I dream of pruning

When I was 10 years old, my family - having recently purchased a brand new computer with a colour monitor - got hooked on Tetris. For the first week, before the novelty had worn off, we played it nonstop. My parents included. But I think that deep down we all felt a built guilty about this new addiction. As such, my most distinct memory of that phase is not of playing the game, but of a conversation over dinner one night. It started with a sheepish question:
"Does anyone else...see Tetris pieces when they close their eyes to go to sleep at night?"

Silence. Should we admit that Tetris has indeed taken over our subconscious minds?

"YES!!!" the rest of us replied in unison. We spent the rest of the meal comparing notes and laughing at how Tetris had burrowed itself into our brains.

Late last week Josh and I arrived at Gatzke Orchards. Last stop before the big trek back to Ontario. Our mission? Pruning fruit trees. I bet you can see where this is heading. 

As it turns out, pruning is kind of an art that engages one both physically and mentally. To prune well, you have to think 6 months ahead to how the tree will react in summer to a cut right now. With each cut you are deciding where fruit will grow and where new branches will form, all the while decluttering the tree so that every part gets enough sun and rain to flourish. Like Tetris, there is a rythmn to it. As you make one cut, you are scanning for the next.

Sure enough, as I laid my tired head down to go to sleep at the end of Day One, I started pruning in my mind.  I didn't even realize it was happening until I heard a whisper come from beside me.
"Are you cutting trees right now?" 

"Yup."

Wordless Wednesday: Christmas Vacation

From Scratch

I was a notoriously picky eater. Growing up, I mainly preferred foods that were beige: grilled cheese, pasta (no sauce), popcorn, chicken. I didn't like tomatoes until I was 18. I have come a long way from those days, but Norah, who lived with me through four years of University, likes to remind me of my dinner rotation back in school: kraft dinner, grilled cheese, bacon sandwich. Repeat.

So when I announced almost a year ago that I was going to quit my job to go on a food and farming adventure, to those who have known me for a long time, it seemed like a stretch. I remember having a conversation with a friend who was surprised at this new direction. "What kind of food do you like cooking?"she asked. I felt like a grand answer was in order. After all, I was leaving a full-time job at an organization that I loved to dive into the world of food and apprentice at a restaurant-farm for six months. I scrambled. How to encompass this new-found love that had become so much more than just making dinner? French cuisine? Local?....pizza? There wasn't a genre, a country, a cookbook or a label that captured it.

I can't remember how I eventually answered her question, but I didn't manage to impress her. And so her question stayed with me, and I lived in fear that it would be asked of me again, before I had found the right answer.

Then one night, as I stood in the kitchen recreating my mom's French Onion Soup recipe, it came to me. The recipe was simple, but I wasn't satisfied with one of the ingredients on the list: 1 can of beef stock. It seemed silly to me that I should have to go to the grocery store to buy a can when I had made or harvested everything else myself: the bread, the cheese, the onions. So I went to the butcher, bought bones, roasted them with veggies and made my own stock. And there was the answer. From scratch.  My interest in cooking had stemmed from a desire to do it all, from seed to table. Rather than having the industrial food system make my bread, my cheese, my stock, I wanted to experience the 'inconvenience' and learn how to do it myself.

In light of less farming and more fooding lately, here is a visual report on my latest culinary adventures...from scratch. Incidentally, they are all beige.

Croissants

 French onion soup

Pasta

Vanilla ice cream

Be Prepared for the Unexpected

This was the sign that I encountered about 500km into my christmas vacation road trip. Be prepared for the UNEXPECTED. Josh had decided that it was a good idea to go to the furthest possible point of Vancouver Island before leaving it forever, and here we were driving 35km/h down a rocky, pot-holed snowy logging road, heading towards Holberg. Two cracks in the windshield from flying rocks (one more to come), 60km - two hours - to go, and I was a nervous wreck. This sign did not help.

Holberg, the most northwesterly town on the island, is a sleepy ex-logging town that doesn't get much traffic. When Josh called the only hotel he could find listed on the internet, he asked "is this the Holberg Motel?" "it used to be" said the voice on the other end. But with the promise of a room and private fireworks show, all dreams of flying back to Ontario for the annual Carlson New Year's Bash were put to rest, and we hit the road.

The fireworks were a bust, but the hike to the coast the next day made the treacherous driving worth it. Seeing an untouched BC forest in person is nothing like what I have seen in pictures. You can't capture the feeling of being so small beside majestic trees and endless ocean on a camera. But what the hell, I'm going to show you anyways.

 Now that's determination. The middle tree is suspended in the air and its roots wrap around the bases of the trees next to it. Southern Ontario trees just don't have this kind of zest for life.

 Beach at the coast. You can't see it here but the waves were massive...they were coming from Japan after all.

 Where's Waldo shot. Classic.

 On the way home we helped ourselves to the logging machinery. The keys were literally still in the ignition. Josh chickened out of driving it, and has regretted that decision ever since.

This is a good 'full circle' shot. For most of september I picked cones from fir trees that were separated into seeds, sent to a greenhouse and planted. Once the seedlings are a year old they are planted in clearcuts like this one. 60 years later, they will be cut down again. 

 There were tree 'farms' in all stages of growth along the 90km of logging road. So next time you wipe your bum, you'll know where that paper came from. The bike is just there for artistic purposes.

 Sea Lions. These big guys were hanging out on a barge off the coast of Courtenay.

You have to look closely for this one. The beige spots are Elk bums. I was 10 seconds too late with my camera, but I swear there was a family of 6 hanging out on the side of the highway. They retreated just as we pulled up.