mazama girl

“I know that one revived rural community would be more convincing and more encouraging than all the government and university programs of the last fifty years, and I think it would be the beginning of the renewal of our country, for the renewal of rural communities ultimately implies the renewal of urban ones.”

– Wendell Berry, “The Work of Local Culture”

Here’s a recent article on the Ethicurean website by Steph Larsen on the relationship between viable farming and healthcare costs. The article includes a health care reform petition you can sign, from the Center for Rural Affairs.

On January 2nd we took a spin around Big Valley with Hector, my husband; Marina, our daughter; Oso, our dog and Ruth, our friend who has three beautiful dogs: Tonka, Winter and Brooke. Tonka’s won all kinds of Berner championships, Winter is 10 and has all kinds of nicknames like, “the governer,” and “the ambassador” because he’s just so…stately. Brooke is a black Newfoundland who loves the snow as much as her “brothers.”

Ruth taught us how to train Oso to pull Marina on a sled last year–Berners were raised to pull milk carts–so we took the lot of them over to Big Valley, one of the MVSTA’s dog-friendly trails.

Big Valley is a 1,164-acre, beautiful, open-space piece of land located about five miles north of Winthrop. It was purchased for riparian habitat protection and provides a migratory path for deer and other animals. It’s also an important agricultural land parcel, providing alfalfa and cereal grains for folks in the valley. I think Big Valley is a lovely metaphor for the entire valley; an example of how land can be shared, used and enjoyed by native inhabitants (animals) and us newcomers.

When we left the house it was warm and sunny but by the time we figured out all the logistics of which dogs rode best together, gear, clothes, harnesses, food, hardware and transportation, the wind pick up. By the time we reached the trailhead, snow bombs started dropping from the trees and flying sideways in midflight, making the parking lot antics even more exciting.

Ruth patiently got all the dogs equipped and helped hook Oso up to the sled. Oso was a little rusty–he hadn’t pulled since last year–so he laid in the snow while Hector hooked him up and got tangled a few times before figuring out that the best thing to do is head straight ahead.

Soon he was pulling Marina while the other dogs trotted along. Winter was “trail sweep,” always looking back to make sure we all stuck together. Tonka wore a whiskey flask under his chin and looked quite handsome. Brooke wore bells so there was a bouncing, chiming, New Year’s kinda vibe as we made our way across the flat expanse.

Marina took a nap inside the sled. Oso and Tonka swapped sledding chores. Brooke looked for opportunities to lie down.

We skied for a bit, taking turns taking pictures of the dogs and the landscape. A storm front was moving in so north of the valley had turned dark grey while the south held onto the last of the sunlight. On the way back it started to snow. I watched snowflakes spiral down as we loaded up dogs and gear. Another day of short light.

All in all, it was a good way to start out the New Year.

Postscript: a recent editorial by Wes Jackson and Wendell Berry about the importance of saving ag land.

After a productive summer season making all kinds of culinary
products, this Mazama Girl hydrating salt rub was a fun product to
develop. Since winter is the perfect time to reign in all that
food-making energy and move on to other things, I spent a good 100
hours researching salts, oils and natural remedies for tired bodies. The name comes from a nordic ski trail here in Mazama.

In winter there’s no canning to be done in the valley (unless you’re
still making applesauce or pear butter). Days are short; plants are
resting. In my family it’s all about nordic skiing, kids’ ski team,
downhill skiing, ice climbing, ice skating, snowshoeing and
skiing/walking with the dog. It’s about going inward (but not too far),
being around people, and making sure I spend time outside while there’s
light.

My favorite skate-ski trail, the 10K Loop, starts at the Mazama store
and goes along the Methow River before heading into the woods, climbing
up on the east side of the valley (with great views of the upper
valley) and ending back down at the store after an all-out flat section
through a meadow. Mazama Girl’s 10K Natural Sea Salt Rub was inspired
by the feeling I get when I finish this trail: tired, sweaty, ready for
a soak and a nice dinner.

I took a spin around the 10K three days ago–my first ski of the season–and actually felt pretty good at the end!

That morning, the 27th, there was a “ski rodeo” in Mazama with kids
and adults racing against each others’ fastest time. The 10K is the
adults’ course.

I got on the trail around 4 PM, after the crowds, signs, tents and
great energy had disappeared. It took me twice as long to finish as the
average racer. I stopped at the river, listened to the quiet gurgling
and thought about the torrent of water in spring. I stopped at the
midpoint of a bridge and looked at the blanket of snow covering a
stream, erasing all evidence of moving water. I stopped to slow down my
breathing.

I took my time as the forest grew darker and fought off that feeling
you sometimes get when you know you’re in the backyard of a large
animal–in this case, cougars.  The lack of light erased the colors of
the landscape; the trees shifted to dark grey, then black, against the
white snow. As I made my way out of the forest and through the meadow,
I looked left and saw Venus low over the horizon, a soft glow through a
wisp of clouds. A fawn looked up then lowered its head, searching for
grass stubble. A grooming machine slowly churned down Goat Creek Road,
breaking the silence.

I finished to an audience of no one, skiing over a red, spray-painted finish line
in the snow. I took off my snow-covered skis and headed to my car. Venus, the two fawns, the groomer and I were alone, but together; momentarily aligned, pursuing everything and nothing.

Missy and Rick LeDuc hosted a “Christmas at the VERY End of the Road” party last Sunday at the Mazama Store. Mazama Girl was there and we had syrups, jelly, herb rubs, salt rubs and arnica balm for sale. Lost River Winery was there and I picked up a few more tips re: how to deal with strong tannins. Lisa Picklesheimer was there with her delicious handmade chocolate truffles; Blue Star Coffee was handing out caffeinated samples; Jenny Tissell was there too. She has Retro Pony, runs the  Old Farmhouse Gift Barn and makes beautiful silver jewelry, among other things.

Needless to say there was a lot of swapping going on. It was a lot like a neighborhood garage sale where you end up buying as much as you sell.

Missy did a great job and passed out baked goods and Beecher cheeses while wearing a Santa-inspired red apron with white trim.

We finally have snow on the ground so it really felt like we were ushering in winter as well as Christmas. This upcoming week is the shortest week of the year (in terms of daylight hours) and I am really feeling it. Unlike the city, where there’s streetlights and countless distractions, when it gets dark here in the valley, it gets really dark.

I find myself leaning toward any available light like a flower seeking the sun. Direct sunlight is like gold. Since the valley sits in a “nest’ of hills on all sides, the opportunity for direct light where I live is from about noon ’til 2:30. I am craving it.

I remind myself that both Vermeer and Van Gogh, who lived and painted in Holland, found beauty in all the shade and muted colors of a cold, often cloudy landscape. I look for colors in the clouds. Like last night, when I drove across the Rendevous to deliver syrup to Brooke’s place:

The day’s snow storm was clearing and the last of the light was a pink-and-blue wash of color, like when you load up your watercolor brush. Further up the valley, mist hovered over a steely grey Methow River; a bald eagle was feasting on a shockingly bright red deer carcass frozen into the snow. The eagle looked up, ready to take flight; his shoulders hunched over the deer like an old man reading a paper.

I contemplated heading further north to see if Early Winters Creek had turned glacier blue–a color you can only see when it’s truly cold.

My idea was vetoed. Marina, my daughter, wanted to go directly home to see a new SpongeBob Squarepants episode from Netflix. Something like, “SpongeWho WhatPants.” Fair enough…in fact it sounded good. Home. Candles. A pot roast. Staring out the kitchen window at a blanket of snow and watching it turn from white to pale blue to dark blue to black…

Yep, winter is good.

Our aronia berry (chokeberry) syrup is being sold in a beautiful gift basket created by Brooke Lucy/Bluebird Grain. The whole idea got started back in September when Lexi from Ancestree called and said she had heirloom aronia berries for sale and that Brooke needed syrup.

So, I bought 200 lbs. of berries, steam juiced them and turned them into syrup. It took a few test batches to get the recipe right (the tannins left my tongue feeling like the surface of the Mojave Desert) but I like the end results. It’s a deep, rich purple syrup, high in antioxidants and it is great on pancakes and stirred into plain yogurt. Like Elderberry Syrup (which is now sold out for this season), it makes a nice spritzer when mixed into sparkling water.

I think I may try a kombucha recipe…

Today we mixed up a couple of Mazama Girl-versions of herbal rubs for winter: Herbes de Mazama, a traditional blend with Washington-grown lavender that can be uses for meat, fish, root vegetables, soups and stews. Nothing beats coming home after long ski session like the smell of a slow-roasted chicken or simmering stew.

The second blend, Cutthroat Trout Herb Rub–which includes a traditional smoked salt used by Native American in the Pacific Northwest–is combined with herbs and cracked peppercorns. The Methow is the perfect place to stock up on Alaskan-caught wild halibut/salmon (thanks to Hank’s Market) or local cutthroat trout, stock them up like gold bars in the freezer, then grill them when the days are short and the snow is deep. (We shovel out a path to our grill in the winter.)

As an aside, I discovered another easy “recipe” today: aronia berry syrup in plain yogurt. The color is as rich and as vibrant as the taste. A deep red color with a tart, berry taste. You can add as much, or as little as you like. It got me thinking about aronia berry sorbet and ricotta pancakes with syrup…there’s more product testing to do!

Elizabeth is the other “half” of Mazama Girl and she has a wonderful, nomadic spirit. She’s been in the Ojai/Santa Barbara area since September: working, visiting family and friends, and enjoying the Mediterranean-like climate, great hiking and still-bountiful farmers’ markets. Here’s a recent email from her for those who’d like to catch up:

Greetings,
Late fall is here, last night was the first chilling night in Ojai and I went out underdressed.  I wonder if the snow has stuck on the valley floor in the Methow and if anyone is still scrambling to get their firewood cut and stacked-if there is the cozy visual of smoke rising up out of the woods where the cabins are tucked.  I imagine steely grey afternoons over Lost River after a brisk hike up Monument Creek, dinner parties with friends.  Scarves, jackets, colorful hats, snow boots, and melting ice puddles next to the door. Then I can’t believe that I am in southern California, and I am cold; this makes me strangely aggravated with my unpreparedness now that I actually own a good jacket and wool socks.

I am more than thrilled to be returning to the Methow Valley for Christmas and wait in anxious anticipation for exploring new ski trails, the feeling of being bundled up, and dinner parties with friends.  Meanwhile, in the heat, every day I am trying to force my skin to peel a new layer to feel the Ojai underneath- calling out for the Ojai girl down there. It is a big effort.  I am frequently in these mountains sending a prayer, wanting to feel my place here-swimming naked in the rivers, sunning on sandstone, inhaling long breaths of yerba santa, sagbrush, bowing to the pink moments and moon rises.  Most of all, I practice thankfulness on the abundance at the farmers markets.  We are still putting grapes, persimmons, pomegranates, asian pears, greens, beans, carrots, peas, tomatoes, cilantro, melons, winter squash, and bouquets of flowers into our baskets.  I squeeze orange juice each day.

There is a fire in Montecito where I work.  I helped a friend evacuate.  We had just hiked up to Saddle Rock and the abandoned Hot Spring Hotel Thursday before the flames appeared on the hillside.  It was windy!! I thought on the way down how amazing that people invest so much in their gigantic mansions in a place where it could very likely be gone tomorrow.  Over 200 houses have burned in this fire.  It is a great reminder of what we really take with us.  I want to live every day vibrantly with intense love and appreciation of the nothingness I have but the abundance of my good fortune in friendships and ability of my body.

We left Santa Barbara with sore lungs on Friday to escape the smoke and headed to Matilija Canyon to get naked on the rocks.  I swam and floated in that river.  I lay down in the waterslide, stuck to the soft moss and let the river tug at my skin pulling away at the remaining resisting layers attached to my body.  There is a strong urge to shed, clear the way. Then I proceeded to dry off in the warm November sun while eating slowly seed by seed, a pomegranate from our tree.  I imagined Persephone entering the underworld (winter). I love pomegranates the best out of all of the earth’s fruits.  I ate each jewel greedily and tried overly hard to be transformed- as if it were a portal into knowing these mountains and remembering my seat amongst them again.  I don’t think it worked; nonetheless it was a nourishing day.

Elizabeth

We’re pretty excited about our new aronia berry (chokeberry) syrup. When we introduce this deep, red syrup to retailers and taste testers, the first question asked was, “What is an aronia berry?”

Aronia berries have the highest antioxidant contents of any known fruit. When measured on the ORAC (Oxygen Radical Absorbance Capacity) antioxidant scale it came in at 16,062. By comparison (from the USDA/2007), here are how other foods measured up:

    Cranberry           9584
    Blueberry           6552
    Plum                6259
    Blackberry          5347
    Raspberry           4882
    Strawberry          3577
    Cherry              3365
    Apple               3082
    Pear                2941
    Avocado             1933
    Orange, navel       1819
    Peach               1814
    Tangerine           1620
    Grape, red          1260
    Grapefruit          1238
    Kiwifruit           1210
    Grape, green        1118
    Apricot             1115
    Mango               1002
    Banana               879
    Nectarine            750
    Pineapple            562
    Honeydew             241
    Watermelon           142

Not surprisingly, Native American included aronia berries in their diet for hundreds of years.

Our aronia berry syrup comes from berries grown up in the Twisp River area and it can be used for pancakes, drizzed over yogurt and ice cream or taken as a daily tonic.

This weekend was all about preparing for the blankets of snow that will once again turn Mazama into nordic skiing paradise. For those of us who live here, snow is a double-edge sword. It means that every day we can ski but it also means that dinner conversations with friends (like the one we had last night) revolves around which snowblower lasts the longest, how many years would it take to recoup the cost of a blower (vs. money spent on snow removal service) and who is going to buck the system and try the (possible but Herculean) task of shoveling out their driveway by hand.

It’s a time when you plan ahead, even though you strive to live in the moment. Maybe our bodies are conditioned to go through this yearly upheaval of thoughts and actions? Just like lakes that recycle nutrients from the bottom when the water temperature inverts; salmon–fat from years of ocean living– somehow find their way through hundreds of miles of the Columbia River system to lay eggs in the small river bed where they were born, and trees drop their leaves to pull energy inward. Fall is a time to pull energy back into ourselves and store it until spring.

For my husband and me, it meant that this weekend was spent chainsawing trees, bucking up rounds, limbing, burning twigs and stumps and splitting wood into cords that we hope will last through April. If we waited any longer it could mean doing this work with snow on the ground and logs sealed tight into frozen ground.

This weekend the weather was perfect for all this work: low clouds hugged the foothills of the Cascades and a light rain kept the ground glistening with water so any red-hot embers from our slash pile would turn to grey ash.

I took a break from log splitting and took stock of our pantry. I did a quick inventory of what I had canned since spring. There were Bing cherries in light syrup for pies; marachino cherries (without the weird dyes and flavors); raspberry, cherry, blackcap, pie cherry, strawberry and blueberry jam; peaches and apricots (for breakfast with yogurt or dinner with ice cream); crab apple and elderberry jelly; dilled beans; sweet and dill pickles; pickled jalapenos (for nacho night); a variety of chutneys; applesauce; beets with currents, and lots of aronia berry and elderberry juice.

This year my husband and I built a house (as in we were the ones swinging the hammers) while both working full time (oh yeah, and starting Mazama Girl!) so our pantry looked a little thin. I had missed out on waves of fruits and vegetables that passed through the valley. It was torture to pass up boxes of organic fruit from Smallwood Farm, pesticide-free greens from Rubio’s Produce and Apple Otte’s incredible organic Lapin cherries as I drove up and down to valley on endless trips to the lumber yard and hardware store.

Still, it felt good to see about a half of what I normally put up; each batch of food stamped with a memory “watermark”: pie cherries picked from a friend’s tree during a blustery, spring rain while my daughter hung from the branches of the tree; organic peaches that were so ripe that the entire skin pulled off with a single tug and collapsed in a juicy heap into my hands; pickles made in Outward Bound’s kitchen while a late summer storm came through and the temperature dropped 20 degrees.

As I move, re-stack and brush off jars ranging from four ounces of lavender jelly to half gallons of pickles, turning each in the light to see the color and consistency, I realize that every batch is like a photo album of memories, which can make the food, ironically, hard to eat! But it makes my day when my daughter swoons over the sweetness of the fruit and remembers, too, when we picked the food and what kind of day it was and who was with us. And when she says on a cold January morning, “This is the best jam ever,” I know I’ll be out there again next year, harvesting again and putting it up for winter.