I can already tell that my paddling adventure is going to much more than a way to get out on the water—admittedly my personal happy place. After only two outings, it's challenging my ability to absorb new information, move in new and sometimes daunting ways and—at 71 years of age—to accept some of the limitations that come with being an older person.*

It's also teaching me about the waterways that are such a critically important part of our life here in the Pacific Northwest.

When my friend Keith suggested a paddling trip to Lacamas Lake just across the river near Camas, Washington, I jumped at the chance. The weather was going to be spectacular—this fall has been one for the record books in terms of warm-but-not-too-hot days—and the lake was fairly close, just a half hour drive away. Plus it would give me practice in launching from a dock rather than the shoreline, an important skill.

The lake is a bit more than two miles long, with the boat dock located at the south end of the lake, making it a challenge to row to the other end where Lacamas Creek flows into the lake. The water level was very low, partly due to the severe drought affecting nearly 90 percent of Oregon, but mostly because of the the annual drawdown of water to repair the dam at the south end that creates the lake.

We saw people running, biking and walking the trail along the lake's edge, and there was even one group sitting in lawn chairs fishing from the shore. A blue heron lumbered by looking like a pterodactyl's cousin, and a snowy white egret strolled through the aquatic plants exposed along the shoreline. While the lake was mirror-like when we started in mid-morning, by the time we reached the north end of the lake a light breeze had kicked up from behind us, riffling the water and making the paddle back to the dock slightly easier.

Having seen evidence of blue-green algae near the dock, when I got home I was dismayed to read this from Wikipedia:

"One of the reasons the lake cannot support many fish is because of severe pollution from phosphorus, nitrogen, ammonia, as well as lack of circulation to the deeper parts of the lake. This allows a detritus sludge to form that is devoid of oxygen, not allowing the organic compounds to break down efficiently. The phosphorus, nitrogen and ammonia collect in the lake water and the lake bed from polluted streams that run into the lake after passing through farm fields, barnyards and subdivisions."

I immediately thought of the paddle-boarders I'd seen while we were out and, more alarmingly, the group of gentlemen who were fishing from the shore.

Reading further, I discovered that local residents concerned about the water quality of the lake and the larger watershed got together and formed the Lacamas Watershed Council (LWC) in 2019. According to Terris Becker, the organization's vice president and secretary, the LWC, the city of Camas and the Clark County government began working together to make significant efforts to improve the water quality in the lake and its tributaries.

Led by the LWC, that meant regular testing of the water to provide early detection of the presence of toxic algae along with community outreach to home owners' associations about reduction of toxic runoff from fertilizers and pesticides into waterways. Becker said that while the LWC does not have enforcement authority, its educational outreach to homeowners and farmers has begun to yield positive results.

Becker added that from mid-April through June visitors can often find a field of native camas lilies in bloom in nearby Round Lake, which is connected to Lacamas Lake and also features miles of hiking trails for visitors.

* Extra points if you notice that I'm holding my paddle upside down in the top photo. Keith alerted me to my faux pas and, gosh, if it didn't make a difference!

Kristy Athens founded Good Groceries in 2020 to deliver local produce, proteins, and value-added foods from Northeast Oregon's farmers, ranchers, fishers, and small producers to their neighbors' homes and workplaces. "It's everyone working together to bolster our local economy and get good food to people," she said.

Athens moved to the Northwest from Minneapolis, Minnesota, in 1995 and, after bouncing around the region for a few years, began studying for a masters in food systems management at Marylhurst University. After getting her degree, she landed a job with the Northeast Oregon Economic Development District and came across a concept for a local brand called Genuine Wallowa County (GWC), which she then developed into a business packaging and selling gift boxes of local artisan goods.

After three women farmers inquired about the possibility of adding their products to the GWC lineup, Athens realized there was an opportunity to support local food producers. GWC Provisions launched in June of 2020, and after selling the gift box business to another local entrepreneur, Athens rebranded it as Good Groceries in honor of her father-in-law, who would lean across the dinner table and say, “Gooooooood groceries!”

Currently delivering every week to drop sites in Wallowa and Union counties in addition to offering home delivery and shipping, customers order from the online store, paying with credit card or Venmo (delivery customers may use personal checks, cash, and SNAP/EBT).

With more than 50 vendors offering products from fish, meat and produce to health and personal care items, Good Groceries is helping support and build a more vibrant and resilient local food and agriculture system in a remote rural region.

"Good Groceries shows what it looks like when a business's values and its daily work are the same thing," according to Tom Hering, co-founder of Benefit Corporations for Good, an Oregon-based certifier of purpose-driven small businesses. "Whether it's a same-day delivery for a family that's fallen ill, or taking the extra time to serve every SNAP customer with dignity, the mission isn't something added on. It's how the groceries get to the door. That's why we're proud to have certified them three years and counting."

With up to 80 percent of the retail price of an item going to the farmer or producer, Athens is also dedicated to donating a portion of Good Groceries' proceeds to local food pantries and other organizations like the Nez Perce Wallowa Homeland. Her zero waste policy includes use of recycled packaging and donating food compost to local farmers for their animals. She's also just added an electric delivery van through a Healthy Food Financing Initiative grant made possible with support from regional nonprofits Ecotrust and MESO that support food entrepreneurs across Oregon.

With produce getting picked a day or two before customers get it, "it’s super fresh, and it is grown by your neighbors,” Athens explained, emphasizing that virtually all the proceeds from Good Groceries stay in the community. Farmers, producers and satisfied customers from North Powder to La Grande, Enterprise, Wallowa and Union are cheering.

We needed to get outta town. And it had been a very long time since we'd been on a real road trip—anything longer than a couple of hours qualifies these days—and stuck a pin in our Oregon map in Baker City.

Granted, it's not new territory, especially for me, since most of the family on my mother's side still lives on the eastern side of the mountains and I grew up accompanying my grandfather to work at his cattle ranch in North Powder. The most indelible memories for me were riding the ranch's quarter horses—Rowdy, Riley, Sunny Boy, and my favorite, Big Red—and going on cattle drives to bring the cattle down from the mountains in spring, plus endless games of Kick the Can with my cousins.

We'd rented a small, dog-friendly home in South Baker for the trip, and after the four-and-a-half-hour drive we were ready for dinner and a well-deserved beer. And where else to go when in Baker City but Barley Brown's for their extensive selection of house-brewed beers and not-just-pub grub—like my flat iron steak seared to medium-rare perfection just the way I like it.

Our second day started with a drive up to Anthony Lakes which, at 7,100 feet in elevation, sits right in the middle of the Elkhorn Mountains outside of Baker City (top photo). Part of the Blue Mountain range, it's well known as an excellent off-the-beaten-track ski area in the winter months with downhill and nordic skiing that attracts skiers from all over the region, and a low-key vacation destination in the summer months for camping, paddling, fishing and hiking.

Interestingly, the current Anthony Lakes Outdoor Recreation Association (ALORA) is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit that was formed to purchase and preserve local control of the formerly privately owned facilities, which include the campground, ski lodge and golf course. It's committed to local purchasing and employment, and currently partners with local schools, offering ski and golf programs to local kids, as well as college scholarships for high school students planning to study outdoor recreation.

Our trip on a spectacular early fall day was simply an amble on the  main trail that rims the lake, which gave us an opportunity to check out the historic Anthony Lakes Guard Station, a Civilian Conservation Corps log cabin built in the 1930s (available to rent), as well as the campsites and campground. It also included a brief chat with one of the resident river otters who was joyfully making a feast of the plentiful fish in the lake's clear waters.

On returning to town, we dropped in to The Cabyn, a pocket-sized bistro created by Jenn Rominger and Ryan Duley smack in the middle of the main drag in downtown Baker City. With an eclectic menu ranging from Asian-inspired pork belly buns, kimchi and chashu ramen to Western classics like elk lasagne and pot roast, this tiny beloved-by-locals spot hits each dish out of the park. And don’t get me started on the local brews, wines, spirits, house-crafted cocktails and shrubs. This is the kind of place you’d be excited to find in the big city, but to see it packed out in a tiny Eastern Oregon cow town? Truly remarkable.

The next morning I needed to find raw pet food for Silas since I'd forgotten to bring enough from home, a tough call when you're in a small town without bougie pet stores serving Poopsie's every need. Luckily, someone mentioned Old Souls Farm and Market, a farmstore that not only carries meat and proteins from its own animals and those from surrounding farms, but also an incredible array of specialty and gourmet items including olive oils, salts, wine, tinned fish and so much more. Once again, Baker City astonished me!

That evening we attended the annual event called Taste of Baker that shuts down Main Street for several hours and this year featured 40 local food vendors handing out samples of food and beverages to record-breaking crowds of several thousand happy attendees who spend the gorgeous fall evening eating, drinking and catching up with neighbors and friends.

Our last full day was spent with family where we gathered for lunch at local landmark Haines Steakhouse, which served up a truly spectacular prime rib and included its signature mini-Conestoga wagon holding a classic salad bar with all the fixings, one of my favorite old-time steakhouse features.

A return trip may include camping at Anthony Lakes with kayaking and fly fishing thrown in. Can't wait!

Love those pickled onions you get at your favorite Mexican place? How about an escabeche of jalapeños and carrots? Well, I've got a new favorite condiment to lavish on tacos and in burritos, or to scatter with abandon on egg dishes.

I first heard about fermented corn from my friend Hank Shaw, who ran across it in a book titled "Victuals: An Appalachian Journey, with Recipes" by Ronni Lundy. Smacking my head because—duh—it's an obvious, not to mention dead simple way to preserve fresh corn. It's a classic Southern condiment called "sour corn," often served with beans after warming in bacon fat, according to Garden & Gun, and probably originated with Indigenous cooks, who "still serve a soured corn drink to respected visitors and wedding guests."

All you need is corn kernels sheared from their cobs, salt and water. I add cloves of garlic and a hot pepper or two, and this year I fermented one batch with habanada peppers, a new variety that has all the fruity flavor of the fiery orange habaneros but packs none of the heat.

Southern-Style Fermented Corn

For the brine*:
4.2g (1.4 oz.) sea salt
1 qt. water

For the fermented corn:
4-5 ears of sweet corn
4 cloves peeled garlic (optional)
2-3 hot peppers, halved (optional)

Add sea salt to the water and stir until salt is completely dissolved. Set aside.

With a sharp knife, cut kernels from ears of corn. (I break or cut my ears in half crosswise, then place the half-ear cut-side down on the cutting board. Then, starting at the top, slice down the cob as close to the core as possible.)

Pack kernels in a quart jar, leaving 1" of space at the top. Add garlic cloves and peppers, pushing them down into the kernels with a chopstick.

Pour the brine into the jar to cover the kernels, poking the chopstick into the kernels in two or three places to release any air bubbles. Place a fermenting weight (you can also use a zip-lock bag with water in it) on top of the kernels to keep them submerged during fermentation. Place a lid on top but do not seal it tightly—you want the brine to be able to bubble out during fermentation—and place the jar in a dish to catch any overflow.

Store in a cool, dry place for at least five days or longer, until corn is nicely sour when tasted. If mold forms on top, simple remove it and discard. Your corn will not be affected. Store in the refrigerator; it should be good for several months.

* If you want to do a larger batch, you can find the ratio of salt to water for 4.25% brine with this handy brine calculator.

I've always loved the water. Growing up, summer meant daily swimming lessons at the local pool and returning in the afternoon for the public swim. Visiting my mother's relatives in far northeastern Oregon meant swimming lessons at Radium Hot Springs in Haines with my cousins. Yearly summer camp at the Episcopal church camp in Cove had daily sessions in the hot spring-fed pool  where we'd dive for the smooth black river rocks at the bottom of the deep end.

As kids my brothers and I played for hours in the freezing ocean water off the Oregon coast—it was easy once your legs went numb—and dove into the swimming hole at Cline Falls in the Deschutes. There were myriad camping trips in Central Oregon's Cascades, and diving off rocks into the deep clear waters of alpine lakes.

A town kid, I didn't grow up with boats, but when friends took us out on their double-masted ketch and the engine shut off, the sails unfurled and the only sound was the prow cutting through the water and the wind whipping the rigging, it was as if I'd come home. A writing assignment for NW Palate magazine to go on a paddling tour on Vancouver Island was my first time in a kayak, and I was hooked.

Other opportunities came up over the years, but I'd never seriously considered getting a kayak of my own until recently when my good friend, a serious paddler and boat builder, brought a Craigslist ad to my attention. The Delta 12.10 it offered was one he'd paddled himself, and said it was recommended as a solid boat for novices and experienced paddlers alike. We drove out to take a look at it and, with his blessing—he was planning to buy it for himself if I didn't—she's come home with me.

After yesterday's debut excursion to exquisite Estacada Lake on the Clackamas River, you can be assured there will be many more bulletins to come—she might even whisper her name as we glide through the glassy water. I'll definitely let you know.

Instead of just four seasons, I'm proposing we have five.

Here goes: The tail end of summer should be a season all on its own, at least here in the Pacific Northwest. The days are sunny and mild, and can even get warm, but by evening the temperatures cool to what we refer to as "good sleeping weather," requiring replacing summer's light blanket on the bed with a cozy comforter. Here in the Willamette Valley this season can last well into October some years, extending the harvest before winter truly arrives with the first frost shriveling leaves and covering the garden with a glinting coat of silver.

This year I've managed to roast almost 100 pounds of my beloved Astiana tomatoes, ladled into around 27 quart bags that are now safely resting in our little freezer for braises, sauces, tarts and soups to (hopefully) last us through the winter. In the meantime, I'm buying as many of the last heirlooms from the farmers' market as I can to shove thick, juicy slices between Dave's mayonnaise-slicked sourdough for lunch, slicing up colorful platters to have with grilled fish and meats, and sautéeing others into fresh tomato sauces with pasta.

An easy pasta dish I love to make any time I can get fresh cherry tomatoes is so simple the sauce only has three main ingredients and comes together in—I kid you not—30 minutes or less.

Pasta with Cherry Tomatoes, Anchovies and Garlic

Adapted from the New York Times

3 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
10 med. garlic cloves, peeled and roughly chopped
Pinch of cayenne (optional)
1 tin anchovy fillets in oil
1 pt. halved cherry tomatoes (approx. 2 c., any color)
1 lb. dried pasta
Grated parmesan

Bring a large pot of water to a boil and salt it.

Heat olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat. Add garlic and cayenne (if using) and sauté briefly. Add anchovies with their oil—they can spit hot oil, so pull off heat if needed. Cook, stirring occasionally, for about a minute, until anchovies melt, then add tomatoes. Adjust heat so tomatoes bubble nicely, and cook until mixture becomes saucy, about 5 minutes. Add salt to taste.

While sauce is simmering, cook pasta until just tender but not noodle-y. When it is done, drain it. Pour sauce over pasta and serve with parmesan alongside.

It's not often you get to meet your heroes in person, but I read a social media post from Hani Almadhoun that he'd be coming through Portland after meeting with supporters in Corvallis. It was part of his day job as Senior Director of Philanthropy for the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestinian refugees (UNRWA) in Washington, DC, and I immediately asked if he'd have time for a quick interview. He graciously agreed.

We met in early June at a Syrian café, Shami, across from Mt. Scott Community Center. Having only known him from his social media posts, I was surprised when a big guy in a green fleece jacket jumped up from a back table and introduced himself. The table was covered with UNRWA and Gaza Soup Kitchen t-shirts and tote bags—I'd neglected to wear my GSK shirt that day—and we were almost immediately joined by other supporters who shared plates of Syrian-style hummus, shawarma, kabobs and house-made lavash served by owner and chef Wael Elasady.

While his work with UNRWA is a full time gig, Hani spends much of his spare time raising funds for his passion project, the Gaza Soup Kitchen, as well as raising two young daughters with his wife at their home in Virginia. The Gaza Soup Kitchen was founded two years ago by Hani and his brother Mahmoud when Israel, with funding and weapons from the United States, began their bombing campaign bent on destroying Palestine and its people.

With much of the population displaced and the country's infrastructure flattened, Mahmoud and a few helpers gathered three large pots and some scavenged firewood from the bombed-out ruins around them and began cooking soup for their starving neighbors. Several months into the genocide, Mahmoud was assassinated by an Israeli drone. His family, including his parents, children and extended family, while devastated in the aftermath of the terrible loss, kept their cooking fires lit and their community fed.

Hani now spends much of his time outside of work for UNRWA raising funds to purchase the food that the soup kitchen prepares—as well as reminding the world on Facebook and Instagram that the people of Palestine are still standing despite the horrific efforts of the Israeli government to erase them. With 26 kitchens currently in operation all over Gaza, their crew—all of whom are paid for their work—also pack bags of groceries, including cleaning and sanitary products, for distribution to displaced families living in tents. They also run medical points for first aid, distribute clean water, prepare and distribute meals for patients in the few remaining hospitals, and run schools for displaced children.

In a recent post on Facebook, he wrote:

I sometimes ask myself: when this is over, what will I do? What are my hobbies? What does my mind reach for when it is not carrying this? I honestly do not know anymore. The anniversaries alone — if we are lucky enough to survive to them — come with videos we have to revisit, family members we have to miss all over again. There is no clean way through that.

It has been going on so long I cannot imagine the other side of it. The person who sells homes or writes code or makes your overpriced cup of coffee can burn out and step away. This is not a job I can leave. It is tied to everything I define myself by. A simple hello to my parents on the phone brings it all right back. If someone is not feeling well, I catch myself praying they will not need a medical evacuation that is not coming.

Some of these posts heal me. Some of them cost me something. But I feel a fundamental obligation to keep writing.

Not because I am not exhausted. I am.

But staying quiet is a privilege I do not have. If I tune out, this becomes background noise. And these are not statistics. These are my people.

So I keep writing. Not because it is easy. Because it is the bare minimum I owe to the people living through it.

Several months ago Hani also began writing a book that he described as telling not only the story of the Gaza Soup Kitchen but the stories of the people of Gaza from inside the community—the loss, the grief, the activism. "I figured that we should tell our own story, as well," he said.

I'm looking forward to reading it.

Photos by Hani Almadhoun and Gaza Soup Kitchen staff.

We go camping over the Fourth of July, ostensibly for our dogs who have been prone to become drooling, shivering messes if we stay in town and attempt to survive the "celebrations" of our fellow citizens that turn our normally quiet, tree-lined neighborhood into a booming, smoke-filled, fiery war zone.

Our favorite getaway spot is a small, primitive campground midway up Mt. Adams in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest. Called Paradise Creek, it's nestled in the deep old growth forest north of Carson, Washington, at the intersection of its namesake Paradise Creek and the Wind River. With no electrical hookups and rusty-but-potable water pumped from a creaky old-fashioned cast iron hand well pitcher pump, it (mostly) discourages the big rigs and generator-dependant types from rumbling through the tents and small trailers dotting the two loops. 

We realized on this trip that we've been camping there almost every year for the past 20 years with our tent and queen-sized air mattress—a step up from the backpacking tent with two zip-together down bags on insulated pads employed by our younger selves. We've gone through only two Coleman camp stoves if you don't count the white gas Coleman borrowed from my parents that had already survived 30 years of Bauer family campouts, and tents ranging from that first two-person LL Bean backpacking tent Dave had bought used from a college friend, to a Columbia Sportswear Bugaboo that Dave (at 6'4") could stand up in to our current "two-room" giant from REI that we've dubbed the Circus Tent.

We try to snag a non-reservable, first-come, first-serve site a couple of days before the holiday, preferably along the creek, and this year we lucked into a double site* set back from the road, enabling us to listen to the creek burbling along about 50 feet down a thin thread of trail opening onto a shady private "beach," perfectly suited to a couple of camp chairs and an afternoon spent reading.

Dave wanted to finish a couple of books he'd been trying to get through for awhile, and I'd brought along the relatively recent and well-reviewed "James," a retelling of Twain's Huck Finn from the perspective of the slave Jim, by Percival Everett, which Dave had read and gave the thumbs-up to. My first choice, however, was "Angle of Repose" by Wallace Stegner, a book I'd read ages ago and remembered liking despite its intimidating 600 pages. It got me on a Stegner kick back then, so I thought I'd give it a reread.

It turned out to be a perfect vacation book, at least for me, a story (and a writer's voice) you get immersed in without much effort, though it's not what I'd call a light summer read. Told from the perspective of a 1970s-era retired history professor, Lyman Ward, Stegner's incredible prose and well-crafted story follows Ward's attempt to understand and document his grandmother's story of moving from a privileged East Coast society to move out West to follow her husband's itinerant career as a mining engineer.

Like many writers whose work I admire, I found myself stunned by Stegner's ability to bring people alive on the page and gobsmacked at his descriptions of places and atmosphere. For example, his description of the relationship between a writer and his characters, real or imagined, as expressed through Lyman's struggle to see and experience Susan Ward's life from her perspective:

“There is another physical law that teases me, too: the Doppler Effect. The sound of anything coming at you- a train, say, or the future- has a higher pitch than the sound of the same thing going away. If you have perfect pitch and a head for mathematics you can compute the speed of the object by the interval between its arriving and departing sounds. I have neither perfect pitch nor a head for mathematics, and anyway who wants to compute the speed of history? Like all falling bodies, it constantly accelerates. But I would like to hear your life as you heard it, coming at you, instead of hearing it as I do, a somber sound of expectations reduced, desires blunted, hopes deferred or abandoned, chances lost, defeats accepted, griefs borne.”

It's no wonder it won the Pulitzer, and got me started on a Stegner jag.

Read other Camp Stories (with more here) from our years of tent camping in the Pacific Northwest, as well as our best hacks to make it easy and fun.

* Double sites, if you're not aware, are generally intended for two or more tents and, at $45 per night, cost more than single sites. (We also can't use our National Parks Senior Pass for double sites, which halves the cost per night of a regular site.) But honestly, considering what a room rate or rental house would run, it's more than worth it. 

In the Pacific Northwest, early summer and late spring can feel like fraternal twins. So much alike and yet, at the same time, so different. Just as you're ready to toss your hoodies and jeans into the bottom drawer of the dresser until you reluctantly dig them out again in the fall, a cool maritime front blows in from the coast causing the mercury to plummet 20 degrees.

In cases like that—and I'm not speaking hyperbolically, since today's 94 degrees is predicted to be a cool 75 tomorrow—it's wise to have a good soup recipe sequestered in your back pocket when the chillier of our early summer twins is in residence. Luckily for me, I found an extra jar of my favorite local kimchi hanging out in the back of the fridge (we're out of my homemade kimchi, a situation soon to be remedied in about a month when Napa cabbage is available at the farmers' market) along with a tub of local Ota tofu and just enough leftover roasted chicken to shred into it.

Oddly, in searching through recipes online, I came across one from Joanne Molinaro, aka The Korean Vegan, that called for black beans to be added to this most Korean of stews. Coincidentally I had just cooked up a big pot of those legumes and, since Joanne said it was okey-doke to add them, I did, though not only for the added fiber alone. Just two cups of beans added a pop of color and a bit of that bean-y texture that complemented the crunch of the fermented cabbage quite nicely. It might just be a combo I'll try in other dishes.

Kimchi Jjigae

1 Tbsp. sesame oil
2 Tbsp. gochugaru
1/2 c. diced onion
4 green onions, sliced crosswise into 1" pieces
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 medium-sized potato, chopped into 1/2" dice
2-3 c. Napa kimchi (cut into bite-sized pieces)
3 Tbsp. gochujang
2 Tbsp. soy sauce
1/2 c. water
4 c. stock (chicken or vegetable)
1 16-oz. block medium firm tofu, diced
2 c. cooked, drained black beans or 1 15-oz. can of black beans, drained
1-1 1/2 c. shredded chicken (optional)

Heat a Dutch oven or your favorite soup pot over medium heat, then add sesame oil until it shimmers. Add gochugaru and cook for about one minute, then add onion and sauté until onions begin to become translucent. Add green onions and garlic, stirring often to keep the gochugaru from sticking to the bottom of the pot.

Add potatoes, kimchi, and gochujang, stirring to combine. Add water and soy sauce, stir, then add stock. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low and simmer for 20 minutes. Add sliced tofu, black beans and shredded chicken, if using, return stew to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for 15 minutes. Serve with jasmine rice. Garnish with toasted sesame seeds, roasted unsalted peanuts or more finely sliced green onions if desired.

Early summer whets my appetite for what's to come in the Pacific Northwest: First to trickle in from our fields both cultivated and wild are the earliest greens—nettles, fiddleheads and fava tops among them—then comes asparagus, green garlic, early strawberries and the softest young lettuces, soon followed by the briefest appearance of our native, and much anticipated, Hood strawberries, along with fava beans, spinach, mustard greens and more exotic friends like agretti and komatsuna.

While local farmers are starting to worry about what's looking like a hot, dry summer requiring the trouble (and expense) of near-constant irrigating, the relatively mild spring was beneficial for getting a jump on planting, weeding and the growth of the tender seedlings that will be harvested later in the summer and fall. In his weekly newsletter to subscribers, my CSA farmer Aaron Nichols of Stoneboat Farm wrote:

"It's a mixed bag for the spring crops, some are coming on quick and very well (hello fava beans!) and others seem a bit behind (broccoli and cabbage) or are being very temperamental (we're looking at you radishes!).  A lot of things we plan to have for a few weeks are wrapping up in one or two this spring but, so far, it's been fine as other things are ahead of schedule.  I'm pretty worried for a hot summer but no point in borrowing that trouble now!"

This season always gets my juices flowing for preserving the freshness of summer. After gorging myself on fresh strawberries and shortcakes, I turned around and made three batches of strawberry jam to replenish our dwindled supply from last summer, and I'm already anxiously anticipating the raspberries, blackberries and plums that are on the way. (Check out my hack for perfect fruit jam.) The radishes that Aaron mentioned above went into four jars of simple pickled radishes for our taco Tuesdays, and soon cucumbers will be sliced into rounds and given the hot brine treatment as well!

I'll also be eagerly anticipating the Napa cabbage due to appear in our CSA share and at farmers' markets toward the end of the month, since we are desperately in need of kimchi made from my friend Denise's family recipe. And with cabbage season comes homemade sauerkraut to have with all the grilled things.

Let me know if you have any favorite recipes for preserving the best of what's in season this summer and I'll do a follow-up post on what I learn. Let's share!