A Girl By Any Other Name…

daphne on July 27, 2009

A rose by any other name is just as sweet. And so it goes for children, right? At least for our wildly natural, rocky coastline of a kid, Acadia, who got to meet her equally wild, equally rocky, equally beautiful namesake last week–

That’s my girl.  Acadia.  Bar Harbor, Maine was the next stop on our crazy never-ending summer road trip extravaganza.  We packed up the kids and spent four days in a cottage near the park.  Despite a chill in the air and some wet mornings, we toured the park, ate lobster, and went kayaking.

We also logged some serious beach combing time.

Some folks like to watch crime dramas.  Some like to knit.  Some try Valium.  For me there is nothing more relaxing than plopping down and combing the beach for sea-glass.  And there is no place better suited for this than Bar Harbor.

Perfect, sure. Beautiful, yes.  But edible? Not so much.  So when it came time for snack we moved on from seaside to hillside, where the Maine blueberries were just coming in.

I was in my element.  Happier than the clams that were being dug up all around us.  But all the wonder and natural beauty of our surroundings was nothing in the face of a couple of content kids harbor side.

Usually I have no problem remaining stoic where shopping is involved.  But I was powerless here.  What’s the point of having a destination child if you don’t cash on some really cool shwag?

The Eye of the Tiger

daphne on July 19, 2009

Just in case you’ve been wondering, the song looping in my head these days is Survivor’s Eye of The Tiger. It’s become a favorite of Kira’s for jump rope warm-ups.  What worked for Rocky also happens to be perfect for an eight year old girl heading to the Junior Olympics.

Practicing your routine is no walk on the beach.  Or maybe it is if you happen to take that walk upside down.

Not even a picture-perfect day on the beach in Amagansett stopped Kira from practicing.  She cartwheeled and hand-standed her way through her routine on the sand, pausing here and there to build castles, dig holes and jump in the enormous waves with her sister.  Now all I’ve got to do is convince those Olympics folks that the beach is a better spot to host the games. (Though I don’t doubt, as the nice lady at the chamber of commerce promised, that Des Moines is indeed delightful this time of year.)

Grandma has become quite the jump rope enthusiast. In addition to providing a lifetime supply of garlic for her granddaughters,

she leased the use of a racquetball court at the gym down the street, where Kira has been diligently jumping for about an hour every day.  For the record, so has coach mom. I don’t want to brag, but I can hang with her for about half an hour without collapsing into a pathetic heap. Maybe not Olympic-material, but it’s something.

The nice people at the gym have been watching Kira come and go for the past month with curious looks on their sweating face, so Kira indulged them with a preview —

I’ve been fielding lots of question about this sport, and though I’m no expert, here’s how I think it will go down at the big competition in less than two weeks: Kira is competing in 6 events; 3 individual and 3 with her partner.  These include Speed–how many single steps she can do in 60 seconds (think Rocky;) Power–how many times in 60 seconds she can turn the rope double for every single jump, and the freestyle routine.

Big plans aside, Kira unwound with some family time on the sailboat.  Just the wind, the waves, and the time to ponder some really deep thoughts.

Grid, Shmid…We Can Do It All On Our Own

daphne on July 14, 2009

Thanks to Grandmother’s garden, we need never go hungry.  I have eaten more than my fill of salad greens and herbs and snap peas, though they have yet to convert me into a beet lover. (Yes, I know all about how delicious they are.  Now run along and enjoy them and leave me out of it.)  Despite reaping the rewards of a garden well-equipped to feed 976 vegetarians for twenty two years, we felt like we needed a little more.  Lucky for us Grandma’s sidekick was up to the task.

That’s a seven and a half pound fluke being hefted by Grandpa Mikey.  And yes, seven and a half pounds of fish is so big that it pushed all but Grandpa Mikey’s forearm from the frame.

There are a million ways to prepare fresh fish, but it really doesn’t get better than fried.  Here’s how we do it.  Even my kids beg for seconds, and they’re barely bigger than that fluke.

Fresh fish offers more than a great meal.  If you’ve got a retired surgeon on hand, you can use the carcass as a lovely stained glass window.

That’s Grandpa Mikey: world-class fillet master, and a talented boat builder to boot.  Last year he built an adorable little sailing dory for his grandchildren.  Dave took Kira and nephews MJ and Evan for a row around the bay sans mast.

This year Grandpa is trying his hand at kayak-building.  I may be biased, but I think he’s pretty darn good at it.

Grandpa also pulled some strings and entered the girls in a marine naturalist camp. They strolled the beaches, collected specimen, and learned all about life in, on and around the water.  If you have been wondering how to tell the difference between male and female fiddler crabs, Kira is your source (hint: she told me that the males have one big claw.)

All questions about hermit crabs or star fish should be directed to marine expert Acadia.

Fun fact of the day:  A baby oyster is called a spat.

Fresh Fried Fish

daphne on July 14, 2009

This simple recipe is the reason my kids love fish.

  • Fish fillets–I use a flaky white fish.  Use pieces of even thickness for easiest cooking.
  • Flour
  • Bread crumbs
  • Corn flour crumbs
  • Milk or Egg or Beer for dredging
  • Canola oil for frying
  1. Cut the fish fillets into equally sized pieces (more or less)
  2. Coat both sides of each fillet in flour.
  3. Dip floured fish into liquid.  I usually use milk since it’s the easiest, but you could also use a beaten egg or beer, white wine, etc.
  4. Coat wet fillet with mixture of corn flake crumbs and bread crumbs.  The corn flake crumbs are sweet, so use more for sweeter fish or less, per taste.
  5. In a frying pan over medium/high heat, heat a few tablespoons of oil
  6. When hot, put fillets in and cook for about 5 minutes per side, depending on thickness.
  7. When you can easily cut fish in half (it should separate in soft white flakes) with the side of a spatula, it is done.  If a fork or spatula won’t go through the fillet, it is not cooked yet.

Serve and enjoy. The kids love it plain, but I like to spoon salsa over the top for the grown-ups.

My, What Big Spinach You’ve Got Granny

daphne on July 9, 2009

There is a chance, I suppose, that since I’ve deserted it our sweet little garden has runneth over, but I’m not holding my breath.  I’m visiting my mother, and she has shown me how a real garden behaves.  It’s not that my cute little berry patch back in Colorado isn’t special; it is.  But next to this macho New York garden with its prime beach-front location and vines reaching for the stars, mine seems a bit underwhelming.

Look closely.  Can you find my girls? That’s them being consumed by greenery as they munch their way through grandma’s garden.  My what big spinach you’ve got granny…now how about you get it to spit out the children?

It’s not just the size of her prolific garden, or the fact that it’s situated on a piece of real estate that makes broccoli everywhere envious.  Something about those leafy greens put a spell on our children.  It was all we could do to tear the six cousins out of the garden and convince them to jump in the bay.  The beach? Maybe later; hey, who wants more salad?

The snap peas are sweet and crisp, a favorite along with the cucumbers.  But surprisingly, these kids can’t keep their picking fingers off the fennel (they call it licorice, and save it for “salad dessert.”)  They also chomp with glee through the spinach and chard.  Ok, so for those keeping score, it’s North Carolina for earth-friendly, grass-fed protein, and New York for getting kids and their vegetables together in harmony.

Cousin Emily adored the mint leaves.  And I think Evan owes his Spider Man powers to the hundreds of blades of lemon grass he chewed.

My mother remains modest about her remarkable gardening success.  She suggests only that we place lo-jacks on the children to allow us to pull them to safety when it’s time to give them their ice cream.

You do remember ice cream, don’t you kids?

Down at the Ole Watering Hole

daphne on July 3, 2009

Life was busy on the farm in North Carolina.  But after the horses were ridden and the eggs were collected, it was time to relax.  The kids grabbed their poles, hit the pond,

and terrorized the local teeny-tiny trout population.

After all of the baby fish had been caught and released, we left them to recover and joined the cows who had mosied south for fresher pastures in South Carolina.  Everyone was thrilled with the new digs, which were rustic, near the cows,

and close to the old watering hole.

The kids were as happy as cows grazing on organic grass.  While there may be no creature quite as content as frisky old Fernando, I’d wager that these heifers were just about as happy as, well, as happy as children playing for hours down at the watering hole.

The Proffitt farm is the source for grass-fed beef in the Charlotte, NC area.  And for the three days that we were lucky enough to count ourselves as locals, we partied like carnivores.  I’m not typically a meat-eater, but eating grass-fed beef is as much like eating conventional meat as a rain puddle is to the Pacific Ocean.  It’s a totally different experience, for the cows, for the carnivores, and for the earth.  Visit their site to learn more about the benefits of eating locally raised, sustainable grass-fed beef, some of which include lower fat content and higher omega-3.

It tastes a whole lot better too.