other and coming up with fresh, creative solutions that take everyone’s needs into account. (A method we are currently employing to work with everyone’s needs around Christmas. Some of us value simplicity, frugality, wonder, connection, and celebration of nature and family; others value fun and excitement in the form of lots of shiny, new things. Will report back on this.)

Our new discovery for all the random and assorted leftovers in the fridge: Mix them together in a hot and oiled cast iron, pour cornbread batter over the top and bake at 350F and it always seems to come out festive and delicious.

That’s about it, loves.

Happy everything.

Rachel

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