In Donata's Kitchen

Kitchen Notes and Midlife Ramblings from my Kitchen to Yours.

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  • Desperate For Dinner #1

    Desperate Tales from Harried Mothers at Dinnertime

    As told before, in posts past, I once drafted a cookbook titled “Desperate for Dinner”. When I was penning it I asked other parents I knew to give me a reflection of what dinnertime in their home might entail, or, a Desperate Tale of Dinnertime. Here are a few of my favorites:

    Working mother in Lake Stevens, WA

    I     am NOT a cook. I will do it, because I have to, but I don’t enjoy it and want to get it done as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, that means I try to take shortcuts (which you can do, IF you know what you are doing, but I don’t). So, usually I figure if it says something should be cooked on medium for 10 minutes, it could get done in 5 minutes if I put it on high.

    Consequently, my kids figure when they hear the smoke alarm, dinner is ready.

    FROM A DESPERATE MOM IN    GOLDENDALE, WA

    I was getting myself all dolled up for my 8th anniversary date with my prince charming. I preheated the oven for the kids: nuggets & fries. Then I attempted to iron. It had been so long since I had ironed it smelled like it was burning something, but it kept getting worse. By the time I ventured out the entire house was filled with smoke. One of my little angels had put a nerf/plastic soccerball in the oven and it was well done. At that moment I realized I was late to pick up my daughter from art class and ran out of the house with the kids leaving everything open to air out. When my mother-in-law arrived she saw everything open, a remnant of a ball in the oven & the kids and I gone. She thought I had blown my top and we would be the next media story, when I arrived back home. The kids went home with grandma and I went with my husband for a margarita!

    DESPERATE MOTHER IN                          LAKE STEVENS, WA

    Today my 17 year old daughter Casey asked me when I was going to go to the grocery store (which we all know doesn’t really mean when in time but instead-“dear God mother we are out of food!”) I said Why? And she said, “because there is nothing to eat-not even any milk.” So I said, being the nurturing mom that I am-“You, your brother and Kyle (the 18 year old living with us) all have jobs and could contribute a gallon of milk yourselves.”
    She was stumped by the absurdity of that answer.

    And then of course after working all day I heard her pitiful plea-went to the grocery store-loaded up on milk and a 100$ more of groceries to feed us all for another day- and when I got home and was putting the groceries away-there at the back of the fridge was a 1/2 gallon of milk. Out of food

    I just wrecked the kitchen….by making dinner. Hopefully, that teaches them all to quit asking, “What’s for dinner?” Tiffany

  • Chicken Parmesan and Garlicky Green Beans

    Once upon a time there was a young mother who cooked on a budget. She dreamed of the day when this would no longer be the case, and once she got there, she lost her waistline.

    With that said, Once Upon a Time I did draft a cookbook called Desperate for Dinner. This was when the desperate housewife thing was all the rage but the rest of us were trapped in Suburbia wondering what the hell we were going to make for dinner, with a limited budget of time and money to boot.

    It feels right for the times to share these simply delicious comfort meals and the tales of harried parenthood that went with them.

    So without further ado, here’s my method for making a 9×13 full of layered, baked, Chicken Parm, Garlicky Green Beans to go with it. Just note, I did not say the cookbook was good, nor edited.

    Desperate tales from desperate moms at dinner time are on future posts.

    Thank my daughter for the progress photos. She had asked for this recipe to make herself in her own home. I was happy to oblige.

    Super Simple Chicken Parmesan

    Thaw a pound of flash frozen chicken tenderloins

    Cook two pounds of your favorite pasta in boiling salted water until al dente; drain and set aside.

    Bread the chicken tenderloins in Italian seasoned bread crumbs and cook in a hot pan with a couple tablespoons of olive oil until firm.

    In a 9×13 pan, dump the noodles.  Place the tenderloins on top of the noodle layer.  

    Dump two jars (might be too much…it will depend on the mass of the noodles you’re using) of your favorite red pasta sauce over the chicken.

    Spread a pound of packaged grated mozzarella over the sauce.

    Sprinkle a cup of packaged grated parmesan over the mozzarella.

    Cover the pan with foil and bake at 400 degrees for about 20 minutes, uncover the pan and bake for another ten or until the cheese just starts to turn golden and everything is bubbly and hot.

    Garlicky Green Beans

    Blanch one pound of green beans in salted water to appease your family of 5.
    Sautee blanched green beans in 2 tablespoons butter until tender or crispy, the choice is up to you!
    Sprinkle with garlic salt to taste

    This method works for broccoli and asparagus, too!

  • And on the whole original sin thing

    while inspecting grief

    Today someone said

    We begin grieving the moment we take our first breath

    It made sense to me in this way

    That  maybe we begin to lose our innocence the moment we take our first breath

    Like the whole idea of Eden is just shattered once we leave the warm embrace of the amniotic sac

    Once we take our first gulp of air laden with fragments of scent and chemicals and impurity

    Maybe that’s what they meant by original sin

    Maybe we just interpreted that wrong

  • And more about Grief

    Random Thoughts

    And on grief

    Truth is, I grieve every time I eat. 

    I grieve for the person I could have been if I hadn’t eaten that. 

    The butter, the bread, the cheese.

    Fact is, I eat too much cheese.

    And sometimes it’s just good to stick to the facts.

    Stick to the facts, ma’am. 

    Just stick to the facts.

    Don’t wander off into the chicken stew and inspect this and dissect that. This isn’t a magic mirror ma’am. It’s not meant for your knowing, that knowing without knowing, any knowing outside of the facts.

    Memories pop at the surface. 

    Bubbled up from a gently boiling broth.

    Never just a slow simmer.

    Always prone to boiling over.

    Would a bigger pot help?

    No. Tried that. Just more to clean.

  • Summer, Summer, Summertime

    6c8d0089-e048-4372-bb5f-cc90ede70818-1

    And just like that, it was time for lavender, strawberries, and rose.

    And Roses
    And Sunflower Volunteers
    And Sunsets and new Adirondack Chairs
    And Thai Water Pots that I’ll use as planters.
    When it’s peas and raspberries for snacks, Summer is well under way.
    Cherry Season. Felt like it would never end!
    The Raspberry patch is overrun with thistle, but it’s producing marvelously
    Wood fire cherry tart was quite spectacular

  • The Liminal Space Between Mother and Crone=Grief

    Entry #16

    My home is empty now, a bereft nest. 

    As empty as my aging womb. 

    Rooms once full of life are now empty ruins. 

    knick knacks scattered on dusty furniture

    toppled over onto floors. 

    hanging plants, dead

    dust bunnies 

    little piles of dog hair 

    linger in the rooms

    a stagnant smell of old skin cells

    Stinky stale gym shoes 

    shuttered windows. 

    Polaroid pictures hang haphazardly on the wall. 

    Death comes to mind. 

    I grieve.

    The little deaths of motherhood are many. Little purple bodies leave your womb, and you 

    experience a grief so extreme that you writhe with a pain sharper than any from labor. 

    You accept the fact that this little being breathes on its own and may now act upon its own free 

    will. You set the baby in its  car seat, in the back seat, facing backward, away from you, and you grieve. Out of your room and into its own, you grieve. These children sneak into your bed in the wee hours of the morning escaping their fears, and then they don’t, and you grieve. They graduate from your arms to the floor, you grieve. The first time you drop them to kindergarten, then turn around to say something to them, then realize they aren’t in the car running errands with you, you grieve. 

    They come home from school talking and smelling like their teacher instead of you, you 

    grieve. You peek into their rooms on your way to bed just to see them one more time that day, their hands tucked under their heads, their elbows resting on the pillow, a dark fuzz at their pits, and you shake your head, re-adjusting your memories from past to the present, and you grieve. 

    They start dating, they express their sexuality, your own sense of self, along with your own sensuality slithers away, and you grieve. They graduate from high school, from college, you grieve.

    They move out, you grieve. 

    They move back in, you grieve. 

    They move out for good,you think, you hope, and you grieve.

    I thought I had prepared well for the empty rooms 

    the quiet dinners

    I grieve

    I am not yet Crone but I am no longer Mother

  • Reconciling a Simple Life

    Entry #15: And a look back at the very beginning

    ON this particular morning, it was August, and I wandered the gardens as I ate granola. I piled a parfait into a thrifted rose color vintage Arcoroc bowl. It was a cardamom scented granola layered with freshly plucked figs, plain yogurt, and a drizzle of honey infused with rose petals. The moment felt decadent. I felt complete. I felt grateful. I felt whole.

    I think I like this simple life, I thought, to myself. I didn’t speak it out loud this time, to the plants, as I usually would. I wasn’t looking for their feedback, this time.

    Long ago, and not so far away, a decision was made. My partner would go out into the big bad world to slay dragons, I would keep close to home and tend the hearth. For many years, most of the last 33 years, actually, I regretted this decision, wanting to assert my own authority out in the wider world, not honoring the value that I brought to the table of our little realm. What are you going to do once the kids are grown? Everyone asked. And I believed them.

    The search has led to a list of diverse experiences, the trying on of many hats, like I’m in search of some missing piece of me. As hard as I have tried I just couldn’t make anything outside of my chosen career of hearth keeper stick. And though it doesn’t seem fulfilling to most, I really have known what I’ve wanted to do all of this time. After I raised the children, I knew I would raise plants and I would write. Not just about the plants, but of my humble existence as hearth keeper, teen bride, mother, corporate wife. I would write of the confusion I feel as a hybridized American with northern and southern Italian blood crossing streams in my veins. I would write of my time volunteering in my community, the kids’ schools, their sports. And I would write of my long slow slog through academia in search of acronyms to pin behind my name. This effort just never seemed like a good answer to societal expectations, this sort of extended hearth keeping.

    But, now, as I am finally settling into my fifties, I can feel a shift. 

    Right at this moment (way back in August 0f 2024), I’m sitting next to my husband as he works. We’ve spent 33 years in union now. Practicing this version of life together. I am looking out at the open french doors at the view. I see over the river slough, over U.S. 2, and into the city of Everett. I can see the two of us, traversing the bridge there, what the locals call “the trestle”, on that fateful day, thirty-three years ago. I have such a vivid memory of lunch on that day: macaroni and cheese with a side salad of iceberg lettuce, cherry tomatoes, and cucumber, doused in ranch, with fries. He asked if I was done. Then he grabbed my hand, I caught a whiff of Gray Flannel. I appreciated the roughness of his hands, calloused from weight lifting. We escaped out the back door, raced over the speed bumps, and made our way out onto the safety of Cedar Street. We had an appointment to keep.

    I remember making our way back to school, a rainbow shone across the hill in front of us, the golden light of the sun shone behind us. It had rained. The landscape glowed an emerald green. We were cocooned in our Chariot, the little orange Datsun hatchback he had bought from his sister in law with the money he earned slinging hash browns at the local breakfast spot. What are we going to do? One of us asked. I looked at the little bag sitting on my lap, the storks of blue and pink dotted the exterior as little puffs of baby powder and formula drifted out from its middle. We’ll get married, he said. The clock glowed 11:11 as I laid my head in his lap. Keep on moving, keep on moving don’t stop, no, keep on moving droned on in the background.

    And, more to come, on that. 

  • preparing the hearth for the new year

    Entry #14: Missing Christmas a bit already; a look back on Christmas in the PNW

    I am reposting this from another publication I used to have online, I change platforms quite often, you see. I felt it worthy of re-posting simply because it’s a fun example of Christmas in the Northwest. And a good way for me to reminisce on the positive perspectives of the holiday season.

    I could really use another slice of Pannetone bout now. I want it so badly that I’m seriously considering whipping up a batch of my great grandma’s recipe. It’s more dense and less eggy than the store bought variety, but it has the same buttery flavor hinted with anise and candied citrus. Other than the craving, I’m feeling quite pleased about having christmas nearly put away.  The big black boxes with yellow lids are hidden by the couch, away from view, waiting for the last stragglers of christmas stuffs to find their way into them before being stored away until next year.

    I enjoyed the month of December immensely. We filled it with all sorts of christmassy things, like cookie making days. My daughter stayed with me for a week and while she worked I decorated and cleaned and piddled in the kitchen. It was such a treat to have her here. We watched Christmas movies in the evening after I listened in on her conference calls. One night we met friends at Capers and Olives in Everett. It had been quite some time since I had been and had forgotten how delicious their dishes are. We loved the focaccia, the burrata, and every one of the pasta dishes on the menu, I think we had one of each by the time the table ordered. 

    We were able to take the ferry from Mukilteo to Whidbey Island and took my father in law out to dinner. He had his tree up and it looked so festive in his cabin. He drove us to Primo Bistro, a Whidbey must do, and it was a delight to see the christmas lights on the slow and winding road there. We bought him birthday dinner and partook in the fabulous wine selection there. We had lively conversation in the full restaurant, on a Monday, no less! The memorable foods there included a half chicken with polenta, and fried green chickpeas with sea salt.

    We went to  the Nutckracker Ballet and had Oysters and Chowder at the Taylor Shellfish Bar. We took a trip to Leavenworth in the snow snacking on S’more Cookies as we jingled our way over the snowy pass. While there we ate Sausages, had sausage soup, pretzels with beer cheese, and a pitcher of Dunkel. We thoroughly enjoyed our time walking under the festive lights with carollers in the background, the streets packed with people. 

     I did all sorts of present purchasing and wrapping, attempting to purchase everything locally, after cancelling my Amazon accounts. I started my christmas shopping at Christianson’s Nursery, they have a really wonderful gift selection. It happened to me their christmas market the day that I visited there. Ashley Rodrigues was there signing her books, Rooted Kitchen and Field Notes from a Fungi Forager. I was today years old when I realized that she is the author of one of my long time favorite blogs, Not Without Salt (and are we supposed italicize, underline, or put titles of things in quotes, or does it matter what kind of title it is, because I think I’ve forgotten, or perhaps it has changed over time, at any rate, I still can’t remember) and she now writes at Rooted Living where you can subscribe to her Newsletter, “Fireside”. 

    I was able to stop at the Bellingham Farmer’s Market to purchase my favorite woven towels from Snowe Fine Handcrafts, I got one for nearly everyone on my list, and a handmade knife from Element Fe Knives. 

    I did take one trip to U-Village for the thrill and chaos of it, and a trip to Queen Mary’s Tea shop to purchase all of their holiday blends. I headed to Stowe’s in Sedro Woolley to look for clothes for the grandpas. Snohomish, though, was my focus. We are lucky to have shops here that offer gift worthy and practical things. Kasia’s Kitchen was one of my favorites this year. Common Goods another. Little Shop of Light and Potter and O’Malley’s were fun stops on the list. The new store, Le Menagerie, with its full sized Moulin Rouge display was a great place for purchasing ornaments and even stocking stuffers for my grand dog. The Snohomish Bakery always has something I need, and I stopped there to purchase gingerbread men kits and bread. I stopped by A Bit of Taste a couple of times in order to purchase salad dressing stuff and gift basket fillers, stocking stuffers too. 

    We hosted an early christmas for my parents and sisters and their offspring and their partners. We were only missing two couples from the whole batch. Everyone brought something for Brunch. We had ham, and fritattas, and bacon egg cups, and beautiful and delicious iced sugar cookies, and german treats from a sister and niece who had just toured the christmas markets there. We had mulled wine and spiked cider, mimosas, hazelnut liqueur, mom’s pannetone, diced fruit, greens, german sausages with mustard, chestnut soup from the german travelers (!!! so good) crescents, crockpot herbed potatoes, christmas tea, coffee, chocolate dipped peanut butter ritz crackers (they are ridiculously good), dad’s chex mix (god I love that stuff),  homemade rolls from a sister, and of course we had to have Italian Nougate candies, or Torrone, in their cute little boxes. We did a mug exchange which ended up being a great game in and of itself, and aside from one slightly inappropriate mug was a great way to include all ages in this fun exchange and stealing game. 

    I met a friend for Coffee at Legacy Coffee near my home, such a fabulous place to get food and drink and gifts alike. We traded gifts, she gave me an absolutely adorable spatula with a chicken on one side and the text, “one bad mother clucker”. She just happens to love Lavender. I had attempted to make her Lavender infused honey but it didn’t pack a punch. As luck would have it, amongst the flavorful christmas gifts at the coffee shop was a cute little bear full of lavender honey. Had to buy it!

    We made a Christmasy dinner for friends who were feeling robbed of christmassy vibes. We had a silly gift exchange where I was lucky enough to receive “Stressticles”, a stress ball resembling, well, the real thing. And they fell like the real thing, though slightly enlarged, and I made sure to throw em at anyone who looked a bit sullen during christmas festivities as a little stress relief. 

    I cooked Turkey and a Beef Wellington for Christmas eve, using my special holiday seasoning salt to flavor everything. This version of Holiday Salt included a bit of Cedar along with the usual Thyme, Sage, Bay, Fennel Pollen, Salt, and White Pepper it typically includes. (side note: this blend makes an excellent rub for Roast Chicken when a bit of Smoked Paprika and Garlic Powder are added). I gifted it to noone this year because I’ve visited far too many kitchens who have jars of this salt from many years past lingering at the back of their cupboards. I don’t keep it for anything special, I use it for literally everything.  I made those little potato stacks in a muffin tin sort of thing, called Crispy Potatoes or something like that a couple of times. I hear some people follow a recipe. I can’t. I’m allergic to recipes.  I made a Canlis salad one evening, a nostalgic favorite here in the Seattle area. And of course, we dressed so many greens in apple flavored white balsamic, hazelnut oil, salt and pepper, sometimes with goat cheese, sometimes with dried apricot, sometimes with fresh raspberries, sometimes with pine nuts, sometimes with candied hazelnuts, sometimes with walnuts, sometimes with diced apple. 

     We went to church, an Evangelical non-denominational sort of church.  I can’t remember the last time I went to church. But I do remember that I loved church on Christmas. My big Italian family used to converge at midnight mass, at St. Michael’s Church, where Karen Guzak lives and works now. It was like a dreamscape, getting to see cousins and my great grandma and my uncle jimmy on this magical night. My parents preferred to attend the Assemblies of God church. They always had a children’s program. I loved singing in that. And once I did a special piano solo, it was a beautiful rendition of Silent Night. I can’t find the sheet music now, but it must be in one of my sister’s piano benches. Maybe I’ll try to get it back. This time we went to my daughter in law’s father’s church. I enjoyed seeing he and his wife in their natural habitat, and appreciated the work they do with the underserved in their community.  It was fun to lift our voice in song with others, and fun to support her family. It added a soft balance to the evening, and I always so appreciate the beauty of the christmas story, of jesus and love and compassion, in its simplest form, even if I don’t agree with so many of the churches suggestions, but enough of that. 

    This evening I’m sitting in the waning light, enjoying the scent of aromatic candles. Enjoying an expansive view out of the wall of windows in front of me, now that the christmas trees aren’t hiding it. It feels fresh, and new. I’m slowly washing the floors, the hearth, the woodwork, and the sills with an olive oil and vinegar water scented with Lavender Oil. It feels as if I’m anointing my home as I do so. Preparing it for what comes next. A new year, new undertaking, new ways of thinking and operating in the world. After all, all living things renew after the deep slumber of winter.  It is the natural way of things.

  • National Fire Cider making day

    Entry #13: On the making and sharing of Fire Cider

    In 2023 I made Fire Cider for friends and family like this:

    Fire Cider 

    The great herbalist and wise woman Rosemary Gladstar coined the term Fire Cider in the early 1980’s. It became a widely used winter tonic for boosting immunity and killing viruses for the herbally conscious. The original recipe was given for free. In 2012 a large company invested in making ACV tonics wanted to manufacture it, bottle it, and trademark the name. An uprising ensued. Fire Cider should remain a tradition, not a trademark, the herbalists said. I was lucky to be a part of the insurgence against trademarking. I gathered with local herbalists in solidarity in November of 2012 where we convened in the kitchen of a local herb farmer to make batches of fire cider together, posting our efforts on social media. By 2019, through a series of contentious legal battles, the term Fire Cider was ruled generic and no company holds the trademark. February 2nd, for reasons I can’t quite confirm, (is this the day the legal battle was settled for fire cider? no, that was finally decided on October 2019) is now deemed World Fire Cider Day. I still make mine in the autumn so that it is steeped well by flu season!

    I have recently learned that the Amish make a remedy very similar to this remedy. They call it Super Tonic. Records show that this concoction has been an important part of their apothecaries since the 1880s. It is said that families passed the bottle around at dinnertime taking a tablespoonful each winter evening keeping their families virus free. They get together and make their remedy in the fall, steeping it for 6 months before decanting. They make enough to last a whole year. What a wonderful healing tradition to partake of together!

    This year I did as I typically do, I like to make my fire cider in the fall, when an abundance of garlic and onion are ready. I dug up my horse radish roots in the moist soil of autumn, appreciating the hummus created within its wild root tendrils as the soil has had time to compost the dead foliage of summer’s leaves.

    I made my Fire Cider in the middle of October. I do believe it is the prettiest batch of Fire Cider I’ve made to date. I keep my Fire Cider very herb forward. I’ve used what the garden had to give this year: horseradish, thyme, sage, oregano, marjoram, garlic, purple cayenne chilis. I purchased locally what I didn’t have myself. The raw apple cider vinegar (ACV) is made with apples grown in the Snohomish River Valley, made and bottled in Maltby, from the Maltby Produce Market. I used their onions too. The Ginger came from I don’t know where, but it was plump and moist and smelled oh so fresh.

    I have made Fire Cider since 2009, in time for my children to trust the use of it to aid their immune system through the cold and flu season. I would keep our brew in a crystal decanter on the counter top and they would pour themselves a shot as soon as they felt the sniffles come on, or after being in a group of kids with the sniffles. It’s not exactly a pleasant experience to chug a shot of this potent elixir, but the benefits far outweigh the risks. Do note, that it will definitely engage your digestive system into action. 

    Take fire cider as a straight shot, or take a tablespoon or two. Mix a tablespoon or two into hot water. Or mix your tablespoon with a bit of honey. Imbibe a few times a day until you’re feeling your body is in the clear. Stop using it if it causes stomach upset, of course.

    Sometimes I make Fire Cider like this:

    This year’s fire cider, 2022

    Strong horse radish just out of the garden

    Ginger

    Garlic

    Onion

    Jalapenos

    Lemon

    Rosemary

    Thyme

    Cute jars from the thrift store

    Chop em up

    Poor in the vinegar

    Let sit…

    Decant into a fancy container and force the kids to take shots when they feel cruddy

  • Distractions that fill my time

    Entry #12: Herbalism and looking towards Spring; Nervines

    I’m slowly working through Rosemary Gladstar’s course The Science and Art of Herbalism. I’ve done herbal courses before, but I wanted to capture the spirit of Galdstar by taking her course. There’s an elegance and Grace, a humbleness, to this Queen of herbs. I thought I would benefit from her gentle spirit and straight forward teaching. I’m part way through Lesson 1 and feel that I have made the correct choice. 

    Within these lessons we students are to create a Materia Medica for each herb. A page long document for each herb that  must include: Botanical name, Common name(s), Habitat and growing conditions, Pertinent information on the plant, and our personal experience with the plant (taste and effect).  

    I am thrilled to do this project. It gives direction to a project I had already started.  I have imagined creating a whole catalog of the herbs that I keep in my pantry and gardens so that any visitor to my home might be able to understand their purpose and use them too. While I will keep the homework assignment to a brief summation of the herb with a more academic tone, the larger project will include my personal memories of the herb. How I use the herb in culinary preparations. Memories I have of the herbs. A deeper sensory exploration of each herb.The energetics of the herb. Mystical fokloric tidbits. And how to use the herb in decor.  What a spectacular muse in preparation for and during the growing season. 

    The first lesson of the Gladstar course is working with Nervines, of which nature happens to be full of. Imagine that we humans who live in constant fight or flight just happen, also, to be surrounded with plants that calm us, soothe our nerves, and help us sleep! I’m excited to learn more about the herbs in this lesson. Some I already grow and use: Chamomile, Catnip, Skullcap, Valerian, Hops, St. John’s Wort, Lemon Balm, Feverfew, Oats, and California Poppy. Others I don’t grow and am a bit unfamiliar with: Lobelia, Gotu Kola, Gingko, and Wood Betony. I think January will be a real chill month around here in more ways than one. 

    Lucky for me, before the growing season begins, I can access herbs in bulk from a handful of apothecaries within minutes of my home. You’ll see me frequenting Mountain Rose Herbs, Wicklanders Roots, Snohomish Apothecary and Wellness Center, and the Sno-Isle Food Co-Op. All places I trust to have a wide selection of quality dried herbs. 

    In a synchronous act I have had the raised beds redone in my herb garden space.  I can’t wait to fill the new beds and surrounding planting areas with not just the herbs I study, but also the herbs I love to use for flavor, and native edible plants from the PNW too. 

    The space looks wonderful at the moment, after a nice pressure washing. I imagine this to be a fabulous gathering space. I imagine an outdoor classroom for sharing knowledge about everything from gardening and herbs to energetic healing. I imagine hosting botanical workshops here where we craft anything from medicine to wreaths. I imagine throwing a party or two here as well, anything from full moon fire circles to fancy cocktail parties. 

    In the meantime, before planting season begins, during the cool slow days of winter, I will be found dreaming, scheming, studying, and readying myself for a very productive Spring.