Establishing New Traditions

I know that traditions passed down from family member to family member connect each of us to our heritage and to those who came before us. These traditions give meaning to the strange and sometimes superstitious behaviors or activities we involve ourselves in every year. Most of the time we reflect on family traditions around the holidays and continue the legacy left to us from our ancestors.

However, last year, on New Years Eve, my daughter and I began a new family tradition that I have and will carry out until my dying day. I'll do this for two reasons: one, I love cake and two, I love thinking of those who also used to bake this delicious dessert.

Last year I decided that on New Years Eve I would bake a red velvet cake and that for all of the years to come, on New Years Eve, I will bake a red velvet cake. Now, this isn't no ordinary cake, mind you, and the recipe is one that has been in my family for a long time.

Growing up, my mother would bake this cake for me each year on my birthday, and her mother used to bake this cake each year for her on her birthday. Now, I know that in order to continue on with the 'birthday' tradition of baking red velvet cake, I must still be baking this cake for my daughter on her birthday. If it comes in the near future that she would prefer this cake on her birthday, then of course I will not neglect her wish for this cake; however, because I'm still a child at heart, I want this cake at another time of year as well - not just on birthdays.

Last year I plopped my daughter up on the counter, we measured and stirred and measured some more. We baked and cooled and ate this delicious cake. Now that New Years has arrived this year, we continued with the tradition established last year. Today, I plopped my now two-year old daughter on the counter, we both wore our aprons and while I was measuring the sugar, she was also measuring the sugar (and then eating it). I read the directions line by line very carefully and she would mumble something along with me. At one point she was holding the recipe and, half jokingly, I asked her to tell me what ingredient came next. She scanned the recipe and blatantly told me, "Um...cake." Yes, that was right, cake came next!

Needless to say, the cake has cooled and has been topped with homemade icing and yes, we have already eaten a bit of this cake for lunch. I am anticipating next New Years Eve, with my daughter as my co-pilot reading me ingredients from the recipe and furthering this newly created tradition. In fifty years, when I'm almost 80 years old and she's in her fifties, I'm hopeful that we'll still come together and bake this cake on this day. Possibly then I'll fumble while reading the recipe and when she asks me what ingredient comes next, I'll quickly tell her, again half-jokingly, "Cake."

For the recipe of my Nannie's homemade Red Velvet Cake, see the 'Baking, Crocheting, Creating' column.

The Creative Holiday Season

Now, to preface this post, I will acknowledge that I am not the only person on the planet who creates homemade gifts for friends and family at Christmas. I completely understand that possibly more people actually make gifts to give than buy gifts to give; however, I want to take the time today to share with you the memories I have of gift-giving and a few ideas I have for creative homemade gifts I'm giving out this year.

Although I'm sure there were lucrative Christmases for my family: I remember presents being stuffed under many a tree; there were also many years that money might have been an issue for my parents. (Though, like most children, I never recognized if we were poor or not). I have very early memories of my mother resorting to creativity and giving gifts from the heart. I remember her encouraging me to resort to ideas for gifts that we could make to give to our neighbors, friends and family. I'll never forget the famous cassette tapes she shipped off to each family member of my brother and I singing Christmas carols.

These gifts were long lasting as memories in many of my family's minds. I'm not sure that I necessarily remember all of the toys I received as a child, but I do remember and cherish the gifts that were homemade and/or passed down to me from past generations. I remember the feeling of elation and gratefulness when I received the gift and look upon the gift frequently in order to recapture those feelings over and over again.

Every holiday season, about the month of October, I begin preparing ideas for Christmas gifts. (To be perfectly honest, I list ideas all year long as they come to me, but really get serious about it in the month of October). In times past I've given crocheted hats, crocheted fingerless gloves, homemade vanilla extract, lavender salt scrub, scarfs, and so forth. There actually was one year that I spent two month crocheting 20-some scarfs...it was endless, and I learned my lesson.

This year, during the week of Thanksgiving, I finally got serious about brainstorming gift ideas. If I can just be honest for a second, I was not just brainstorming, but freaking out! I had nothing and no energy (as I just found out I was pregnant and was continuing to chase my two year old around). Somehow I came up with one great idea that I'm proud to share with you! This idea did not just come to me in the form of an hallucination, I found similar ideas at my local craft store, took them to Google and somehow my ideas manifested into something else.

This year many of my family members will be receiving Rapunzel Scarfs. In essence, this is a wonderful way to use up all of your left-over yarn that has been accumulating in the dark corners of your home. See the full description and explanation under 'Baking, Crocheting, Creating'. Basically, you measure out many strings of your previously used yarn to about 10 feet in length and then braid it. Once the scarf is on, it creates this very cool layered look! The inclusion of all sorts of colors and textures of yarn really adds to its uniqueness and allows you to wear this scarf with anything! I'm quite thrilled to give this colorful gift to my family members this year!

A Solo Hike, well...maybe.

I found myself drawn to the canyon behind my house mid-morning today. I'm not sure if it was the sun, or possibly even the news forecasting a cold front coming tomorrow, but suddenly I was descending the steps of my town-home, my yellow lab leashed and in hand and headed straight for the trail head.

Comically, I also immediately begin talking, out loud, to myself. Just blabbering about nonesense that had no coherent meaning. It was as if suddenly I needed to express some of these ideas spilling from my mouth and get the energy of these ideas dispersed to the universe. Subconsciously I had been preparing in anticipation, excitement, and disbelief at the recently discovered events in my family. Incoherent of anyone around me on the trail, I let my thoughts fly! I giggled out loud to myself, digested some very deep ideas, and regurgitated past conversations on the trail today.

Considering this is a blog about legacy and my determination to leave one for my children and their children through the exploration of the legacies left to me by my ancestors, it is here that I will release the secret to the universe. The words of excitement, justification, reassurance, and faith that escaped my concsiouness this morning were in reaction to the new baby on the way.

My husband and I will be expecting our second child in August of 2012. The grandness of this moment is just as profound as it was with my first born and although I've "done this before", I still find myself very nervous about similar issues I was nervous over prior. I'm thrilled to bring my second child into this world: to adore and cater, to teach and wonder and allow to live as all creatures live a part of this planet.

This new child will find itself spending hours on the trail, as I spent many an hour on a dusty trek with my first child bundled to my chest or strapped to my back. This new child will fall in love with the hills, the sage, the hawk, as I have and as I have taught my first born to do.

Preparations Have Begun!

How do I not post something to this blog the day before Thanksgiving?

This was the question I asked myself this morning as I was cutting open the pumpkin for our pumpkin pie and reflecting on the brine recipe I conquered last night for the turkey. My excitement for home cooking couldn't have been spared from this blog and therefore, I bring it to you.

Luckily I was able to have the day off work, which only fueled the Holiday To Do list. Before cleaning my house, which for some reason I always save for my days off (sick and twisted, I know), I prepared my pumpkin for the pumpkin pie my daughter and I would be making this afternoon. My daughter has never had pie before and she has been talking about this pumpkin pie we would make and eventually eat together for the last week and a half (let's all keep in mind that she is two). I figured I would get a jump start on the pumpkin pie this morning while she was at daycare, so that later we could easily make our crust, mix the mashed pumpkin with necessary ingredients, bake and voila!

As I was seeding the pumpkin, I figured I would save the seeds, soak them in salt water and eventually bake them as well for a tasty snack tomorrow. Now, when I refer to 'tomorrow', there to two very big events happening for my little family: First, we are going to go cut down our Christmans Tree and second, we are going to pig out on some down home cooking! ....I figured we could snack on pumpkin seeds while we're up hiking in the snow scouring for the 'perfect' tree. What a day of festivities tomorrow will bring for my little family. *If you're interested in the home-made pumpkin pie from scratch recipe I'm using or the apple-cider brine, I have posted it under the Baking, Crochet, Creativity column to the left.

As we speak, my pumpkin is baking, dressed in tin-foil and my house is cleaned! My turkey has been sitting in the Apple-Cider Brine since last night and will continue to soak up the cider-goodness until baking time tomorrow. As I continue prepping for the feast my family will enjoy, my excitement for this small Thanksgiving grows with intensity. This is the first year my daughter will understand what Thanksgiving is and the first Christmas where she knows a Christmas Tree, Christmas Presents, and Santa Clause.

With the baking of my pumpkin pie tonight, the cooking of homemade cranberry sauce tomorrow and the feasting on apple-cider turkey, my family is truly beginning the first of many traditions to follow. I hope for the rest of my life (yes, this is a stretch, I know) my daughter and I can bake pumpkin pies the night before Thanksgiving and enjoy the spirit of the season as we are this year.

I'd like to leave you with one final thought today, before I run out the door to purchase our Christmas Tree Permit. This saying first entered my life when I found out I was pregnant with my daughter two years ago and I often find myself returning to it. I feel it's quite appropriate for the day.

Give thanks for unknown blessings already on their way. ~Native American Proverb.

Down Home

Last night I found myself generating our family's Thanksgiving dinner menu: turkey, stuffing, pie; the usual. And, this year, it will only by my small family celebrating the holiday. My husband, daughter and myself will gather on Thanksgiving to eat the much anticipated meal in celebration of gratefulness.

Originally I was a little disappointed that this Thanksgiving would be small. I'm most accustomed to traveling from one Thanksgiving dinner to another as my parents are divorced and therefore the holiday has been defined by large family gatherings. The thought that this year there would only be two adults and a toddler to feed, disheartened me.

Well, my 'bummed out' feelings have subsided as I've come to realize that this small gathering is the perfect opportunity for me to practice and familiarize myself with traditional turkey dinner home-made style as well as further define traditions I would like to set forth for my own family.

In all my anticipation for this down-home turkey dinner, I've begun researching. I've opened my cookbooks, scoured the internet, returned to the texts that originally set me on this journey (see list of texts under the 'Finding My Truth' column) and have discovered many of the dishes I plan to serve my family on this holiday can be created from scratch with little to know effort and prep - all that is required is curiosity and desire.

My current Thanksgiving menu includes dishes such as homemade pumpkin-pie with homemade whipped cream, hand-made rolls as well as traditional candied yams and mashed potatoes. Most importantly, I will be brining our family's turkey for two days prior to our meal. Knowing that I'm getting back to my roots and acknowledging the holiday cooking traditions of my fore mothers excites me beyond belief. It is with this small gathering that I can practice these early cooking traditions only to perfect and use every Thanksgiving from here on out, fore as I've come to learn, once I create 'down home', it is down home I stay and quickly lose all desire for pre-made.

Fall Decorations

The past three days we woke to a slight dusting of snow on the ground. Clouds mystified the tops of the Sierra Nevadas only allowing glimpses of the accumulation of snow when the clouds would break, briefly cloaking the hills and our valley in sunshine. Somehow this immediate change in weather, sunny fall to windy winter, exhilarates me. I want to bundle up and get outside.

This morning, my family and I went to our local arboretum and tromped around in the brisk morning air. The downed leaves frozen, while patches of snow cover grass we rolled in last summer. In our exploration and morning walk, I collected a handful of acorns and tiny pine cones. The spirit of the approaching holiday season persuaded me to take these natural gifts home and use them in my house. I knew of a busted up and severely damaged holiday wreath in my garage and these goods would do very well in repairing the rejected berry wreath.

Once home, I hunted down my hot glue gone and got busy restoring this old wreath back to life. The wreath turned out marvelously and now hangs, chilled, against my front door.

Looking at this wreath I have such satisfaction in two things: One, that I collected these natural decorations during a moment of discovery with my family. This brings such joy to me, and looking upon these pine cones and the acorns glued to the red berry wreath, I think of those I love and the moments in a lifetime that matter most. Second, I was on the verge of throwing this dejected wreath away, adding to the waste already excessively produced by humans. By finding and creating a new purpose for this wreath, I have recycled and now have new interest in its use; in the joy it brings me.

Bottling Day

The brown, faceless beer bottles have been accumulating at the top of my stairs in paper bags for weeks; looking as though I decided to raid the neighbor's recycling bin in hopes of reaping a reward. In actuality, it is my husband and I who have been drinking this beer, all in preparation for my first bottling day. The reward I am hoping to acquire is cupboards full of bottled homebrewed ale.

The preceding three weeks I have spent much of my time, like a mother hen to her chicks, countlessly totaling seconds between bubbles escaping my primary and then secondary fermenters. It was my growing desire this year to begin brewing my own beer. And as each bubble of CO2 escaped my fermenter, that ambition was closer to being realized. It has taken a total of three weeks, two fermenters, heavy lifting, diligent sanitizing, and vivid dreaming that has sustained my utter excitement to this very day: Bottling Day.

I'm not sure if every batch will be as meaningful, but this first brew holds special meaning, as does all of my firsts: first kiss, first dance, first car, first child. I've been keeping a keen eye on my brewing beer and have reveled in the fact that soon enough I'd be drinking it; I'd be consuming the fruits of my labor just as I've eaten the foods I've grown, drink the coffee I grind by hand, cherish the creations of my crochet needle. This is one more hobby, one more passion, that has helped me grow closer to the woman, mother and wife that I intend to be. After today, one more of these roles has been fulfulled: official ale wife.

I spent two hours this afternoon, while my daughter slumbered in her crib upstairs, muttering around my kitchen in a language only the brewmaster might comprehend. I prepared my bottles, sanitized my equipment and managed to heave a five gallon glass carboy full of fermenting brew atop my tiled counter. I siphoned and muttered, then transferred and muttered, I spilled precious drops and cursed, then muttered. And as the process came together, like two strangers awkwardly meeting for the first time and then finding comfort in their likeness, my brew and I came together, shaking hands and agreeing on a job well done. I filled roughly 50 bottles in two hours with the sweetest dark ale and left it to clear, to settle, to become exquisitely handsome in a top cupboard in my kitchen.

Only 15 Minutes

It's Tuesday, probably the most hated day of the week for me because I still have items on my 'to-do' list from Monday, and I feel that I'm not even near the end of the week, let alone the weekend. I awoke this morning before the rooster up the hill called to the other creatures of the neighborhood, still seeing the moon shining, feeling as though I've never really known sleep. My day progressed as all days do during the work week: rush, rush, rush, go to the bathroom, rush, remember to brush my teeth and holy cow it's four o'clock in the afternoon!

In all my exhaustion and longing for a boring documentary to ease me into the arms of real slumber, my daughter wakens from her afternoon nap. It would be an understatement to state that she is excited to be alive!! I mean honest thankfulness at her ability to live, to see another day, to play, play, play. And, at this point, I'm half comatose , and very close to shaking hands with death if he can promise eternal sleep.

It only takes 15 minutes.

Instantly, somehow I remembered an article I read a year ago in one of many magazines I half-heartedly subscribe to. In said article, one mother exclaimed that it only took 15 minutes a day, outside, with her young children allowing them to exert their "happiness for life". She also remarked that she knew she could survive 15 minutes of outside, personal interaction without dropping dead of exhaustion.*

I knew that I could withstand 15 minutes of the pure and utter happiness exuding from my daughter. I've trained for long-distance races, I can handle an incredibly happy two year old for 15 minutes.

So, I made a plan. We would go exploring at Rancho San Rafael, a local park down the street from our house, for at least 15 minutes. We would look for anything cool, not cool, exciting, not exciting; we would just explore for 15 minutes and come home. Amazingly, our nature hike (which we do frequently; however, not when I'm to the point of literal fatigue) became 45 minutes of total pleasure. My daughter and I had an amazing afternoon. We found acorns, dried leaves of all colors (imagine my daughter racing to each fallen leaf only to grab and exclaim the color of the leaf - this activity in itself could have lasted hours and needless to say I was grateful). We discovered where a pair of squirrels live, we saw a bunny, and even in this chilly, fall weather, we chased one lizard. The wind blew on our faces, our cheeks turning red, noses running; our souls cleansed and somehow, by the end of the 15 minute nature hike turned 45 minute one of a kind memory, my energy had returned, the excitement for living was seen glowing in my eyes, my hair was energized and I easily turned a cold shoulder to death.

It only takes getting outside for 15 minutes a day to change not only our children's behavior, but our own. It only takes 15 minutes, which usually turns into 45 minutes, of fresh air to impact the remainder of our evening. I'm going to post this motto on my fridge (on second thought, I may consider posting it on my coffee pot) to remind myself that I can do 15 minutes and I would prefer 45.

*I believe this mother also published a book on this very topic; however, again, I cannot (especially because it is Tuesday) remember this mother's name of the title of her book. This will have to suffice as a just citation.

Encouraging a Tradition

My daughter, who is two years old, is now my regular, most dependable baking buddy. Baking has become one of those expected activities at our house as I enjoy the creative expression baking gives me and more importantly I love eating baked goods. There is nothing more exciting than waiting for a timer to expire, at which, warm, home-made baked goods are extracted from the hot oven where they metamorphosed in a matter of minutes. In the mean time, they also do a wonderful job making my house smell inviting and further fulfill the traditions and memories I intend to leave for my daughter.

My daughter is mastering a routine for both of us when we come to the kitchen with the intent to create yummy food. And, most usually, we are baking with the recipes handed down to me from my mother and to her from her mother.

You'll find us in the corner of my kitchen, both drawn to the location of my Kitchenaid. I pick her up and plop her on the counter, we read through the recipe together; she'll even grab it out of my hand and point to foreign words or numbers and pretend to read the ingredients aloud to me, pointing with her tiny pointer-finger at interesting words she thinks I'll pay particular attention to. I nod and encourage her determination to play her part.

We pull all of the ingredients out on to the counter. Flour, vanilla, cinnamon and the like, scatter and surround my daughter like a moat. All of which my daughter will stick her finger in and steal a taste. She always feels compelled to taste the flour, of which I know must be disgusting, but even my two year old's pride is strong and defiant as she emphatically communicates, "I like this. Nummy."

We begin dumping and measuring our ingredients. I fill the measuring cups and she dumps the ingredients in the Kitchenaid, mesmerized by its continual turning. Once the batter is prepared, combined, and mixed efficiently, our excitement is triggered. We pour our batter into the designated cupcake pan, pie dish, bread pan, whatever, and slide it graciously into a preheated oven. Both my daughter and I wait impatiently for the timer to ding and for our hopes to be realized. We frequently make our way back to the oven, turn the light on, check on the baking "nummy" and agree that we are excited to eat what we have just created.

These moments happen about once a week in my tiny kitchen. My daughter and I come together, even calling a truce on certain days, in order to create something from Nummy flour. We work together, communicate, and create. These moments are hours that I'm living in the present and enjoying my daughter for the young lady she is quickly becoming. I'm not fretting over the coming Monday 'to-do' list, or the unfolded laundry. I'm simply creating with my daughter and encouraging a tradition, in hopes that one day, she and her daughter will spend similar moments in the nook of her kitchen, gathered around the Kitchenaid.

Whispered Legacy

An explanation: The leaves turned, their reds peppering the valley; what remained of the sun pierced through them. Fall gently came in, the days continuing in warmth. One could only feel the approaching chill of early winter in the shadows of the canyon once the sun went down or early in the morning when the sage held onto the night's frosty bite. It floated in, real gentle, like on a breeze through the screen of my opened window. Softer than a whisper, the fall rustling carried this idea to me. And with change set in motion by the seasonal weather, every solstice bringing with it new winds, there in my life remained a constant and a catalyst for all my curiosity, my creations and endeavors. This notion of legacy has hidden itself within me until late, creeping slowly exposing itself within me.

I find incredible interest in the former lives of my foremothers and forefathers in hopes that I can bring the part of them that is me back to this world; not only for myself and the connection I have to them, but for my children and the chance that one day they question themselves and the truth of their heritage.

Is it not unlike humans to search for and find themselves in those that came before them and define their legacy for those that come after them?

This is my attempt: to define my legacy. Who I am, where I came from, and what I intend to pass along.