Edges Like Sea Glass

By Leah LaRocco

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Dealing With A Bit Of Storm Damage

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So today I was going to post a whiny blog about how my heat has not been working, but I’ll save that for tomorrow after it’s been fixed. 

Today, I write to you about the wicked crazy storm we had last night.  At 3:08 am I woke up to the terrifying sound of a train and immediately thought, “Well this is it, we’re all going to die!”  The cats were on the bed, so I closed the door to the bedroom in case I needed to grab them quickly.  When I looked out the window the sky was a sickly red color and the huge pine tree in my neighbor’s yard was being tossed around like a rag doll.  The rain was coming down in sheets and I thought maybe I saw a witch on a bicycle flying around out there too.

I kept looking back and forth from the cats to the window.  Cats. Window.  Cats. Window.  Do I take them out there and get in the crawl space?  Do I run and get the cat carrier from the outside room and risk being blown away?  Do we go sit in the bathtub with pillows over our heads?  I could grab them both and run.  No, I couldn’t.  I wouldn’t be able to hold them both.  Surely I’d lose one.  Which child would I sacrifice to the mercy of the wind?!

Instead I sat on the bed and panicked, occasionally looking out the window and then jumping back from it remembering you’re not supposed to be anywhere near windows in a tornado.  The cats looked bored, like I was rudely interrupting a most pleasant nap.  After about 10 minutes, it seemed like the worst of it had passed and then the sirens started.  Tornado sirens are firehouse sirens that just keep sounding until entire towns are whipped into a frenzy over a possible weather event that may never happen.  They are loud and freaky, and now I understand why my German exchange student in high school had a heart attack every time one went off.  Thank you, helpful sirens, for wailing so mournfully AFTER the worst of the storm had passed.

This morning, I went outside to find some damage around the house.  Large pieces of the next door neighbor’s trees had fallen in the general direction of my side fence and yard.  Rude.

 And the roof has some damage to the shingles in several places.  This is not necessarily a bad thing since my roof is 10 years old and could use a little facelift.

I am sitting around waiting for my heat to be fixed today, so why not have a roofer come too?!  It could be like a little maintenance party.  One thing to know when you get roof damage in a storm is that the first phone call you make should not be to your insurance company.  Have the roof assessed by a roofer, and then they will tell you what will be covered.  Then you deal with the insurance company.  If this is done the other way around, you will most likely not get the repair you are looking for.

I’m thrilled to be dealing with this lovely little hassle since things had become quite dull around here of late.  I’m so very thankful the damage wasn’t irreparable.

A Franklin Winter Walk

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Monday was Martin Luther King Day, and as I reflected on the celebration of all he represented and the fact that our President was being inaugurated again, I got overwhelmed by the depth of it and decided to take a walk.  Tennessee in the winter time is, how shall I put it…cold, yet also warm on some days, quite gray, very rainy, and just plain depressing at times, but every once in a while a sunny day comes along that just knocks your socks off.  That was Monday.

Living less than a mile from town has its perks and this girl loves to walk, so I bundled up and braved the 39 degree chill.  People in the Northeast just made a scoffy snorting sound after reading that.  Whatever, it’s the south, 39 is an arctic chill when it’s cloudy.

West Main Street has some lovely pre and post Civil War homes that look like a picture when they’re strung with Christmas lights, or when the old stately magnolias are blooming.  I never get tired of imagining what it would be like to live in a beautiful old house like that…until I remember the  mid-60s one that I am currently trying to fix up, and it all comes into perspective.  This lovely little gem is for sale.  I wonder what kind of stories the walls in this house could tell…

Every home on this street has so much character.  This one is a holiday icon.  I don’t think I’ve ever not seen the place decked out for a holiday.  I find myself getting all excited when I drive past and see the beginnings of the next decorating spree.  Cupid is upon us with all his hearts and arrows.

This house is a particular favorite of mine, especially when I’m walking home at night.  I completely creep myself out and always think I see a shadowy figure in the darkened upstairs windows.  I’ve had to make a conscious effort not to look at the place when it’s dark and I’m walking past.  During the daytime though, it really is breathtaking.

Heading toward town I pass Sweet Cece’s and literally entertain the thought of getting some fro-yo, but no, that is crazy.

The Franklin Tea Shop was my destination (I didn’t take a picture because I felt a little bit like one of those be-sneakered, fanny pack wearing tourists).  I am always in search of a good almond tea.  Ever since Celestial Seasonings broke my heart and discontinued their Almond Sunset, I have been hopelessly seeking what apparently is the holy grail of teas.  Their website recommends replacing my former addiction with Chai.  They have to be kidding.  I tried the Almond Tisane flavor at the tea shop and was pleasantly surprised, nice mild flavor with lots of natural almond coming through.  I may go back for seconds at some point, but it still doesn’t hold a candle to that cheap $2.49 box of Almond Sunset.  A girlfriend and I are planning a trip to the Celestial Seasonings factory later this year.  I plan to harass them thoroughly on the matter.

I made my way around to the Brownstones to gaze longingly at my favorite fountain in town.  I used to go sit on the benches nearby and listen to the water.  No replacement for the ocean, but it helped.  Apparently the residents didn’t want riff raff like me encroaching upon their courtyard because the fountain is now protected by a locked gate. 

Somebody needs to have an intervention with Mother Nature.  It’s January over here…January, not April.

 
Next view is the old silo or whatever this is.  All I know is I’ve seen it on the backdrop of about ten Christian artists’ album covers.  I wish some billionaire would come in and spruce the place up, turn it into an art gallery or something.

Speaking of art galleries, Gallery 202 totally rocks.  I visited shortly after they opened and was pleasantly shocked when the owner walked me around the place and pointed out a Picasso, two Dali’s, and several Warhol’s.  They also display a variety of local artists and were instrumental in starting the Franklin Art Scene which is the best thing to do in town on the first Friday of every month.  I love this gallery.  You never know what you’ll see when you walk in.

 Ah next stop, yes it was a stop, I browsed…the Franklin Antique Mall.  This place is so much fun, it’s a treasure trove for trinkets and crazy things you’ve never seen before.  One time I got a set of miniature Beatrix Potter books the size of a quarter.  Another time I found this old antique depression glass plate I had broken years ago.  Then there was the booth with all the retro harlequin romance novels.  This time I walked away with some vintage postcards that still had one cent stamps on them.  I literally have to stop myself from going in this place on my walks because I know I won’t be able to control myself and end up buying stuff I will have absolutely no use for.

The square looked so pretty with the afternoon light streaming down.  I’m so thankful I work for a company that observes holidays like MLK.  Days like these are good for the soul.  Crisp walks on winter days remind us to be thankful for warmer times ahead.  Franklin is a great place to live and I’m so glad my journey brought me to such a charming town. 

Nostalgic Pasta

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Tonight I made pasta, lemon ricotta gnocchi to be specific, and I am worn out!

I have been taking Italian for the past year and a half, getting in touch with my roots, and I love it so much.  People ask me sometimes if I can speak fluently yet, and I sort of laugh and think they must be kidding.  The grammar is so complex, my brain has been twisted like fusilli!  Class starts again on January 24th and I’m already totally stressed out about it because I have slacked a bit on the studying over the holidays.  So no, I cannot speak fluently, but I can now make my own limoncello, gnocchi, chicken piccata, and consume copious amounts of vino rosso while trying to force my brain to form a coherent sentence.  Wine, bourbon, limoncello, and all forms of alcohol marvelously loosen the tongue when learning another language!  We always have plenty on hand.

So back to the pasta!  There’s a guy in my class named Bill who is a wizard in the kitchen.  My envy of his mad skills knows no bounds.  Every time I eat Bill’s food I end up begging him for the recipe and he has graciously obliged.  So tonight, I made lemon ricotta gnocchi, and by “made,” I  mean wrestled with dough until my arms were sore.  You basically get some semolina flour, eggs, lemon zest, and ricotta.  Mix that up and make the gluten magic happen till you have a nice ball of dough that also has Parmesan and flour kneaded in.

After it gets some beauty sleep in the fridge, you take it out and begin the process of rolling and cutting the dough to form the gnocchi.  The special little touch that gives the pasta its famous ridges comes from a gnocchi board.  Yes, these exist and I bought one.  It’s basically a block of wood with ridges that has no other purpose than to make pasta look awesome and provide little channels for sauce to stick to.  These Italians, they think of everything!

I got all nostalgic tonight while I was doing this.  I remembered an episode of some cooking show I saw on PBS one night with these two little Italian women hunched together in a small kitchen making pasta.  They took a handful of flour, threw it on a countertop, made a small indentation in the flour, added the most beautifully golden eggs I’ve ever seen, and just started working it all together with their bare hands.  Somehow, they ended up with fettuccine.  I think there’s some kind of magic that exists in the Italian hills that causes the most mundane of ingredients to become the most sumptuous meals.

Since I moved into my house and now have a kitchen with space in it, I’ve been so excited to cook and learn more Italian dishes.  There’s something about making pasta that is very fundamental and makes me feel like I’m doing something generations of women have done before me.  I feel the same about baking bread.  You can buy a box of pasta for a dollar in the store, or a loaf of bread for a couple of bucks, but when you make these kitchen staples at home and realize the work and love that go into them, there is an appreciation that develops and a sense of pride that swells when they actually come out well!

The gnocchi will be frozen and cooked with a mouthwatering lemon cream sauce.  Definitely worth the sore muscles.  Until next time, arrivederci! 

November: Phantom Month

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November was a phantom month.  It came and it went.  It was there and then it simply…wasn’t.  To say I have been busy doesn’t really describe what I’ve been up to.  Busy for me might look different than busy for other people.  My friends who have children (I don’t know how they do it) know a kind of busy that must be exhausting and exhilarating all at the same time.  For me, busy looks like traveling for work, traveling for family and friends, maintaining friendships outside of work, cooking, cleaning, maintaining my 1/2 acre of ground, cleaning gutters, learning Italian, maintaining a relationship, maintaining my faith.  All of these things signal a lack of time alone, which for me, is utterly exhausting.  There is peace and regeneration in time spent alone.

The weekend before November hit, there was one task that had to be finished.  Planting trees.  I wanted to plant a maple that would get bright red in the fall, along with two apple trees.  I settled on an October Glory Maple and two Honeycrisp Apple trees.  Albert Camus once said that “Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.”  I chose the maple based on this lovely leaf. 

And I chose the Honeycrisp because I love the taste of the variety and they are $2.99 a pound when in season, so hopefully I can save myself some money and get some lovely apples!

To plant the maple my neighbor, Lindsay, came over and helped me dig a hole in some of harshest, rockiest clay soil, I’ve ever seen.  Rob helped separate the soil from the grass while we dug.

After watering the tree as we went, while piling a bit of mud up, we covered the bottom surface with mini pine nuggets.  Over the next weeks, I watered the tree every few days and waited impatiently for the color to change to a cheery autumn red.  More on that later…

I decided to put the apple trees in the same part of the yard.  This time I dug alone and almost immediately ran into some nasty rock with my shovel.  Due to the changing daylight and lack thereof in the evenings, I was forced to wake up early in the morning — which I hate to do, by the way — and dig like a maniac.  The neighbors must have thought me mad.  I got out there with a small spade and used the hammer on top of it to break up the stone, a miserable task.  How a tree would make it in that soil, I could only guess.  I threw some manure in those holes and hoped for the best.  Here’s what happened.

 
There is a Welsh proverb that says “A seed hidden in the heart of an apple is an orchard invisible.”  These two little trees are my mini orchard, sort of visible, with a bit of tender hope attached to them.  There are two other apple trees close by in the neighborhood, so hopefully they will pollinate this spring.

A couple of short weeks later, the maple put on a brilliant little show, just before the bluebirds returned to their new house for the first time.  Bluebirds use these houses in the winter to nestle in for warmth.  Apparently you can even make heated ones!  Now the little birds will have a tree to perch in when they nest in the spring.

As of today, I am happy to report that all trees are still alive!!!  They are standing straight and will hopefully survive the winter.  I also went to the Biltmore in late October and got some bulbs to plant around the base of the maple.  So excited to see these bloom in the spring!

The fall brought with it a melancholy beauty.  I always enjoy nature’s brightest display with the knowledge that it ushers in the cold barrenness of winter.  Small changes like leaves accumulating under the last roses are bittersweet.

One morning in the cold I noticed this monarch butterfly clinging to the butterfly weed.  The wings were malformed and there is simply no way the creature will finish its migratory trip to Mexico, but I have a soft spot in my heart for monarchs from raising them when I was little.  I sat with this one for a moment and appreciated how much effort it must have taken to escape from its chrysalis into the cool breeze of fall.

And then the happiest surprise came when I noticed a sunflower growing in the Japanese Maple planter!

A frost had already come, but this determined little sprout refused to give up.  I couldn’t believe it would actually survive the cold until I went out to the car one morning to find the brightest yellow bloom smiling at me.

There is only one thing left to do in the yard.  The sick plum didn’t pull through and therefore, needs to be pulled out.  The roots are quite insistent that it stay in the ground, but I’m too afraid a disease will spread to the remaining plums.  This is what’s left.  All I can do now is buy a hatchet to sever the remaining roots.  Then the yard will be ready for winter and all it brings.

The first hard frost was beautiful.  Some of the flowers survived, and some simply succumbed to the beauty of the ice before breathing their last.  At this point, I’m ready for the yard to be done.  The sooner winter takes over, the sooner spring will be here!