Pockets of sunshine: Winter Honey

I'm a big fan of summer, sunshine, warmth and long days. Any of you who know me or who have read BLF will know just that. So it comes as no surprise to know just how much I dislike winter. Or at least I thought I did. Until this winter. It snowed last night and I bounded out of bed like a six year old, opened the curtains and beamed a smile across my face at the delight of roofs covered in heavy snow coats. Little sis' front windscreen of her car was iced over with magical bouquets of frosted flowers before she drove me home. As I dog sat yesterday, Rodger (honorary doggie nephew) and I sat on the floor and looked out the sliding glass door at the snowflakes falling, heavier and heavier. I love blue skies, crisp air, seeing my breath fog up, hot chocolate, baking, cold hands, warm hearts and days of watching movies and coloring in coloring books.

There are two slight problems with this outlook of winter. One, this is hardly ever the reality we are presented with in Ireland and two, most of these activities happen when my nieces, Little Miss Seven and Little Miss Four and Three Quarters, are home from where they live in Spain. I've always hated winters when it never stops raining, a grey dome of ominous cloud descends onto the horizon and fixes itself there for months on end. Apart from Christmas, everyone is giving out about the rain, the cold, the news, the government, the gym, anything really. It's pretty grim. It takes concerted effort to be cheery and positive with such a short amount of quality daylight hours or decent conversation. Then everyone gets the flu.

I wish I could be more charitable, more optimistic but I don't want to sugarcoat the situation either. It's when my nieces come to visit that everything changes. I change. Being positive, fun, creative and free spirited is just a natural way of living around them. When they're around for those few precious days, suddenly I'm filled with all these idea of things to do and crafts to make and colors to paint with and seeds to plant. It feels natural. I feel like myself and better yet, I feel valued. I've never been the Auntie that's been flush with cash. I don't bring them on shopping trips or buy them treats and their birthday and Christmas presents are never lavish or expensive. I simply want to spend time with them, listen to them, play and have fun. We make paper snowflakes and plant sunflower seeds.

Then last year, I started making food with them and they became my little kitchen and garden assistants. They would pick nasturtium flowers from the garden for salads or help me dig up some potatoes for dinner. We would pick elderflowers and we made elderflower cordial, raspberry smoothies and chocolate rice crispie buns. I do these things because it's a joy to spend time with them and because I want them to see the value of love, passion in what you do and sharing an experience. I often think they have such busy, active lives that even though they enjoy it, they forget once they go back to Spain. I was wrong.

In April last year I think (I can't even remember fully), Little Miss Seven was sick with a bad cold. She was had a bad case of the sniffles and just not feeling great. I made her a honey and lemon drink I swear by and she latched onto it and said she wanted to make it next time she was home. I said sure, she got better and I didn't think of it. Just after Christmas, they were back visiting and we were doing coloring in and having a relaxing day after the madness of Santa and birthdays and cousin overload. "I don't feel good", said Little Miss Seven. "Can we make some of that magic honey, the one we made the last time with the lemon?". "Do you really remember making that?" I asked. Then Little Miss Seven spent the next five minutes telling me every detail of the drink and how great it was and how it tasted magic and...and...and.

It's almost two months since I wrote my post about Portugal and feeling lost and needing to reach out. There are times in our lives when we doubt ourselves, our value, our role. Sometimes I think about how when Big Sis was my age she was already married with a house. I'm nowhere near that but these last two months have taught me an immense amount about myself and finding my place. I understand myself so much more, see the relationships in my life and value myself, my personality and what I have to give. In among this journey I've been on the knowing myself and believing in myself and my dreams, I have, like I'm sure everyone does, stumbled a few times. Enthusiasm and love and valuing memories of 'Magic Honey' from Little Miss Seven and Little Miss Four and Three Quarters bursts my heart wide open anytime I'm becoming shy or unsure. Their love and bare-faced, honest understanding of me makes everything better.

The three of us sat and made the magic honey until Little Miss Seven thought it would be better to rename it 'Winter Honey' because that's the real time you should use it. Little Miss Seven a.k.a Little Miss Practical. She thinks of everything. We got sticky fingers, let lemon juice run down the side of the chopping board, tried peeling ginger, stuck fingers into jars, smashed lemon pieces, smelled the winter honey, put about ten teaspoons into our mouths and collectively said 'mmmmmmmmmmmm' about a million times.

These nieces of mine are one in a million. They are my pockets of sunshine on a rainy day and their last trip to see us over Christmas was the magic in the winter honey. They got me dreaming again after my two month rest and now I've got some big dreams coming up that are about to become reality. Because just like they know I believe they can do anything in the world, they think I can too.

Winter Honey: Makes 2 small jars

Ingredients:
3 Organic unwaxed lemons
250 ml runny honey
50-70 g fresh ginger root-depending on your taste buds

2 small jars (this isn't an exact science so don't worry too much)
Optional: Cardamom seeds, cinnamon,

Method:
Make sure your jars and lids are clean and sterilized. Peel ginger and slice into thin circles, then again into thin strips. Slice lemons into thin circles and then into small wedges (about the size of a finger nail). Layer the lemon and ginger alternately, packing tightly into the jar. When you reach the half way point, fill to that point with honey. Using a small spoon, move the ginger and lemon pieces slightly to fill any air gaps with honey. Repeat the layering until almost to the top then fill with honey. Make sure to leave about an inch or more at the top of the mixture. (If you're adding cardamom or cinnamon, add that in a little after each layer)

Seal with a lid and let rest for at least 24 hours. The honey pushed all the air out, which pressures the awesome vitamin C from the lemon and anti-inflammatory properties from the ginger out into the honey. To serve, boil a cup of water, add a heaped tablespoon of the mix into the cup and stir. Winter Honey! Magic!

Love is all you need: Ruby Red Juice

I used to think that love is all you need. Love was enough, would fix anything, transform, nurture, save and secure. Love conquered, rescued, nursed, took care, listened, asked and held. Love could envelop, wrapping you in cotton wool while setting you free at the same time. What a magical world love lived in.

As a kid, I thought these things because it's what princes did in cartoons and Fred Astaire did for Ginger Rogers. I'd watch the longing and the bliss play out on screen as she carried out all the tap shift moves he did, only backwards. As a teenager, I read books about protagonists searching for something in themselves, in their lives, overcoming battles in their world and in their minds and understood that it was love for their beliefs, for another, for their country or for themselves that drove them beyond fear and into courage. I listened to music that stirred feelings in my soul of the joy and pain that love caused in and out of daily routines, how it led to Bon Iver hiding away in a forest for a year only to burst out of the woods reborn with a new voice, pain and joy hand in hand. I listened to JJ Cale and BB King and Nina Simone, Fleetwood Mac and The Frames. They all taught me the shifting waves and tides that were inherent in the concept of love.

I understood, even then, that love wasn't as simple as two red curves dipping to a sharp, singular and well directed point at its end. It wasn't soft, precise perfection. Love had folds, curves, hidden angles and unexpected lulls. And love hurt. I knew that it hurt the most when it was unrequited. I clearly remember studying a Shakespearean sonnet at school, aged fourteen and learning the word, though I already knew what it meant. Unreturned, unloved, uncared for. It's what all those blues songs I listened to were ever about. It's all I ever worried about.

My definition of love was always manifold but my definition always pertained to my perspective. You see, my definition was everything I was willing to give a person I loved. I give everything of myself to those I love because I don't know any other way. It comes naturally to me to be that loving and caring. I feel empty when I don't. The problem is when I give so much to others to the point where they start to think my reserves are everlasting, that the love I have to give to friends, family and a partner are limitless, the reserve magically ongoing. So it came as a surprise to many when I would simply shudder, stall and stop, like a tired old van. Stop interacting, feeling, giving, loving. I'd gather my resources quickly so I could continue to support, care, listen and help so that they would all feel incredibly loved again.

I repeated this pattern because I was proud to be all about the love. So why was the one thing that I did naturally, with enthusiasm, pride and great energy, slowly but surely bringing me down? I've floated the idea around in my murky mind a lot in the last few years and always swam up to the surface, out of breath and without any answers. Until last week.

Writing my post last week, admitting to myself and everyone I love the true details of my depression and anxiety gave me the answers I was looking for to the great blue debate going on in my head. For so long, everything was about fear. Fear of unrequited love, misunderstanding, lost friendships, isolation and loneliness. By clicking the publish button, I challenged my biggest fear of all; telling people I loved the true extent of my problem. This act transformed and elevated the level of love I have in my life. Friends, family, workmates and travel buddies got in touch from near and far, publicly and privately to tell me how much they loved me. I received one message, call and text after another and two words shone through each and every message: brave and love.

And then I realised. I understood what had been bringing me down. I had been ignoring two basic needs: to admit to my friends how much their voicing of their love to me was important and how much I had neglected to love and appreciate myself. I would listen to the black king on his throne residing in my mind; the voice of unreasonable and cruel reasoning who told me no matter how much love I sent out, it would be unrequited. No matter how much I created, it wouldn't be good enough. No matter how much I cared, it wouldn't make a difference and no matter how much I tried to truly believe that I was worthy, loved, appreciated, cared for and unique, I was not good enough.

There is no way that I would ever speak to another person I love the way I allow that voice to speak to me. I would defend a loved one with my life if another spoke to them in that way, with those words and those sentiments. So why would I not encourage such praise and love and respect to be directed at me? Why would I not put the same thought, energy and care into myself and the unique person I am? Why wouldn't I just be myself?

The beautiful words of love I received from all over kick-started something unexpected. I'd like to get to know myself again, to learn what animates me, makes me smile, sing and create. I'd like to become friends with myself. Love is not just about prince charming or your passions. Each love quote is not about the other man or woman in your life. It starts with you. I don't think it's about finding a man I can lose myself in when I look into his eyes for a sense of recognition, understanding and acceptance. It's about looking at myself in the mirror and recognizing and embracing the person looking back at me. The black and the white. The dark and the light.

Today's recipe is about embracing that love. Beetroot looks like a forbidding, hard and unwelcoming vegetable but when eaten fresh, it has the most beautiful and earthly sweet and fragrant taste. The juice always looks so vibrant and energizing. It's like the perfect mix of masculine sturdiness and feminine vibrancy. Before the frost arrived, I dug up the last of my beetroot from the garden. Dark, rustic, ruby red, covered in wholesome clay, all the growth and energy that they had absorbed from the damp clay and the sunshine of the summer was captured in each round. I made this juice to capture the last of the autumn and to remember that energy comes from the sun and the air but also from below the surface, in the darkness and when mixed, the combination is vibrant and electric. Something to remember.

Ingredients:
Serves 2
1 fresh beetroot
2 apples
1 large chunk fresh ginger
1 pear
1 lemon

Method:
Wash all the fruit, peel the beetroot and chop them into manageable sizes for your juicer. Juice, add ice, serve and relax.


To everyone that sent their love my way, thank you x

Change & Sunsets on a plate: Roasted Squash & Parsnip with Rice & Lentil mix

Change. It's all around. The only constant. Why then haven't we learnt to understand a way to live with it, to thrive with its presence, to figure it out?

It's been three weeks, almost four since I wrote about being held up in my little abode, munching on chocolate cookies and trying to keep the cold away. Such a lot has changed in three weeks. I think about the future constantly when I worry and what I'll do, if I'm closer to my goals of travelling, writing, photographing, farming, surfing, crafting. I wonder if I'll ever get there and then I stop. I stop and realize that the change I long for also entails a change that speeds past as I over-think. It's almost the end of March. December will arrive again and my plans for winter sun escapes and new experiences will be before me in no time. I'm detached from time but I'm also obsessed with it. It's like a wicked spell. The more I want it to hurry up so I can be on a farm by the sea, the faster time passes and I fall into a trap of losing precious time that runs concurrently to my fast paced thoughts.

I've given change a lot of the thought recently and my relationship to it. Last summer, someone asked me a simple but mind-opening question: "What it be like if you treated yourself with the love and care you would give to a child who'd had a difficult time?". I thought about what I would do. I'd bring the kid for walks in the park, on the beach, through fields and forests. I'd cook her whatever she wanted while at the same time making delicious, colourful, seasonal food. I'd dish up her dishes like she was at a restaurant so that she would feel as though she were special. I'd make her mornings stress free. I'd create a warm home, a sanctuary of a room where she could think through her thoughts calmly, creatively, with freedom. I'd listen to everything she had to say; her worries, dreams, current concerns. I'd bring her to the movies, invite her friends over, create fun drawings and sketches, take photos, plant vegetables, dig soil, collect feathers, knit, sing and make her hot chocolate when it was cold.

I'd still make sure to pay the bills, earn some money to take care of both of us, put out the bins every second week, remember her appointments but the priority would be to help her feel happy, relaxed and creative in the now and to learn that change happens everyday but that was nothing to fear, that was all part of the natural cycle of things, like seasons, tides and cycles of the moon.

It's strange how city life can take over, blanket the carefree, simple wants of a creative soul. When I first arrived here, I thought it would be temporary. Get a job, save and then head off, moving from one warm farm by the sea to another. Then I stayed, spent my money, got caught up, got impatient, prioritized the little stuff of bills and treats. I started to forget about what adults call the little things but actually they are the most important. Connection with nature, free time, creativity, love, friendship.

Some mornings I wake up and stare out my new back garden in wonderment and awe at its beauty and all the plans I have to give it my time and love and energy. Then I come home after work and the spirit is gone. Other mornings I think I could happily stay here for years, grow into the house, maybe meet someone to share this little place with. Then I start making lists and sketches of places I want to travel to in flip flops and sunburnt shoulders next February. It's a battle with change and I'm starting to learn, a futile one.

A friend told me this morning that she'd seen my ex, spoken with him, that he looked the same as always, tall and strong, happy, healthy, that it was good to see him. It's been a year and a half since we broke up and five months since we last saw each other and spoke and yet I wanted to puke as I tried to smile and asked "Wow. How is he?". I would struggle to utter his name. Some change is easier than others. I'm not in love with him anymore and haven't been for a long time and yet the fear of bumping into him, of hearing his voice, of knowing anything about him, hurts. The heart doesn't forget, it seems.

Last weekend, a great friend told me that while she had lived in South Korea for eight months, she read my blog and was impressed with the honesty. She said we all go through the things I write about but that somehow me being honest and writing about what I'm going through makes her feel less worried about herself, feel less alone. Sometimes I write a blog post like this one and freak out. I worry how other people will think of me, what they'll say, how they'll react, how they'll judge me and how I write about what's going on and that the food, the photography sometimes comes secondary, even though it all links together.

Then I stop and think about that little girl that needs some help and not some judgement. I've had a rough few years but this morning I laughed my ass off as I read a text from a great friend. I sat in my cozy sitting room and ate warming porridge as I looked out my window and admired the progress of a full day spent in the garden yesterday. I shared a joke about companion planting with another great friend. We talked about planting out early. It felt like the most important thing to talk about all day and I was so happy that it was focused around growing. I cracked jokes with students in school and the sun was still up nearly two hours after finishing work. These are all expansive changes from last year. I'm proud of the changes I've made. I'm proud of how I've moved closer to myself. That's change too.

The idea now is to trust in change, accept that it exists and stay present no matter what that might involve. Looking back on my instagram account, I noticed how prevalent oranges and reds were, as though I needed those colors in my food and line of vision to keep me warm through winter.

These recipes celebrate how vibrant orange foods kept me warm, brought color into my kitchen and a smile to my face, like a sunset on a plate. Squash and parsnip are the neglected winter veggies often enough. They seem arduous to prepare and complicated to cook but when handled with care and a few tricks, they glow from a plate and warm your belly full of winter goodness. Celebrating the last of winter with this recipe feels right. Like I'm celebrating the now and embracing what it has to offer.

I hope my writing helps you, makes you think/laugh/sigh/any other emotion you want to feel. I hope the recipe helps you to reconnect with the season before it goes away and prepare for Spring this weekend. Thanks for reading.

Butternut Squash 
Ingredients:                                                        
I large butternut squash                                 
1 handful of fresh thyme                                 
2 Tbs Coconut oil melted                           
Salt and pepper to season                    
                                                           
                                                             
Parsnip  
Ingredients: 
4-6 Large parsnips       
2 tsp cumin seeds    
1 tsp coriander seeds
2 Tbs Coconut oil melted        
1 Tbs honey
salt and pepper to taste

Rice & Lentils 
Ingredients:
1 cup mixed red, black & white rice
1 cup puy lentils 
4 cups cold water

METHOD:
Preheat oven to 190 C. Slice squash into inch thick circular slices, leaving the seeds intact. Place on a baking sheet. Drizzle with oil, thyme, salt and pepper and place in oven and cook for 50-60 minutes, turning over half way. Peel parsnips and cut length ways into thick strips (like potato wedges). Place on a baking sheet and drizzle with oil, toss in cumin seeds, coriander seeds and salt and pepper. Leave the honey aside for the last five minutes. Cook for 40-50 minutes. At the last five minutes, when the parsnips are cooked through (skewer with a knife), toss the honey through and place back in for a final blast of heat.

For the rice and lentils, measure out the rice and puy and place into pot. Add cold water, place a lid on the pot and bring to the boil, then turn low and simmer for 40 minutes or until all the water has been evaporated. 

I served all these together with a quick dressing of 2 tbs olive oil and juice of half a lemon mixed through the rice. Bliss. Hope you enjoyed the writing and you make the most of the last few days of winter.

Cozy hot chocolate and cozy soil

Winter hue over the back garden

When I was a kid, I used to squat in the back garden, dig up soil and eat it. There is photographic evidence to prove it. Even in a suburban housing estate garden in a pretty dress, I was mucking up in the garden, getting delicious soil under my nails, smelling the chalky earthiness of the soil and delighting in the flowers and colours all around me.

That photo I'm talking about was taken when I was about two years old. Nearing twenty eight, I spent the day in the cold, in jeans and a pink hoodie , mucking about in the soil again. Icy cold hands, clay dipped nails and very probably smudges of winter soil across my face as I tried to keep my hair out of my eyes.

When I was a little girl, it was all about digging up the soil, making room, digging holes, moving muck from one tidy pile to another tidy pile, wheelbarrows and shovels. Things have changed. I have a lot more respect for the earth this time round. Ever since I was introduced to the no-dig idea and that worms are our friends, my outlook on soil, growing and weeding has been completely transformed.

No-dig is as straightforward as it sounds. The best of the soil is in the top layer. The better the soil, the better your veggies, fruits and herbs so it makes complete sense (to this adult version of the little girl) to look after it. Simply put, start following these steps and your garden will transform.
- Don't dig, let the worms do it for you.
- Worms are your friend, not foe. I'm going to write about them more on the blog but take some in
   your hand and realise they're not gross, they are the best little garden workers in the world
- Give your soil a rest-crop rotation and blankets in winter (more about this now)

Very happy, mulched raised beds

It's the strangest thing when you are used to maintaining a manicured lawn or seeing bare earth fields/raised beds in winter but covering over your soil in the winter months or when they are not being used as much in between crops is the best way to keep great soil. It literally, locks the nutrients into the soil and makes a cozy little space for your worms to do their hard work, breaking down the soil.

Sage, still growing

I spent two hours hoeing the weeds that had accumulated (due to neglect on my end) and collecting leaves that had gathered around the garden and outside the front of the house and simply layering it over the soil.

The leaves, dampened with the rain and with the help of the worms, turn into nutrient, carbon rich superfood or the top layer of your soil, making it easier to work with in spring and highly nutritious for your plants.

Best part? When Spring comes-NO WEEDING! The blanket of leaves acts as a barrier, stopping weeds from growing. It also protects the soil and roots from frost. An hour and a half of your life makes your whole year of planting and growing easier.

My little helper, even in winter

Now for the food.
What could be better after being out in the cold than hot chocolate?
I'm not talking about the sugar fuelled brown much you get in the supermarket. I'm talking delicious thick, cinnamon infused dark chocolate.

My sister and her boyfriend came over to say hello and were looking a bit fed up with the stormy weather we've had lately so I made this beauty:

 

Ingredients:
1 cup of milk (regular/almond/rice) per person
1 large bar dark 70% + chocolate (100 grams or 150 grams if you're looking for your chocolate fix)
1 cinnamon stick
2 tbsp. honey (or other sweetener such as acacia)

Optional marshmallows (they went for these straight away "because if you can't do it at Christmas when can you?")

Method:
Measure 1 cup of milk per person (I made 3 portions) and pour into saucepan with cinnamon stick
Grate the bar of chocolate into the milk and stir with whisk
Bring to a simmer and when  milk is heated through, add honey
Allow to bubble slightly so the milk froths
Put your marshmallows into hand warming mugs and pour hot chocolate over
Sip/Gulp/Devour your hot chocolate but make sure to enjoy every drop, right down to your toes.

Have a look out the window and look at your handy work.

 

Just in case you thought nothing grows in winter... :)