Holding Out

 Our last meeting had ended and I was ready to bust out of school. "Let's go!" I said to Heidi around 2:45. "We can pretend it's still summer!"

Oh, we didn't leave right away. Even after our stuff was packed, there were so many friends and colleagues still to catch up with, but we did push open the heavy doors and step into the unbelievably beautiful August afternoon a little before 4. 

On the way out we ran into another teacher. "One is done!" he sang.

"Only a hundred and ninety-nine more to go!" I agreed.

And once we were home, we changed our clothes and walked the dog up to a nearby shopping center. I got groceries while Heidi and Lucy browsed in the craft store. Then we lugged a couple of heavy bags the mile back home. I put a dry rub on the pork butt and set up the sous vide. Our neighbors are coming over for game night on Saturday, and the recipe called for 24 hours in a 165 degree water bath.

I also stuffed a dozen squash blossoms that I picked the other day. By that time, I was slowing down a bit. Even though I wanted to ignore it, the truth was that we had spent 8 hours at school. We did get a little summer in, but? Vacation is definitely over.

Put Me in, Coach

We spent the second to last night of our summer vacation in the ballpark with friends. Sure, our home team has the worst record in baseball, but there are bright spots in this "rebuilding" year. Heidi loves the catcher, Keibert Ruiz, and I hear that there is some serious talent on the farm teams. Go Nats 2024!

As bad as they might be, the team gave the Cubs a run for their money last night. They got some hits and some homers, tied the game up three times and went eleven innings before completely collapsing. And the company was great! Our friends Mary and Matt joined us for the game, and we spent 4 hours chatting and cheering and playing ballpark games. 

In the early innings, Matt suggested a silly game based on the mugshot appearance on the jumbotron of the players at bat. "What are they being booked for?" he laughed. "Best answer wins!"

But the middle school teacher in all of us, plus the fact that most of the players looked like they could have been our students not too long ago, quickly shifted the game. "It's a yearbook photo," I noted. "What were their activities?"

Of course all the guys with soulful eyes loved English and published their poetry in the literary magazine. A couple of the guys were obviously in the AV club, some helped out in the library after school, others were on the announcements or in the play. One was a tennis star at the country club until someone put a Louisville Slugger in his hands.

Oh, we recognized a few their smirks, of course, and knew that some might need a little extra encouragement or support to find their way, but in the end? They were all good boys.

I think we might be ready to get back in the classroom.

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."