A New Me-Made Upcycled Sweater

Posted on October 23, 2013 by Tasha

Hello all! I’ve been making and mending just about as much as physically possible around here (in between making hundreds of these little fuzzy hats) ever since I got back to my studio a few weeks ago. Not much has made it up to the blog yet, and I decided to just start with the thing I’m most excited about: my new sweater! I really, really need some more sweater layers for this winter, and I’ve had a plan to make a couple of upcycled ones from various bits and pieces since the spring.

So, here’s the first one! The main part of it came from a deep navy blue, super soft, slightly felted, merino sweater that some friends gave me (on the right below). The fabric is lovely, but the shape was classic sweater that doesn’t work for me—baggy on the sides, gathered in at the bottom—in other words the least flattering possible design for a small pear-shaped girl such as myself. I also have this knit top which I love the shape of, it has princess lines (flattering—yay!) and interesting side panels, it fits me well and since it seems to be on its way out (the problem with thrift store finds) I had already traced a pattern from it. So . . .

The biggest lesson I have learned so far when recycling/refashioning something old into something new, is to treat the something old as fabric. Unless the alterations you want to make are super duper simple, take the whole thing apart and press it flat and see what you’ve got, and it will be so much less frustrating. You do end up with some odd shaped pieces of fabric, which can lead to interesting piecing and seams. I folded the pattern for the new sleeve to accommodate the fabric from the old sleeve, leaving me two parts to cut from another fabric. I just have to remember to allow for seams when I cut the pieces to add on. I had allowed 1/4″ seam allowances, so I cut the top and bottom sleeve pieces 1/2″ longer than the lines where I cut the middle piece, so there would effectively be a seam allowance on both sides. Make sense? I have screwed up the math on that before . . . but not this time.

It probably won’t surprise you if I point out that I have a lot of scraps of cashmere lying around here, plus old sweaters friends have given me, etc. I chose a dusky purple for the extra sleeve pieces and extra at the back, which also didn’t quite fit on its corresponding piece of ex-sweater.

I chose the purple because it matched my material for the sides: socks! My mom was nice enough to buy me these super soft alpaca socks at a fiber festival. I loved the knitted pattern, I love knee socks, I carefully followed the instructions, which were to machine wash and line dry. That’s my default washing mode anyway, so I thought I was good to go . . . but by the second wash they had shrunk to the point where fitting over my calves was no longer an option. (Short strange tangent: this opened up sock reminds me of those animal pelts you see in museums, as if socks ran wild and were hunted for their fur.) Once pressed flat, there was just enough material in each sock leg (including the ribbing) for one side panel of my sweater!

I experimented with sewing the seams flat, and I really like how it came out. I overlapped the two pieces I was sewing together by 1/2″ (the same seam allowance as if I had sewed the seam 1/4″ from each edge, see what I mean?), feeling with my fingers for the edge of the layer underneath, and pinning in place. I sewed a narrow zigzag close to the edge of the top layer, and then again about 1/4″ away, using parts of my machine foot against the edge as guides. I used a walking foot, which I nearly always do for knits.

This method turned out to be only just slightly trickier for the curved seams connecting the sides to the front and back, so I did it there too. I really like the slightly deconstructed look this gives it.

I didn’t do the flat overlapped seams running down the sleeves, it would have been too much scrunching the sleeve up under the machine. I did do it to attach the sleeves to the body though, and because of the raglan construction (not having to put in the whole sleeve in the round) it was pretty easy.

For the neckline, I kept the “v” of the original blue sweater, although in future I might add in some there just to make it a little cozier. I knew that a section of scrap cashmere ribbing wouldn’t do anything much to keep the neckline from stretching all over the place, so I attached 1/4″ clear elastic first, stretching it to ease in the extra fabric and get the neck to lie flat, especially across the top of the shoulders.

(By the way, I think the colors are truest in the two pictures above. I’ve had trouble getting my white balance and purples to get along.)

So, I zigzaged on the ribbing at the hems and bottom of the sleeves as well, and there you have it. I actually cut pieces for another purple section around the bottom, but I decided that I really liked the sock ribbing as the hem, and I liked the length when I tried it on, it allows another layer to peek out below. And winter is coming, so I’m going to be wearing lots of layers!

I think the saddle shoulders may be my favorite part. I’ve got plans for another franken-sweater using something I knit years ago. I’m really pleased with how this came out, and looking forward to a DIY cozy winter!

A Fall Harvest Without Much of a Garden

Posted on October 11, 2013 by Tasha

Over the past few weeks I’ve done a couple of things that I’ve been meaning to do since, oh, last year . . . one was to dig out the compost. I mention this because for any of you who think you don’t know enough or have enough time to compost; I don’t either, and mine still works. I practice a kind of benign compost neglect which goes like this: I dump all of our vegetable scraps into a big black plastic cone-shaped thing outside with a screw-on lid, which I got from the city of Flagstaff. I continue to do this all winter, when everything is frozen. I did some research when I first got the bin, and theoretically I know that I’m supposed to add stuff that contains lots of carbon, as well as the food scraps which are mostly nitrogen. So, every three months or so (when It’s not too cold out and I’m feeling ambitious) I dump in a shovel of fireplace ashes which the previous owners of our house left in a large metal trash can outside. Depending on the season, I scoop out the bottom of the little compost container from the house with either pine needles or snow, and that goes in the bin too. The one thing I do actually add with some regularity is a bucket of water, since it’s so dry here. If there is snow on top of the lid, I dump it inside the container too. I turn my compost once every never.

Then I leave for the pretty much the whole summer and abandon the bin completely. Only once have I coerced any friends and/or house-sitters to do anything to it while we’re gone. And when we come back, a minor miracle has occurred. The mound of frozen stuff that was nearing the top third of the container is now a much smaller, browner pile of—dirt! Tada!

I asked my dad which of our motley collection of plants would most like some extra nutrients, and he suggested the strawberries growing out by the front fence, which he planted there . . . they are just like the strawberry plants we had at our house when I was little, producing a handful of the tiniest and most intensely flavored strawberries you’ve ever tasted every year. Maybe a few more next year?

After digging it out this time, I have a few compost rules which I am trying to stick to: 1. All eggshells must be crushed (otherwise they take forever to break down). 2. No stacking/nesting of things like avocado skins (ditto. Surface area is a good thing). 3. No stickers of any kind. They do not break down (in my haphazard compost anyway) ever.

The second thing I did was to freeze chiles for the winter. And this year in a new twist, we asked Cory, the super nice farmer from Whipstone Farm, to roast us some sweet red bell peppers as well (on the spot at the farmers’ market) and he did! I froze them using the exact same method I do for chiles. I’m pretty excited about this development, which should mean a steady supply of relatively cheap, local, sustainably grown roasted red peppers all winter long—yes! I mention this in case someone is growing peppers near you as well. You could roast them at home if you don’t happen to know an accommodating farmer with a giant gas-powered chile roaster . . . I usually use the broiler in my oven.

Anyway, I’m pretty pleased with myself, especially for someone who doesn’t have anything approaching a real garden. Any time I do manage to put a little bit of my work into my bit of soil, or into saving food for the winter, it feels pretty great.

Fried Green (Cherry) Tomatoes

Posted on October 3, 2013 by Tasha

But why, you may be asking, should I fry green tomatoes? That was my question too, until we got some from our CSA a few years ago and I tried this for the first time. The short answer is: they’re delicious. For a slightly longer one: in our mountain climate, an early freeze is ~~likely~~ pretty much inevitable in the fall, which greatly increases the chances that my friends and neighbors will give me tomatoes picked before they had time to ripen. They will get a little riper on the counter in a paper bag or wrapped in newspaper, but they’ll never be the same as they would be on the vine. When fried, the green tomato flavor completely changes, and a crunchy cornmeal crust is a wonderful compliment to the tart soft insides.

Fried Green Tomatoes

adapted from The Joy of Cooking

Mix together in bowl for the coating:

1/2 cup dry masa

1/4 cup whole wheat flour

1/4 cup blue corn meal

Seasonings you like: a little bit of salt and pepper, seasoned salt, fresh thyme and/or Cajun spice mix . . . anything you want to give the batter a little extra flavor.

If you don’t have these exact ingredients, don’t worry. The mixture of fine ground (masa) and coarser cornmeal seemed like a good idea as far as sticking to the tomatoes and producing a crispy crust, but a mixture of regular cornmeal and flour should work fine. One cup total of the dry batter was enough to cover a heaping dinner plate’s worth of fried cherry tomatoes.

Pour a little buttermilk (or regular milk, I used buttermilk since it’s a little thicker and has a bit of tangy flavor) into a shallow bowl. If you run out you can always add more to the bowl.

Dip the tomatoes in the buttermilk, then in the cornmeal mixture, shake off the excess and set on a plate to dry. I found the most efficient method to be: chop a bunch of the little tomatoes in half. Reserve one hand for buttermilk and one for cornmeal (so you can do several rounds without stopping to wash your hands). With the buttermilk hand, pick up a handful of tomatoes and drop them in the milk. Stir to coat and then drop them into the cornmeal mixture. With the other (cornmeal) hand, scoop cornmeal on top of the wet tomatoes, stir them to coat, shake each one gently and put it on the plate. I was a little worried about the batter not sticking to the skins of the little tomatoes, but for the most part it worked just fine.

If you have big tomatoes, slice them fairly thin (between a quarter and half inch thick is good). Dip each slice in the buttermilk and then in the cornmeal, turning to coat.

To fry: heat 1/4 -1/2 inch of oil in the bottom of a heavy pot or skillet. I like to use my heavy-bottomed soup pot, since any splashes of oil stay inside it instead of all over everywhere. Use an oil that can take high heat without smoking (I used canola). Joy suggests heating the oil until a drop of water sizzles when you flick it into the pan. I did a little research for a recommended temperature, and Southern Living (they should know) suggests 360-375° F. I know from experience that having the temp too low can cause strange things to happen to your batter . . . anyway, when the oil comes up to heat, drop in as many tomatoes as will fit in a single layer. Fry until one side is golden brown and crispy, and then turn them over and cook the second side. When done, scoop the tomatoes out with a slotted spoon or strainer, shake off the excess oil, and place on paper towels.

These are best eaten warm, delicious with a little homemade mayo or ranch as well as just plain. If that doesn’t make you hungry for some Southern food I don’t know what will! Black eyed peas and cornbread . . .

Hidden Gems from the Road

Posted on September 26, 2013 by Tasha

And not so hidden. Jazz Fest is of course, amazing, and so is the food there!

I’ve been working on a new page, for you and for me. It’s full of all the places (mainly restaurants) that I want to remember from our travels. How do you persuade me to leave my comfortable and productive studio, and head out on the road for a summer tour of art shows? Well, just remind me that when we get to Austin, we can eat at Enoteca Vespaio, they have the first and best macarons I have ever tasted. Then once we get to St Louis there’s Shu Feng, oh the crispy eggplant . . . you get the idea. And it pretty much works that way, every spring. Ever since we read Walking and Eating in Tuscany and Umbria, we have an ongoing joke about being on the walking and eating tour of wherever we happen to be, with the goal of walking enough so that we can eat some more! The list of restaurants and fun places to visit is getting too long to keep just in my head, or on random scraps of paper and lists on my phone, so I made a page for it here.

For every place I’ve remembered, looked up, and put on the list, I thought of at least one more that I haven’t had time to post yet. So, look for another update, hopefully soon, and I even have some pictures to put in! But I wanted to go ahead and publish the start of the list. My goal is to keep updating it as time goes on, and we stumble on more hidden gems of the road. If you have some of your own to share, let me know!

A Touch of Comfort, Weird or Ordinary

Posted on September 13, 2013 by Tasha

Much of our time on the road is just slightly anxious for me. There are a lot of unknowns that hover around the edges of my consciousness; where we will sleep, when will eat, can we park the truck here? Plus of course I miss my people and my places. Most of the time these little worries are barely visible on my conscious radar. Then I’ll catch a glimpse or a touch of something that comforts me, and only as the feeling grips me, like the warm hand of a friend on my shoulder, do I realize that I could use reassuring.

Often times the things that comfort me are what you might expect; objects I’ve made that remind me of the skills I have to fall back on, and of home. Seeing, using, brushing, (and occasionally burying my face in) the garment bags I made before we left this spring has been great all this summer.

Sometimes though, it’s something silly or just plain weird that gives me little bursts of happiness. Right now for instance, I get happier every time I see my blue-painted toenails. To clarify, I paint my toenails maybe once every five years. Most of the time, I prefer their natural state. But for a Caribbean beach wedding in the company of close friends and their kids, it seemed appropriate. A dear 9-year-old friend painted one foot, and I did the other. (If you can’t tell, I’m not telling, which is which.)

All the way back home, I’ve been vaguely wondering how other people interpret my slightly sloppy blue toes. But I don’t really care, since every time I see them, I’m reminded of great friends and good times.

Whatever you’re up to, I hope you have some weird (or not so weird) little things to give you a touch of comfort when you need it!

Campfire Roasted Bananas—Here’s to Savoring Summer While it Lasts

Posted on September 4, 2013 by Tasha

Bananas make better s’mores. Trust me. Forget marshmallows—imagine the sweetest roasted plantain you’ve ever had, between two graham crackers, eaten around a fire. I think it was two years ago, when we accidentally discovered this, all of our friends started coming up with ways that they could somehow patent and/or market this idea. None of them did, and I’ve decided that the statute of limitations is up, and it’s time to share it. Maybe I should have asked them? Um, too late.

So, the idea is pretty simple: roast bananas over a campfire, and then eat with graham crackers, and chocolate if you wish. You may be surprised at how good this is. We have tried roasting the bananas in tin foil, in their skins, and on a fork, all with some degree of success. The fork is my favorite because it gives you a nice caramelized crust, but patience is definitely required, and vigilant guarding of the bananas from outright burning. It takes longer to cook a banana by the fire than to roast a marshmallow, but it’s totally worth it.

You need a fork with two tines. A stick that goes through the banana in only one place will allow it to rotate, and makes it just about impossible to cook both sides. Also, starting with a piece of banana that isn’t too large and unwieldy will help. Last time we did this, I distinctly remember that if you were careful when roasting, the outsides of the banana got not only caramelized but downright bubbly. This time, they came out a little more dry on the outside, as if baked in a crust, but were still delicious. I strongly suspect that the riper the banana you start with, the more likely you are to achieve a sweet bubbly caramel outside. I haven’t yet had a chance to try out this theory completely. If you do, please report back!

If you want to make s’mores with your roasted banana pieces, do it while they are still hot and can melt the chocolate. I recommend dark chocolate, since it’s my favorite. The warm caramelized banana is also super delicious just by itself between two graham crackers.

You have at least one more campfire in your summer, right? (If you are reading this from the southern hemisphere, I’m kind of jealous that you’re just heading into spring and summer.) I love love love this time of year, not just because it contains my birthday, but because it seems like all the bounty of the harvest is pouring right into my lap. Every farm stand and market is bursting with luscious tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, squash, and the first apples, all at the same time. Trees in the yard of the dear people we’re staying with are positively dripping with pears and plums. I think it’s such a shame that people mentally move on to fall, Halloween, back to school, and all that nonsense, when the whole bounty of nature is before us, and the days are still warm and long enough to savor it. Ok, so bananas are not exactly local produce in my part of the world, but roasting them is another way to enjoy these lovely days.

Yes, there is a fallen banana in the back of this shot. I rescued part of it.

By the way, speaking of extended summer, if you try to contact me in the next week or so and don’t hear back, it’s likely because I’m in Curaçao! At a friend’s wedding. Hopefully swimming in the ocean and eating lots of exotic fruit. I hope you have some great adventures planned as well. The close-to-home, campfire kind will do just fine.

Free Yourself to Make Something Ordinary

Posted on August 29, 2013 by Tasha

Now that I’ve told you a little more about why we travel most of the summer, I can also share some things I’ve made for our trips.

Our clothes spend a fair amount of time in a “closet” consisting of a thin strip of wood between the shelves we have built into our truck. It’s much better than keeping them in a suitcase, but still not ideal since they are unprotected. At the end of last summer, when we unpacked the clothes from truck to house, I noticed that one my jackets was significantly more faded on one side than the other. Maybe hanging it with the same side to the skylight for the whole summer was not the best idea? The same thing happened to Bryan’s jacket, so I’m pretty sure that extra UV light on one side was the problem—combined with the fact that it was warm last summer and the jackets didn’t come off the rack very often. I had been thinking vaguely for a couple of years about making some kind of garment bags to protect our clothes from getting dirty/scratched up as we move things in and out of the truck, especially as I have started to take more me-made garments on the road. This was the final straw, I had to do it.

I decided to make two, each half the width of our “closet.” One would be slightly longer than my summer dresses, and the other just long enough to protect shirts and pants. I traced a plastic hanger for the shape of the sides, and left a split in the front to close with a zipper.

This was the perfect scrap/thrift store shopping project. Since it didn’t matter exactly what the garment bags looked like, as long as they worked, I could use practically anything. I used the last of some heavy canvas from old curtains that came with our house, plus another small curtain (made out of some great textured blue-green fabric) that I bought at Goodwill.

This may seem like a strange project to wax poetic about, but here’s the thing: as I cut myself loose from trying for aesthetic perfection, not caring what anyone would think of my topstitching or pieced fabric, sewing felt more like sculpting; using what I had on hand, and my hands, and just making something almost like I was pulling it out of the air. I was free to use my creativity in any way I wanted, to use whatever I could find, odds and ends of colored thread, salvaged zippers (really nice ones actually)—and I started to see an unexpected beauty in my intentionally imperfect stitching, one that I hope comes through in these photos. I was free to do whatever I wished, and yet cared enough to add little touches and experiments. I was trying things, enjoying the process, and making something useful as I went. With enough practice behind me to be comfortable with fabric and thread, I was able to just play, and it felt pretty magical.

Around the same time, as we both worked on various projects for the truck and Bryan’s display before the summer season, he was refinishing the director’s chair that he uses in the booth. He did a really nice job, dissembling and sanding the chair before applying the new finish. After all that, I decided it needed a new bag to protect it from getting scuffed all over again as it’s loaded in and out.

Chair in the process of disassembly—we’re looking through where the seat would be.

I went back to the thrift store looking for something to line my chair cover with. I loved searching through the housewares section, looking at everything as a material instead of a finished product (always my favorite kind of shopping), and letting the serendipity of what I found help shape my project. I decided on two vintage towels for padding the front and back, and a second-hand piece of fabric to round out the outside. I think the green stripes with my other leftover fabrics make it look like something for sailing.

When I announced that I was going to spend our penultimate evening in Flagstaff sewing (this chair cover), I got an enthusiastic “Ok!” from my notoriously goal-oriented husband. Remind me to try this trick again next year . . .

It’s weird, but having all these me-made covers on our travels this season has been quite a boost to my morale. Every time I see them, or touch them, I’m reminded that I have a spring of creativity and ingenuity which I can use to make whatever I want, and whatever I need. That’s pretty much all I need to feel good about life in general.

How about you—have you done any creative and/or freeing projects lately?

Life as Artists on the Road

Posted on August 22, 2013 by Tasha

I’ve been working on this post for a while (um, understatement). I keep feeling like I should, or would at least like to, explain a little more about what we do and why it is that I travel so much, but it turns out to be not so easy to explain. Everything from how I met my husband and fell in love, to the story of my own life and work so far, to the state of the art market (we’re not getting into that one here) is wrapped up in it, and just figuring out what to put in and what to leave out has been more difficult than I thought, but here we go.

View from the truck windshield—a beautiful sunset from I-40.

The beginning of the story, for the purposes of this post anyway, is 2000, when Bryan (long before he was my husband or had this work) left his career as a business consultant. He didn’t like what he saw himself becoming—that guy in a suit who cuts off little old ladies on his way to the airport. He looked at the senior managers at his company and saw that while they were paid generously, they didn’t seem happy. They were still overworked and stressed out. Most of them had been divorced. They spent their careers working to help huge companies with questionable ethical and environmental records. He wanted more time off, and to have some choice of his clients, neither of which the company wanted to give him. He followed his heart and resigned.

Bryan wasn’t sure what he would end up doing next. He was a passionate photographer, capturing America’s wilderness using large format film (he still does). To make the next part of the story short, over the following few years he carved out a niche that would allow him to make a living. By the time I met him, in 2003, he was traveling most of each summer, exhibiting his work and photographing for new projects, and spending his winters in Flagstaff, Arizona, where I grew up.

Meanwhile, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself. I had left school at the University of Arizona (in Tucson), feeling unfulfilled, uninspired, and lonely, and moved back home to Flagstaff in December of that year. I worked at a small museum in town (cataloguing lots of beautiful artifacts) and at a couple of other places off and on, but nothing that was going to turn into a career. Bryan and I met at the end of that summer, started dating and (um, more long story getting short here) fell in love from fall through winter. By the time he asked me if I wanted to travel with him the following summer, I was ready to say yes. It was a big leap of faith, actually bigger looking back on it than it seemed at the time, but I knew he was the one for me, and it worked out. We survived some big adventures together that first time on the road (some that I question whether I would stick around if they happened today), but we made a good team. By the time we got back home in the fall, Bryan had decided that I was the one too. We got married in October 2005, and we still travel together every year.

The truck—hauling, transport, mobile studio and camper.

Our time on the road is a mixture of selling work, making new work, and of course the adventures that happen in between. Most of the selling takes place at the country’s top juried art fairs, and at galleries. The fairs are competitive events run by neighborhoods and art associations. Each season it’s a logistical challenge for Bryan to come up with a national tour from the shows and gallery openings he is invited to that will sustain our work.

Most of these art fairs take place outdoors. As well as art and workspace and some regular living stuff, our truck holds a tent and carpeted walls to make a kind of mini-gallery for the photos, which we set up and take down every weekend that we “bring art to the people.” Dealing with the weather is also a major part of this experience. I started a list of things never to take for granted, but everything else pales in comparison to the first two items: hot showers and ice.

Wherever we end up, there are usually interesting things to photograph nearby. It might be a national park, or interesting architecture for the In a Big World Wandering series, or something for an entirely new project.

Don’t worry, he made it to the other side without falling in.

In between selling and shooting photos, we usually either camp out or visit friends and family. I love camping, staying in beautiful places, and trying out local foods at farm stands and restaurants. But few things make me more suddenly grateful than arriving at a real house full of friendly faces, running water, a large bed with clean sheets, laundry, and a kitchen, etc. My fingers start to itch at the thought of real kitchen tools, and we usually end up cooking a lot for whomever we’re staying with, as part of our efforts to at least act like, if not actually be, the world’s best houseguests. It’s a good survival strategy; we need to make sure we can always come back.

As you might imagine, doing work of my own during this traveling time is . . . difficult. But I’ve also found that it’s fairly necessary to my happiness. I’ve tried selling my own work at art fairs, mainly felted handbags (you can see a few of them on Etsy), but that market wasn’t quite right for the things I made. Along with the usual issues of customers not understanding the cost of handmade goods, plus the physical work to set up an extra display every weekend, it all convinced me that this wasn’t the way to go (at least not with the bags). I did learn a lot though, about all aspects of running an itty-bitty handmade business, and about myself. I began to figure out that my passion is really more for empowering other people to become makers than for selling things I make, hence my latest project (and this blog). Although come fall, I will be making a about a ton of those little fuzzy hats again . . .

Left to right: my booth, and Bryan’s.

But back to the road. Being gone for long stretches, usually months at a time, of course makes me homesick. I miss my friends, my family, the smell of the pine forest, my studio (especially my studio—the freedom to make pretty much whatever I want, whenever I want to), my kitchen, green chile, good tacos (depending on where in the world we are) . . . but I’m starting to adapt. At this point, if we stopped traveling, I know I would miss that too. I’d miss the friends and family scattered around the country that we get to spend time with, the foods we get to eat (yeah, I’m a little obsessed with the food) and the things we discover, especially when we can get off the interstate and explore. It’s an amazingly diverse and interesting country out there.

At the end of a mediocre show, we’ll often look at each other and say, “Well, we lived.” It occurred to me recently that what we mean is not just “we survived” but also “we’re living” in the fullest way, taking advantage of the paths and adventures that are available to us, even though not all of them are good, and testing our limits. It’s not always fun, pretty much never glamorous, and as a friend who’s taking a sabbatical from art fairs recently put it “a stupid way to make a living.” And yet, one thing we don’t have to worry about is regret about chances not taken and roads untraveled. The odd and beautiful parts of life on the road, the magical things that happen when you’re in a strange place at a strange time, are what will keep me coming back, probably for as long as this weird way of life is possible for us.

A performance called (I am not making this up) Squonk Opera passing by the booth in Pittsburgh.

Now I feel like maybe I should have written this post right at the beginning, as a brief summary of the state of my recent life . . . but here it is. This won’t become a blog all about life on the road (that’s not my thing), but I would like to bring up a few other ways that my own goals and work intersect our travels, and hopefully after this it will make more sense. What about you, any thoughts about travel/work/life?

Blueberry Picking, Blueberry Pie

Posted on August 14, 2013 by Tasha

I want to get this out there while there are still blueberries on the bushes. A couple of weeks ago, we went blueberry picking with my husband’s father, sister, and our two little nieces, at Versluis Orchards near Grand Rapids, MI. The pictures pretty much tell the rest of the story. The blueberries were gorgeous, as well as delicious, and I found myself picking like mad, but leaving some of the most photogenic branches until the clouds cooperated for good lighting. At which point I’d grab my camera, and (with a pang for the blueberries not filling my bucket during the moments of shooting) do my best to capture the lovely morsels, in all their shades from translucent green to lavender blue. Then I’d force myself to grab the ripest ones from the shot and drop them in the bucket.

Even with two youngsters in tow, we managed to pick a LOT of berries, about 10 pounds between us all. They were astoundingly cheap compared to what you would pay at the grocery store, or even at a farm stand. By way of something to think about, I’ll point out that these berries weren’t organic, although they were about as local to our location at the time as you could get. And totally scrumptious. There was a good essay on The Yellow House last week about how it’s not as simple as just choosing something labeled “local” or “organic,” and I agree 100%, although I think that either of those, especially local, are a great place to start. My next step may be to ask more questions of the farmers, find out what are their thoughts about their practices. I’m pretty shy by nature, but I’ll try to make that happen.

Anyway, there are so many good recipes out there that have blueberries in them (as the older niece pointed out) that it seems almost needless to include one here, but I will anyway. It’s pretty simple, even if you don’t make pie often and/or have little ones sticking their fingers in your crust, it will turn out fine. The five of us adults handily polished off the whole pie after dinner . . . it can’t have been that bad.

Blueberry Pie

(adapted from The Joy of Cooking)

For the crust:

You’ll need 2 1/4 cups of flour. You can vary the percentage of whole wheat flour up to 100%, which is my personal favorite. Since there were kids who might eat this pie too, I used 1 cup whole wheat, 1 1/4 white flour.

Put the flour in a bowl and add 1 tsp salt and 1 tsp sugar

Take 1 stick unsalted butter, cold from the fridge. Cut it into pieces of about 1 tablespoon each. You want to mix it into the flour so that tiny chunks of butter remain throughout the dough, without letting it melt or blend into the flour too much. If you have a pastry blender, use it. If not, my still-favorite method, especially if it’s not too hot in the kitchen, is to use my fingers to break up the butter into the four. You can also use two knives, I have never gotten the hang of this, but one of my aunts is really good at it. In any case, when you’re done, there should be some pea-sized chunks, as well as some dough with the texture of coarse cornmeal.

Put some ice and water into one of the measuring cups you’ve already used, and pour a little bit if it onto the butter and flour. Start with just a few tablespoons, and mix it gently in. You want just enough water that the dough will form a tidy ball and not look too dry. Mix in just a little more ice water at a time until it looks good to you. How much you need varies with the humidity, the kind of flour you use, etc. When the dough is moist enough, divide it into two pieces, roughly round-shaped, and either cover the bowl or transfer the dough to an air-tight container. Put it in the fridge to rest for about 1/2 hour.

In the meantime, place a rack below the center of the oven, preheat the oven to 400° F, and make the filling:

Rinse 5 heaping cups of blueberries. A good method to separate any debris from the berries is to put them in a bowl, fill it with water, and stir until the debris floats to the top and you can pour it off.

Pour off all the water, and add to the bowl with the berries:

3/4 cup sugar (I like turbinado or natural sugar, a hint of brown sugar flavor is really nice with the berries)

3 Tablespoons cornstarch

1 Tablespoon lemon juice (you can add some lemon zest as well if your lemon isn’t sprayed and waxed)

Mix all this together and let stand for about 15 minutes.

Roll out one half of the crust into as good a circle shape as you manage, about 1/4 inch thick. Put that half into an 9-inch pie pan, pressing it against the bottom and sides. Use any pieces that stick out over the edge to patch any holes or gaps around the edges.

Roll out the second half of the crust. For fun, instead of cutting a vent for steam, you can cut out shapes with a small cookie cutter before you put the crust on, and use the cut out shapes to decorate your pie (I got this lovely idea from my friend Megan years ago—thank you!).

Pour the filling into the bottom crust, put the top crust over it, and pinch the two crusts together around the edges. Again, you can use any overhanging bits to patch holes.

To get your cookie cutter shapes to stick, and also to give your crust a little bit more deliciousness, you can glaze the crust with 1 egg yolk whisked with a little water. If you can’t foresee using the egg white for anything (throwing it into an omelet, pancake batter, etc.) you can use the whole egg, the egg wash will be thicker. Anyway, brush the egg wash all over the top crust with a pastry brush. Stick your extra cookie cutter shapes on top, and brush more glaze over them. Sprinkle a bit of sugar (the large crystal kind is nice, but regular granulated sugar works fine) on the glaze to give the crust a little more sparkle for your eyes and your mouth.

Bake the pie at 400° for 30 minutes. Put a cookie sheet underneath to catch bubbling juice, lower the temperature to 350° and bake for another 20 to 30 minutes, until thick juices are bubbling through the holes and the crust is a warm brown all over, and darker in places. If the crust starts to get too brown before the pie is done, you can try covering the whole thing or just the edges with aluminum foil.

Do you have a favorite blueberry recipe? I’d love to know!

Repairing a Backpack

Posted on August 6, 2013 by Tasha

This spring, when I fixed this jacket for my dad, I got an unexpected bonus. Every time I saw him wearing it (which was quite often, it’s his favorite for cool windy days) my heart would warm with a soft fuzzy glow. Here was my dad, who I love dearly, so pleased with his jacket and so obviously getting good use out of it, both of those all the more so since I had fixed the zipper and the tearing pockets. It’s hard to describe actually— it seems at the same time obvious and silly— but I’m telling you, every single time I saw him in the jacket I would get a moment of happiness.

So, the obvious thing to do was to mend something else of his, and the standout candidate was this backpack. He’s had it since, I don’t know, around the time I was born maybe? And he still takes it out into the field on weekly basis. (Maybe I should explain that Dad is a fairly recently retired wildlife biologist, who now gets to spend more time outside with his pet projects than he did while he was working. Objects, which are part of his field gear and/or live in his pickup truck, do not lead an easy life.) And I have a serious soft spot for things that have far outlasted their expected usefulness—this clearly qualified.

Another (non-sentimental) reason I was all up for fixing rather than replacing this pack is that the zippers still work! I asked Dad if they did, and he said “kind of,” which turned out to mean that the only thing holding them back was the amount of frayed nylon threads stuck in the teeth. Amazing. The first thing I did was to turn under and sew down the raw edge of the flap covering the zipper, which had pulled out of its original stitching long ago and was the main source of the zipper-clogging threads. I pulled the threads from the zipper using my fingers, a tweezers, and a scissors for stubborn parts, alternately zipping and unzipping it until they were just about all gone. I also went kind of nuts zigzagging over any and all seam allowances and raw edges I could reach inside the pack with my machine, trying to keep future fraying and loose threads to an absolute minimum, since after all, this backpack has to be ready for another 30-odd years of use.

The bigger holes I patched inside and out, to reinforce them, and again to keep all raw edges inside so they wouldn’t unravel any further. The worst hole was where one strap had pulled out of the body of the pack. That one had allowed Dad’s not-so-small camera to fall out of the pack—that was the last straw for him to hand it over so I could fix it. After patching that hole on both sides, I sewed a big X through the strap webbing and the new fabric, which ought to hold it. I also reinforced the other strap with similar stitching.

The only part I have a doubt about, is where one strap had pulled off at the point where it’s anchored to the top of the pack. I added new fabric on both sides of the whole area where the straps attach (the one you see on the outside is black faux suede), and stitched around the whole thing as best I could. But, there is an old rivet in there that had pulled out. I couldn’t stitch as close to it as I would like, and I thought pulling it off completely would weaken the strap too much. At least I will be around to see how it holds up, and make future repairs if necessary!

Hopefully you don’t need any more encouragement than the above story to get out there and fix something for someone you love. It doesn’t have to be sewing, use whatever skills you have. And if you have any questions about needle-and-thread mending, let me know, I’ll be happy to help if I can.