A while back while visiting Wayfayers’ Ale Society in Port Williams, Nova Scotia we were bestowed with a beer bread recipe from Colleen, one of the most personable, and delightful servers we have ever met. We came home that day with their Ruby Ale Irish Red (all of their beer is brewed on site), and the very best intentions to make her delicious bread.
But, we drank the beer, and misplaced the recipe. Read More
“Tell me, what is it that you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
This time last year I was in midst of facilitating a move across the country. Obsessively, I checked new real estate listings, made sure our favourites were still available while keeping a close eye on the market at home, looking for any clues about how the sale of our house would unfold. Read More
When I was a kid I hated getting up for the school bus. Especially in the winter. I would strategically set my alarm clock-radio ahead ten minutes, and allow for an excessive amount of snoozes. I’d begrudgingly get up at the last, possible moment when the red numbers began to climb to the end of the hour, precisely the time my bus would arrive.
The first time I went to Kenny’s house I saw the Pasta Queen, an old-fashioned pasta roller with a hand crank. It sat neatly on the counter, arranged with several cookbooks behind it. I was just getting to know him, and I knew he loved food, but we hadn’t even scratched the surface on his talents in the kitchen. I was awestruck that my burly, six-foot-two, handsome, tattooed boyfriend, owned, and operated a pasta making machine. Read More
Before we packed up our life to come here I felt an intensity comparable to waiting in line for my very first rollercoaster ride. There I was, I had made up my mind that I was finally going to do it, but alas, I was 587th in line on the hottest day of the year. I was definitely tall enough to get on the ride, and had spent most of my life, since being tall enough, trying to avoid that very situation. After a handful of hopeless and horrifying ordeals on ordinary fair-spinny-rides I had written off all amusement rides indefinitely. Fear or not, something finally assembled itself within me and brought me to the back of that far-reaching line. Waiting. The heat amplified by the asphalt, rose up from my feet and sweltered around my overwrought brain.
I spend an abundance of my time looking up at the sky. At the end of each day is a collection of moments where I paused and admired the dynamic atmosphere above, and obliged to it’s grounding prophecy. The speed at which the harvest clouds travel across the sky, the way the sun says goodbye everyday, the bounty of constellations that scatter themselves ubiquitously, and everything in between. I am in awe.
Our little chicken barn is in rough shape. There’s a hole in the roof, the outside siding has seen better days, and the door may open and close one more time before it plummets off the hinges and crumbles. Before we moved in we concluded that we’d tear it down, and make use of the big barn for all of our farming needs. We weren’t going to need two barns anyway. It’s a bit of an eyesore.
My love… He builds stuff, he fixes stuff, he get’s up early to feed the cats in the morning, and he makes the best pizza. This is his tried and true recipe, and like all good recipes these measurements are approximate, because he just knows what to do. This recipe is the equivalent of Kenny’s favourite fishing spot, it’s his go-to, and ultimate crowd pleaser. Much like his love for catching the finest fish, he’s happy to share and teach his secrets to anyone wanting to learn.
My new life happens in two week blocks. Every other Friday is garbage day, and the day I bottle my kombucha. On that day Kenny and I marvel at how the time has gone by since the last garbage day and reflect on all the progress we’ve made, and the progress that we wished we would have made in the past two weeks.