"I have to make the world more beautiful."
"All that summer Miss Rumphius, her pockets full of seeds, wandered over fields and headlands, sowing lupines."
"She scattered seeds along the highways and down the country lanes."
"She tossed them into hollows and along stone walls."
"Every year there are more and more lupines.
The land of my ancestors. It so happens that I am 100% Irish American. That comes with all the baggage you can imagine--moods, potential for addiction, love of stout, Catholicism, a propensity for playing sad songs (or as a member of the Irish band Solas once said, "We Irish love our uplifting songs of sorrow and despair."), and a constant pull back toward the motherland. This latter trait is a bit interesting, in that Irish-Americans tend to view the motherland more favorably than other immigrant groups to the Americas, yet they had the lowest return rate. Hmmm.
Anyway, I was able to have a memorable trip along the western coast in 2007. We were hoping to get back there this year, but due to my husband's current spinal issues, that is on hold. So, I go back to the old pictures and reminisce. I wrote this last year, about An Blasket Mor.
That's another Irish trait. We spend a lot, maybe too much time, reminiscing about things past. It's a profound, inherited preoccupation with loss. Here's a quote from Timothy Egan's Op-Ed in the NYT:
"To be Irish," said Sen. Daniel Patrick Moynihan, "is to know that in the end the world will break your heart"
Egan goes on to say, "And it's true that Irish history is an epic of misery and tragedy, interrupted only by occasional periods of joy. For almost 700 years, it was a crime to be Irish in Ireland." This history seems imbedded in our genes. Sorrow passed down through the generations.
On the other hand, we can be a blast at a party, go figure! There is no denying that light that can come on in most (we have our curmudgeons just like any group) Irish when they are around people.
Now, onto food to celebrate this Irish holiday!
First, I found this interesting, that corned beef is not the meal eaten by the Irish on St. Paddy's day. ????? Figures. Things don't always translate "across the pond". If you haven't already discovered farmette.ie, go there now!
I wrote this post last year. I was completely un-creative this year and sort of just tweaked last year's cupcakes by copying this from Smitten Kitchen (she's awesome, btw). Her use of a whiskey chocolate ganache filling is perfection, I think. My cupcakes are mini's. That allows me to eat just one (or two) with minimal guilt. These babies are rich. I added a tablespoon of finely ground dark chocolate espresso beans into the batter while mixing, as well as a sprinkling to the tops of each cupcake before baking. Also, I topped them with shaved dark chocolate curls and homemade whiskey coffee flavored sprinkles, which are surprisingly tasty. The sprinkle recipe is Michelle's at Hummingbird High. Instead of 3/4 tsp of vanilla extract, I used 1/4 tsp vanilla extract, 1/4 tsp whiskey, and 1/4 tsp coffee extract.
If you make these, make the sprinkles at least a day ahead of time, as they can take that long to dry. Also, you will need a surface large enough to place them while drying. My kitchen is ridiculously small, so these took up most of the space on our dining room table.
Honestly, nothing gives me a lift like making mini-cupcakes. They're cute and decorating them can be creative. Most of all, people love them. It's so fun to give them away to people who can enjoy them. Made my St. Paddy's Day a good one. Erin Go Bragh!
Tonight we drink our Goose Island IPAs in honor of the goose on Hog Island who tried to steal our lunch, today. It all started wonderfully, on a pristine day on Eggemoggin Reach. We pushed off of the boat landing in Brooklin, ME.
That's Hog Island, up ahead. We beached there for lunch. After pulling the kayaks up onto the beach, we began to explore a bit.
As we rounded the south side of the island, we noticed a goose wandering the rocks. This was odd. We figured it must have been injured. It's my understanding that geese will wait until another flock comes along, then join them on their migration. We turned our attention back to our picnic spot.
We heard him before we saw him. "Honk! Honk!"
"HONK, HONK, HONK!"
Uh-oh. He knew we had food.
"HONK! HONK!"
Mr. Maineiac said, "Geese can be nasty. They nip. We need to get out of here."
So we planned a great escape. The mister grabbed the lunch cooler and went to the left. I ran to my kayak, hopped in, and pushed off. Mr. Maineiac got the Canadian to follow and then quickly changed course and ran to his kayak. We paddled madly southeast. As we tried to make a fast get-away, we realized that we were not alone.
"HONK! HONK!" The Canadian had followed us into the water!
We also made a mistake and had headed into the direction of a strong wind. The water was choppy and we were getting pushed into the rocky walls of the neighboring island. We had no choice but to turn around and head right back into the Canadian. It felt vaguely like an Albert HItchcock movie. Honking filled the air.
We decided to split around him. Mr. went left and I went right. Hate to say it, but I was relieved when the Canadian followed him. (He did have the cooler, after all!) Since we were no longer fighting the wind, we were able to cover a lot more distance in less time. The honking began to fade as the distance between us and the Canadian grew. We decided to head toward an island about five minutes away. As we paddled, I looked back and saw that the Canadian had gone ashore on a nearby island. (That one at 11 o'clock in the picture, below.) Yay!
We settled into a rhythm and were soon beaching for lunch.
We found a nice spot on some granite boulders and had a laugh about the Canadian. As we started eating our sandwiches, we heard it, "Honk, Honk." It was muted, but it was there.
I am not kidding. We searched the water, and sure enough there he was, heading toward us. He was just a dot, but the dot was getting bigger with each honk.
Just as we were considering packing everything up,again, a group of kayakers came by as they made their way to the boat landing in Brooklin. The Canadian turned and began following them! It was a hoot. Initially, we could hear them exclaiming about how cool it was that he was coming right toward them. Then, he began to swim among them and held them up for quite a while as they tried to figure out how to loose him. Luckily for us, he followed them all the way into shore. They are just specks on this photo.
We sat back and enjoyed our lunch. There was no question, though, that we had just met the RUDEST Canadian, ever : )
