Unpunished No More

The car was sluggish to start when I ran to the store yesterday, but I thought little of it when I cut the ignition and ran my errands. But my heart beat a little harder in my chest when it did not turn over right away after my first stop. And then, when the back lift gate wouldn't open after my final stop, I was pretty worried, but, like a trooper, that Subaru engine roared to life after a click and a grind. There was beeping from the rear hatch all the short way home, and I knew that there was something to attend to, despite the lack of battery warning light on my dash.

I remembered how, late last Tuesday night, when we returned to the parking lot after the ball game, a couple of young men flagged us down. Their Subaru battery was dead, and they wondered if we would be so kind as to let them jump it. I willingly pulled over, and in just a few minutes, their car was running. "I'm glad we could help," I said when they thanked us.

"You know what's weird?" one of them told us as he coiled up the jumper cables. "The last time we were here there were some people in a Subaru and their battery was dead. We helped them then, and now we need it."

"I hope you're not paying that forward!" I laughed, and we were on our way.

Well...

They were.

All the Gadgets

We are having neighbors over for dinner and game night, and the occasion has offered the opportunity for me to use lots of my cooking toys. 

The main dish is pulled pork, but I sous-vided the dry-rubbed boneless butt for 24 hours, cooled it in the bag, crisped the outside in ta low oven for 3 hours oven, pulled the roast into tender chunks, and then used my new smoking gun to infuse the meat with hickory. I also used the insta-pot to cook up some of those Maine beans, and they are now simmering in ranchero sauce I made with Hatch peppers from my garden that I dehydrated. On the side is homemade sourdough sandwich bread baked in my lidded Pullman pan in the cast iron cloche I got for my birthday, as well as some pickled cabbage I fermented myself.

I think our guests will enjoy the food, but probably not quite as much as I enjoyed cooking it!

Painted Ponies

My first year of teaching coincided with a textbook adoption for English, and so one day during the pre-service week a custodian delivered several heavy boxes of books to my room.  Held within the light blue covers, was a reading book much like the ones I had had 20 years earlier when I was in sixth grade. And although there was something in me that wanted to just open that teacher edition and read the script like my teachers had always done, I was a student of "whole language" and believed with all my professional heart that students learned by immersion and engagement in authentic reading and writing experiences. It was my role to provide such situations and coach each student as she or he uncovered the meaning in the transaction between themselves and the text.

To be honest? Despite the edu-jargon, I still think learning works mostly in that way. A teacher can give lots of information and support, both directly and on demand, but the students make their own meaning. And there are many ways to guide them to that understanding, which I know from 29 years in the biz. And that cliche that education is cyclical? 

Well, friends, a custodian is scheduled to deliver several heavy boxes to my classroom next week.

(Two days down, 198 to go!)

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.