a box of cameras

I wasn’t interested in photography until after the dawn of the photographer’s digital age, so I’ve never experienced much of the film world. But when my grandmother told me about a boxful of vintage cameras she had in her garage, I couldn’t have been more exited. I’ve liked old cameras for years, and have collected them for aesthetic reasons, but when she told me that it was possible I could still shoot with these, I was positively thrilled.

But I didn’t realize what how wonderful they were until they showed up in the mail.

There’s a lovely Polaroid…

And maybe even more fun, the instruction manual that goes with it. I finally know how I should look while shooting!

Not to mention, I want to frame this page.

There’s also an Instamatic, with exactly three exposures left on the film. I haven’t gotten enough courage up to use them yet.

But of it all, I think I’m most exited about the Duaflex. I can’t stop looking at all the incredible TtV images out there. Not to mention, I love the way it looks. Or the way it did, before I mutilated it with a contraption made of cut-up socks, a Pringles can, and enough staples to rival Frankenstein’s most gruesome creation.

I’ll let you know if I a) ever manage achieve that svelte photographer look or b) ever get my Pringles monstrosity to produce any decent TtV images.

Until then, I’m off to catalog my wealth.
Paige

meatless monday: potato leek soup

The CSA started back up this week, and already I’ve been confronted by two vegetables I have never cooked before: leeks and kohlrabi. I consider myself to be a fairly adventurous eater and cook, but I have never touched either of these before. I still don’t know how to pronounce kohlrabi, and all I know about leeks is that Tuppy Glossop once tried to make his fortune off of his nanny’s Cock-A-Leekie Soup.

Thank you, P.G. Wodehouse, for contributing to yet another part of my life’s education.

Unfortunately, knowing about Tuppy’s nanny didn’t exactly provide a recipe, so I turned, as I do in most cases, to Simply Recipes. And again, Simply Recipes did not disappoint. The first recipe I saw seemed was so simple that I couldn’t imagine that it would be flavorful enough to suit my tastes. But I had everything I needed in my pantry, and the comments did seem awfully positive.

So I made it, thinking that since it only used up half of my leeks, I had nothing to lose. And then I tried it.

This soup knocked my socks off. I still cannot believe how creamy and complex and hearty it was, and its presentation was truly beautiful.
 
 

Potato Leek Soup

3 large leeks, cut lengthwise, separate, clean. Use only the white and pale green parts, chop.
2 Tbsp butter
1 cup water
3 cups vegetable broth
2 lbs potatoes, peeled, diced into 1/2 inch pieces
Dash of marjoram
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley (I only had dried parsley, and used 2 tsp dried)
2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme, or 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
Sriracha sauce or other red chili sauce
Salt & Pepper

Cook leeks in butter with salt and pepper in a medium-sized sauce pan. Cover pan, cook on low heat for 10 minutes. Check often. Do not brown leeks! Browning will give leeks a burnt taste.

Add water, broth, and potatoes. Bring to a low simmer and cook for 20 minutes. Scoop about half of the soup mixture into a blender, puree and return to pan. Add marjoram, parsley, and thyme. Add a few dashes of chili sauce to taste. Add some freshly ground pepper, 1-2 teaspoons salt or more to taste. Thin with extra broth if needed.

Enjoy!

I defy even the aged caretaker of Tuppy Glossop to produce such a specimen.

Paige

a natural phase

Some people might call it a creative rut. Others might call it an obsession.

But I like it.

It started with a particularly sweet spot of natural light and nice, clean background. I had a few natural finds I’ve been wanting to photograph, and once I started I couldn’t stop. I ended up going through every mushroom, every stick and stone, every little thing I’ve accumulated from a lifetime of loving the woods.

When I was done with my own collection, I raided my mother’s.

I even used Yorick for a photograph I especially like.

And I finally had a practical use for all the mushrooms I’ve collected and dried.

And when Little Bit brought me a fresh one, I couldn’t wait to photograph it as well.

I’ve had almost too much fun with all this, and since my last hike in the woods with Little Bit yielded some interesting finds, I feel another batch of pictures coming on. Possibly two.

And until this latest obsession wears off (and it hasn’t shown any signs of slowing down yet), I recommend keeping your natural finds under lock and key.

My mom certainly is.

P.

a December sea

I’ve never been much of a beachgoer. I’m not the best swimmer and I’ve never liked crowds. During the summer, I spent most of my time in the marshes that surround the island and peninsula. But in the winter, the ocean is mine. Long, empty beaches, beautiful stretches of grey sea and sky, cold wind and icy water droplets. That is my kind of beach living. The swimsuit shops long closed, the bookshops still warm and open.

It seems only right that I should share my love of it with Little Bit. While he will always be more enthusiastic about the summer sea than I am, it turns out that a cold beach delights him too.

 
He had his shoes off before he was out of the car.

He even found a dead jelly. We threw it back, just in case.

On the way out, we were able to watch some of the wild ponies, which were closer than we’d ever seen them before.

I think my very favorite picture of the day was just a quick shot of the sea. After photographing it so often, it feels a bit perfunctory to continue. But I keep doing it anyway, and I’m glad of it. I love the colors of this picture.

  
By the time we were finished, we were windswept and breathless. Our coat pockets were soaked from all the shells we’d collected. We had sand down our boots and in our hair. We had raced the incoming tide, and lost.    

We were happy. Because some things can only be made better by sharing.
Paige

meatless monday: grilled eggplant

I wasn’t even thinking of this  as a MM contender when I fired up the grill yesterday. It was so simple, almost like an afterthought: a second-string side dish if I had ever seen one. 

And then I took a lovely, grilled to slightly charred perfection bite of this eggplant, and that thought floated away on a happy breeze of heaven-blessed taste buds. I knew, simplicity aside, I’d never needed meat less: here was a satisfying vegetarian main dish that was almost too good to be true. Even my carnivorous father ate seconds!

I’d love to serve it as a main dish with my favorite couscous salad and buttered green beans for a light summer meal.

Grilled Eggplant

1 large eggplant
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
2 cloves garlic, very finely minced
1 pinch each thyme, basil, dill, and oregano
salt and freshly grated black pepper

Heat grill.

When grill is hot, cut the eggplant into thin slices. In a small bowl, whisk together the olive oil, balsamic vinegar, garlic, herbs, salt, and pepper. Brush both sides of the eggplant slices with the oil and vinegar mixture.

Place eggplant on the preheated grill. Grill about 15 to 20 minutes, turning once.

An unexpected side effect of this recipe is a sense of empowerment. I am a girl, and I can turn on a grill without blowing myself up. Hear me roar.

-Paige

inspiring artist: Jillian Tamaki

From her vivid dreamscapes to her decadent embroidery to her love of literature, Jillian Tamaki is an endless source of inspiration for me. No matter what kind of creative funk I am in, she always sets my imagination on fire. 

Not to mention, her Penguin Threads collection is enough to make me swoon. I wish I could decorate whole rooms using her three color schemes. 

I also wish my hair looked like Emma’s. Very, very much.

Yours truly while the internet connection lasts,
Paige

summer living

To say that I am happy here would be like saying that the ocean is deeper than a swimming pool.

I’m sleeping better than I have in ages. I am being bleached and freckled by the sun and can’t get enough of the marshes. Oddly enough, I haven’t gone swimming once. I’ve been too busy wading and crabbing and digging up bits of old pier and watching the jellyfish in the canals. I have done absolutely nothing to justify my existence.

And I have never felt so alive.

My hair has become a sort of tribute to Medusa: salt stiff, and standing off my head in bleached white shafts. My nails are surrounded in black marsh mud and my feet are cut from clamming the old school way.

I fall into bed each night, feeling like every movement I have made has been sun-warmed prayer. I hope God thinks the same thing, because I’m falling asleep too quickly to thank Him properly.

I’m not cooking or cleaning much. I haven’t been online, because there’s no internet access. I’m walking miles for a single clamming rake and buying lemonade from children because I’m actually thirsty. I’m getting dirty, picking up driftwood, dreaming of Atlantis.

I’m waving to shrimpers, and they’re waving back.

I think I could get used to this kind of living.

meatless monday: broccoli ginger dumplings

I have never been so ready to move. The living out of suitcases and sleeping on mattresses seemed quaint and exciting for the first week or two, in a sort of Fellowship of the Ring or Deathly Hallows kind of way. But Samwise probably had a wok strapped to his pack, and I’m sure Hermione, smart girl that she is, had a food processor tucked into that fabulous beaded bag. While I, mere mortal, am down to a saucepan and a toaster.

Oh, how I’m craving these dumplings.

I think they are going to be one of the first things I make after the move, along with ice cream. And pesto. And salsa. Maybe even cranberry sauce, just because I can.

It’s been a terrible thing, living without a food processor.  

Broccoli Ginger Dumplings

makes 60 or so dumplings

1 large yellow onion, thinly sliced
1 clove garlic, finely minced
2 Tbs. grated ginger
about 2 big heads of broccoli, stems removed and florets cut into thumb sized pieces
1/2 cup cream
1/2 cup fresh ricotta cheese
salt and pepper to taste
wonton wrappers
cooking oil
1/2 cup soy sauce
1 Tbs. rice vinegar
1 Tbs. maple syrup (or brown sugar)
1 tsp. grated fresh ginger

Steam the broccoli until bright green and cooked through. Let cool and then chop well.

In a large saucepan, heat a Tbs. of olive oil over medium, add the onion and cook for about 3 minutes, until softened. Stir in the garlic and 2 Tbs. ginger, cover and cook for about 5 minutes until nice and soft. Stir in the heavy cream, turn the heat down to simmer, and cook for a couple minutes until thickened. Stir in the broccoli.

Transfer the broccoli mixture to a food processor and puree until mostly smooth but with some chunks remaining, for texture. (This can also be done with a handheld blender.) Then stir in the ricotta until all mixed together. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Lay out about 15 wonton wrappers at a time. Put a tsp. of the broccoli puree on one side of each square – resist the temptation to overfill! If they are overfilled, your dumplings won’t seal. Put filling on all 15 of the wrappers before starting to fold them. When ready to fold, keep a little bowl of warm water next to you to use for moistening your fingers. Use a wet finger to moisten the perimeter of each wonton square, then fold one side over onto the other and seal to make a triangle. Then, fold in the arms of the triangle and press them together with a little water. Set on a parchment lined baking sheet or plate. Once you have assembled the first 15, continue with another set of 15 and so on until you have used all your filling.

To fry the dumplings, heat a pan to medium-high, add enough oil to coat the bottom. Put in one layer of dumplings, cover the pan and cook a couple of minutes until dark golden. Flip and cook the dumplings on the other side for another minute or two until golden. Continue, adding more oil if needed, until all the dumplings are cooked.

If you’d like to bake the dumplings instead, heat your oven to 400F. Grease 1-2 baking sheets. Lay the dumplings out on the baking sheets, brush them all lightly with oil, then bake for 12-15 minutes, until golden brown. Serve warm with dipping sauce.

To make the dipping sauce, just whisk together the soy sauce, vinegar, maple syrup, and tsp. of ginger.

If you don’t want to make all the dumplings at once, they freeze really well. (Then you can use them later in soup!) Lay a batch in a single layer on a parchment lined baking sheet. Place in the freezer (finding room is never an easy task!) and freeze for an hour or two until hard. Then, transfer them to a freezer bag or container and freeze until ready to cook. You can cook them straight from being frozen, without defrosting.

Since they’re from the fantastic fusion mind behind Five and Spice, I’m sure they’ll be wonderful, but if you make these before I get a chance to, let me know how they are!

Paige

date a girl who reads

DATE A GIRL WHO READS
by Rosemarie Urquico

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants.

You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making.

Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book. Buy her another cup of coffee. Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or if she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by God, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does. She has to give it a shot somehow. Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world. Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two. Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype. You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet.

You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone.

If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads. Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

meatless monday: purée of yellow squash soup

If I had to pick a favorite cookbook, I would be hard pressed, to say the least. I would mention the Pioneer Woman and her fantastic cookbook. I would naturally give my regards to Julia Child. I would talk about the Lee brothers and the Southern cooking they so beautifully represent. But I would always come back to The Gift of Southern Cooking. Edna Lewis and Scott Peacock, two of the greatest cooks of the South, coming together to bring a South I do not know to a table I wish I could share with them.

I would say that they lend dignity to the South. But they don’t.

They simply illuminate it, in touching vignettes that are fading from a generation’s memory. It’s a South I’d like to see. It’s a South, despite living within it my entire life, I never will. Granted, it’s still tucked away in small corners, in back alleys of compact cities, in untouched streams and in backyard gardens. I’ve glimpsed it, just a few times.

Mostly in Virginia, the land that I love. But also in North Carolina. Texas, even; imagine that.

But it’s going, quickly now, chased away by a sort of Northern progress that isn’t Northern anymore. It’s one, amalgamated, societies and ways of life bleeding into one another until there is no beauty of discovery. No delight in finding your place. 

It’s progressive. It’s tidy. It’s largely successful.

But it is not the South of Edna Lewis. And that it a South I want to visit.

Fortunately, though many cookbooks in general, but The Gift in particular, I can. And I have, over and over.

Here is one of my favorite recipes from the book, a mild-mannered summer soup that is a summer staple. It is so simple and so incredibly good that I have fed it to nearly everyone who comes within a mile of me in squash season. And I have yet to have a single person (including my vehemently squash-hating little brother) dislike it.

I think that is what is generally considered a Southern girl’s success story.

-Paige