Blackberry Bonanza and Blackberry Cheesecake Galette!

Look at these blackberries! This warmer, drier summer actually seemed beneficial to them. I love blackberries. They are dark and sweet and their seeds don't annoy me as much as raspberry seeds. My husband likes to freeze them to eat all winter. That's okay with me, but I wanted to celebrate these beauties. My friend, Dodi, and I decided to try this recipe from Deb Perelman's Smittenkitchen.com. She said it tastes like a cheese danish, and I agree. 

One of my great cooking challenges is making pie crust. Just. Cannot. Usually. Get. It. Right. This crust was different and easy, and making it in a cheesecake pan worked well. 

I followed Deb's recipe to the letter, except that I didn't have any pistachios. This recipe uses lime rather than lemon. I like lime with most fruits. I especially like it with blackberries. Look at this glorious creature!

Yes, I know the crust is a bit of a mess, however it was tricky to fold it over in the high-walled, spring-form pan with the liquidy filling.  It proves looks aren't everything : )

It tastes every bit as good as it looks. Make it!

Remembering, When It's Gone

The breeze, with its sounds of leaves brushing past other leaves, played its fall melody. Such a glorious song. Leaves floated down, like red and yellow notes descending on a page of music. I felt like I was in church. Not the church of Sunday sermons and crowds. Rather, the quiet of a church in mid-day, when no one is there. Just the hush and the colored light streaming from the stained glass windows. 

It got me to thinking about one of my favorite topics, the cycles of the seasons, the metaphors of life. How there is this last remarkable display of colors--that final push of what is left. How, during the winters of life, it can be hard to remember the potential a living thing holds. 

I had been listening to Sarah Bareilles's new song, "You Used to be Mine," from her musical score for the Broadway-bound show, Waitress. The woman at the song's center has lost herself, has forgotten all the vibrancy she used to hold. The winters of her life piled high and hard. There is one stanza that really hit me:

It's not what I asked for/ sometimes life, just slips in through a backdoor/ and carves out a person and makes you believe it's all true/ now, I've got you.

Give it a listen here.

I can't imagine there is a person who has not felt the same, at one time or another. That sense of losing your best self, the spirit that sustains you. Yes, there are people who manage to have a tighter hold on that, but I have learned that they, too, have periods when they lose their colors. 

To some degree, starting this blog was my attempt to get back to the part of myself that drew energy from the harmony in the world around me. Taking pictures, celebrating the glory of a walk in quiet woods, thinking about the poetry in life, listening to music that resonates, connecting with the people who matter most and also appreciate those things--all of this helps give meaning to my footsteps on this earth. All of this is creates the rhythm for my beating heart.

As I walk upon these remnants of the past seasons, I hear the music that lifts me, I feel the breeze that strokes my cheek, and I recognize I have a desire to see what is next. 

Stonington, Deer Isle, Maine

Thirty-two years ago, I left my childhood home on the edge of the Great Plains and drove, solo, to Maine. You see, as long as I could remember wanting to live somewhere other than where I grew up, I had wanted to live in New England. My parents had honeymooned there. They were Easterners (I was born in NJ), and I saw how my mom pined for the trees and familiarity of the East. We often vacationed there in a rental cabin on the Jersey shore. My love for the ocean came early. Family pictures at the beach during those vacations are often missing me. I was in the water. 

That love never left. I grew up knowing that I wanted to live near the Atlantic (something about the depth of blue in the water in the late afternoon, when the sun was behind us--it's the opposite on the West coast). The colonial architecture and history of New England, as well as the pictures of autumn leaves, enticed me. So, with a potential teaching job on the horizon, I packed my Chevy Cavalier over a weekend and off I went. 

Lots of living has happened since then. Some dreams filled, some not, and some have changed. However, one thing that I do manage to do is get to the ocean. Kayaking has brought me even closer and led me to this exquisite place on Maine's northeastern coast--Deer Isle/Stonington. No more words. As you look at these pictures, be sure to imagine smelling salt air and rosa rugosa. This place is saturated with those aromas.

It is possible to melt into this.