Another Year

Today was likely my last solitary morning in the garden for the summer. Even though it has been a disappointing growing season this year, it was with gratitude that I locked the gate behind me and set off for home with at least 10 pounds of tomatoes, peppers, okra, and squash blossoms. There will be plenty more, too, which I will dash in to pick after school or on a weekend afternoon, but for all practical purposes, my gardening is done for now.

I'll miss getting up, pulling on shorts and a tank top, making some coffee, and heading up that big hill to spend a couple hours weeding, watering,  and tending to the vegetables before the sun got too hot. Those mornings epitomize a slower, summer pace of life that is about to flip a switch. And although shepherding a hundred sixth graders through their education has its own appeals, I know there will be days when I dream of my garden.

A Verdict

 The Kennebunkport Beans were...

OK

First, I have never cooked with salt pork before, and it turns out there is a bit of a learning curve. The recipe called for a 3 x 5 inch piece, which I found excessive, so I cut that amount in three. I also cut up the salt pork, and it was only later that I realized I was supposed to just throw the whole index card sized piece into the bean pot, presumably to retrieve it later. Second, salt pork, soy sauce, AND olives? You can only imagine how salty those beans were. And finally, the flavors of lard and beef and beans did not really meld with the olives and soy sauce. 

The whole recipe seemed like a contrivance of late 60s, early 70s culinary fads, which is confusing, given the cook book of their provenance. A little more research into the history of the dish and that recipe definitely seems in order.

But, they definitely were not disgusting. Although I may never make them again, they were perfectly edible. And not only am I glad that I took the time to recreate the dish, I am looking forward to telling my Aunt Harriett all about it. I have some questions for her, too. Among them, Where did she get the recipe? What did she like about it? Why did she make it so often? I'm hoping her answers will open that window on the past just a little wider.

Even though Kennebunkport Beans will never become a regular in my kitchen rotation, I feel sure that they still have a lot more to give.

Bean There

I was sorting through a folder of recipes the other day when I came across a photocopy of a page in my Aunt Harriett's handwriting. The recipe was for Kennebunkport Beans. There were many things we loved about staying with Aunt Harriett, but those beans were a bane of any visit to her house when we were kids. 

Looking at the recipe, I could see what we objected to. I remembered the olives as an ingredient we found strange and disgusting, but the dish itself, with its salt pork, cubed beef, celery salt, and cheese is not very kid-friendly at all. Still, I was intrigued, and since we have been eating a lot of beans lately anyway, I added the ingredients to my shopping list. 

When we were kids, we never associated Kennebunkport with anything other than those awful beans. It took me many years of, first hearing about the Bush summer home in Maine, and then literally driving past the town for a dozen trips or more to Acadia National Park, to make the connection between one of my favorite states, Maine, with one of my least favorite childhood memories. 

At the end of our week up there this summer, my sister-in-law, Emily, and I stopped at a grocery store we hadn't been to yet, despite spending at least a hundred dollars a day to feed our party of eleven. On the bottom of one of the shelves in this small market where most of our fellow shoppers were neither tourists, nor wealthy summer residents, but rather real locals, Emily found an assortment of 2 pound ziplocks full of dried beans. "These look really good," she said. "Want to get them and split them to take home?" 

"Sure," I said, and examining the bags I saw that they were labeled Soldier Beans and Jacob's Cattle Beans. I had never heard of either, but they turned out to be heirloom varieties that have been grown in Maine for centuries. 

My research on beans, soldier, cattle, and Kennebunkport, turned up references to a vintage cook book, Good Maine Food. First published in 1947 by Maine author Kenneth Roberts' niece and secretary, Marjorie Mosser, the story goes that when Roberts published an article in The Saturday Evening Post about some of his favorite boyhood dishes, he began to receive hundreds of letters, many from fellow Mainers, about their favorite foods. Intrigued, Marjorie embarked on a writing project of her own. The final product, which intersperses Roberts’ comments and anecdotes with recipes and other how-tos has been described as "not just a cook book, it's a way of life. It tells you everything about cooking, working, farming, and hunting, in Maine," and "a must-own collection for any cook." Of course I ordered my used copy right away, since despite what those critics say, it is currently out of print.

Even though my cook book hasn’t been delivered yet, I was able to catch a glimpse of the recipe for Kennebunkport Beans on Google Books, and it is definitely the source my aunt was working from, although, like a game of telephone, recipes change a bit as they are shared from person to person. There is a bit of commentary in the book about what kind of beans to use. Neatly sidestepping a local controversy concerning proper bean usage, Mosser mentions soldier beans and yellow-eyed beans by name, but also gives permission for her readers to use any variety of bean they like.

It's soldier beans for me.

Good Deed Bad Deed

The pandemic has forced our dog walker to change her business model to make ends meet. In addition to walks, potty breaks, and trips to the dog park, she has added doggie day care and boarding to her services. At any given time, she might have between two and seven dogs at her house, including her own pair of mini-Aussies. She also is a SCUBA instructor and dive master, and occasionally her work in that field has her away for the weekend. Those times, she gets a friend or neighbor to look after whatever dogs she has, because she needs the money from both jobs.

Sometimes in the past year or so, when she has been in a bind, she has asked Heidi and me to stop by on a Saturday morning or afternoon and let the dogs out in her yard for some exercise and relief. I'm usually happy to help, although the dogs are often a little wild and anxious. As disconcerting as those circumstances can be to me, it bothers Heidi even more; she hates to see the dogs unhappy.

This weekend, it seems that all the other dog help fell through, and we were asked to let the dogs out a few times today and tomorrow, and feed them tonight. Making the job even harder was the fact that there were eleven (yes! ELEVEN) dogs staying at the house. We needed photos, descriptions, and feeding instructions to be able to care for them all.

We reluctantly agreed to help out, but today has been a very stressful day. Oh, Leo, Theo, Dory, Daisy, Brooklyn, Becket, Blue, Grady, Laika, Isla, and Harper are perfectly nice, but the guest dogs are away from their homes and families and their anxiety at being in an unfamiliar place ramps up with their excitement whenever we arrive. It's chaos, and as much as we want to be helpful and supportive, this situation doesn't fell right for us or the dogs.

Potato Potahto

We had just parked our car on the National Mall and were headed over to check out a couple of exhibits we had been talking about seeing all summer when a late model economy sedan rolled to a stop. The window slid down and a couple of about my age peered anxiously out. "Do you know where the parliament is?" the driver asked me in a thick accent.

I blinked. "The parliament?" I repeated.

"Yes! You know-- elections, Democrats, Republicans?" he elaborated.

"Oh!" I replied. "The Capitol?"

"Yes!" he nodded.

"Keep going straight," I gestured up Jefferson Drive. "You'll see it."

"How did you know what he meant?" Heidi asked.

"What else could it have been?" I shrugged. "He had the right idea."

Of Apples, Early Birds, and Worms

It's hard to believe that at this time next week, we will have completed our first day back at school. Teachers report next Thursday, even though the first day for students is not until a week from the following Monday. 

29 years ago, when I first started teaching, our preservice week was just that: we started the Monday before Labor Day and the kids came the Tuesday after that holiday. We weren't required to work on Friday of that weekend, either, but I usually did. Back then there never seemed like quite enough time to get ready, but maybe that was just me feeling unprepared.

Now, I can't decide if I think making us come back on Thursday and Friday is an act of kindness, or an act of unnecessary authority. Sure, there's plenty to accomplish in those seven work days before instruction begins, but there's also a lot of time to get it all done. Add to that an earlier opening date for students, for the past couple years, they have started the Monday before Labor Day, and it just kind of seems like my summer has been short-changed. 

But as early as August 18 seems to me, our first day is probably only going to get earlier for the next few years. We are scheduled to begin 18 days before Labor Day. This year, the holiday is September 5, but in 2025? If the pattern holds, they'll be calling teachers back on August 14!

I may just have to be enjoying my retirement by then.

The One Where I Try Not to Be a Wimp

I participated in another poetry workshop this afternoon. 

Even though it was offered free to anyone who heard about it, there were only 5 other people beside the poet and the coordinator from the museum. For me, that meant nowhere to hide. They asked us to keep our cameras on, and we were strongly encouraged to share our ideas and our writing, a situation I found very stressful. 

Of course I used my discomfort to empathize with my students when they are in a similar situation, especially one of my conception. I also used it to ask myself what the big deal was. I didn't know any of these folks, and they were super nice and very supportive. There were some amazing contributions from my fellow participants, and I learned a lot in an hour. 

Listening to the poetry they composed in 10 minutes humbled me, and it was constructive not to be the most accomplished writer in the room, an experience I usually only have when my writing group meets. (Since I spend most of my writing time with sixth graders and all!) 

There are still 2 more sessions, both on ekphrastic poetry inspired by the Reckoning: Protest. Defiance. Resilience exhibit at the National Museum of African American History and Culture, and I think I might be brave enough to do them both.