Feels like Christmas in July

It's not exactly tropical but it's close enough for me.

I'm at mom's house outside of Houston. This morning I awoke to a beautiful sunny day and sat out by the pool in the sunshine, barefoot and in shorts. It's the first day of winter. It's supposed to be near 70 today. Except for the higher humidity, it feels very much like early summer in Boulder.

The Christmas lights are up and everything in the house looks very festive, but I can't shake the feeling that it's summer. I grew up literally five miles from here and yet I find this surprising and disorienting. But I also find it comfortable and familiar. The big trees are just now dropping their brown leaves, a process we went through in Boulder months ago. I left Boulder with snow on the ground, and here I'm walking around like I'm at the beach.

I actually find it liberating. Sometimes in the cold of Colorado I start to feel trapped, though much less so now that I've had a few years to adjust. Often in the dead of a Colorado winter you can't leave the house without being bundled up in five layers from head to toe, yet here I am in Texas lounging poolside and contemplating a swim. But as I sat there wiggling my toes in the December sunshine I remembered the days when I fantasized about mountains and what it must be like to actually have snow at Christmas. It always bugged me that the Christmas cards and decorations depicted snowmen and wintry scenes, when outside the grass was green and short sleeves were in order.

I think I'm pretty lucky to have the opportunity to live in both worlds.

Last Weekend of Summer

Today's farmer's market was the last for the summer of '09. Tuesday is the equinox, the first day of fall. I can't believe another summer has slipped away. It's always sad to say goodbye to summer.

Of course there's still a whole lot of good stuff to be had at the market, and autumn really is my favorite time of year. More pumpkins are starting to fill the booths, as well as winter squashes and an abundance of potatoes, onions, garlic and other fall crops. The Garlic Queen has returned this year. She's a wonderful, friendly woman who sells nothing but garlic. Dozens of varieties fill her booth for every use from cooking and canning to eating raw, to varieties that will store all the way through spring. Her garlic now fills a nook in my storage pantry. New to the market this year, one farm started braiding their onions into traditional hanging ornaments for winter storage. They look beautiful hanging in the kitchen, and whenever you need onion you just cut one off the braid. They should last through the depths of winter. Pears are also in season, and they are second only to the pumpkin as being a symbolic fruit of autumn and the start of the holiday season. They are always a very welcome but short lived autumn treat. And of course there's also a little bite in the morning air now, and people are starting to wear light sweaters and long sleeves in the early morning hours. Even the aspens have started to slip into their golden autumn wardrobe, and mountainsides are starting to shimmer. Autumn is knocking on the door.

This morning I ate the first fresh apple I've had since last fall. Lordy it was a feast for the senses. Never in my life have I enjoyed an apple so much. They're just coming fully into season, and when I saw those crates full of them my mouth started watering. I selected an organic Gala with a full round body and no blemishes. It was a bright, sunny morning but the apples were still cold from last night. That first bite - oh my - I wish I could put it into words. It was so crisp, so sweet and juicy and chilled. It was nothing like those flavorless cardboard apples from the grocery store. It just tasted so - appley. It may sound odd if you haven't experienced it, but it gave me a slight buzz. I savored every incredible bite, then sat there stretched out in the cool grass looking at the sky for a long time being deeply grateful for moments like this.

High Summer

We've just reached high summer, the point at which the farmer's market really hits its stride. I was noticing this morning the differences between a mid-July kitchen and a mid-January kitchen. I love a well stocked kitchen, and six months from now I'll have one - cupboards full of pickles, popcorn, jams and jellies, honey, winter squashes, hard cheeses and potatoes, and a freezer stocked with frozen fruits, vegetables and meats.

But right now in high summer the stock looks very different. Instead of edibles hiding in dark places for months on end peering out through glass walls, my countertops are overflowing with a rapidly changing assortment of super-fresh goods. The pantry is bare, but everywhere I look there are shiny red cherries, fuzzy apricots and peaches, strawberries, beets, radishes, sweet corn, tomatoes, tomatillos, grapes and greens, greens, greens among much else. There's no room in the fridge, there's no room on the table, there's no room on the kitchen counter.

It's always a race to eat as much as we can, because every three days we come home with another armload. This, of course, is no chore. We only get each delicious treat for a short time - from a few weeks to a few months - each year. It's pure ecstasy to indulge in several pounds of sweet juicy peaches every week during peach season. When they're gone I won't get another for 11 months, so I have no qualms about diving head first into this agricultural hedonism.

On the menu last night:

1. We started with local organic salad greens and backyard tomatoes tossed with basil from the garden and drizzled with Italian olive oil and red wine vinegar
2. The main course featured 100% grass fed, organic, locally raised round steaks from Panorama Farm - grilled medium rare with a spicy salt & pepper rub
3. A side of organic, locally grown "peaches 'n cream" sweet corn and summer squash sauteed with hand-churned local, raw butter, bit of sweet onion and dill from the garden
4. A side of mashed purple potatoes from the garden, prepared with raw milk and raw butter, salt & pepper
5. Colorado grown and produced organic red wine
6. For dessert, a warm, bubbly rhubarb crisp with the very last of the year's rhubarb served with whipped farm-fresh cream