Saturday, April 22, 2017

What I affectionately refer to as my "2017 Winter/Spring Collection"


I am challenging myself to work on bigger projects. Previously, I have been doing a lot of one-off projects- things that can be completed in a long weekend- but I want to do efforts that require more planning and commitment. I want to create not only as a hobby or a stress-reliever but to feel like I am completing a piece or product. Last year I watched the documentary on Raf Simons first collection with Dior and it has stayed with me is the focus and grit it takes to put together a cohesive vision and then interpret that into a tangible. I am inspired and pulled to try to do bigger things with what I create. What I affectionately refer to as my "2017 winter/spring collection" of scarves is born out of this motivation.

The inspiration for the three scarves is around the theme of the pairing of clashing: It started with a beautiful red and pink sari on the character Sooni in the BBC miniseries "Indian Summers". The sari was worn in a number of episodes and was a beautiful cottony red and pink striped sort of print. I really loved it and it made me think about how in western fashion, I do not often see red and pink together in clothing or outfits and so I started to imagine a scarf. I wanted the two colors to curl and bend together, similar to how the sari twisted around a woman's frame.


In keeping with my original inspiration, I chose a cotton yarn, and stuffed several balls of it in the rounded corners of my carryon suitcase for Thanksgiving holiday weekend with family. I have finally learned to just go ahead and bring yarn and a crochet hook with me on vacation. At home, I corral crochet hooks like flower stems in a glass jar and have so many number six hooks from various cities and towns- purchased when I finally give in to my hankering to have my hands moving, producing something, and track down a yarn or craft store.

I did not have much confidence when I started with the red- it is such a harsh uncomplicated red and I realized, if I wasn't careful, it could read as a little cheap looking. But I persisted and when I finally made it to the pink, it was such a relief. The pink is a throwback to an 80s childhood when neon or "hot" pink was a big draw for 11 year olds. I had a little of this intense pink yarn leftover and thought about how the soft brightness would play against a dark wool, a shot of color. That is when the second scarf was born.


The third scarf took a more consideration: my curiosity was engaged by the idea of the pairing of clashing colors, like the red and pink, and I wanted to use the cotton denim yarn again but I could not settle on the right shades. I spent a long time standing in the yarn aisle staring- my brain scanning, adding up and evaluating pairs of colors. Khaki and gray surely cannot be together? In general, I am wary of khaki: I think back to the experience of shopping for houses and how some many had the ubiqutous warm khaki colored walls circa early 2000s house flipping. I went for it anyway and as I worked on the scarf, in my living room in front of episodes of Lost (my husband and I are watching it again since it first premiered on TV and I am loving it just as much as the original viewing) I saw how I actually have both warm brown and gray tones in my home: caramel leather sofa, nubby gray rug, etc. This caused a little meditation on how I have created my own internal rules about "what goes with what" and that I am probably best served when I jettison those dated beliefs. In nature, gray and brown are commonly together. It helps that the tones in this yarn are the right one's for pairing. This scarf turned out to be my favorite and most wearable of the three.


Here are some details on the scarves:


Pink/Red: single crochet, length: 84in width: 11in
(I have no idea why I look annoyed in this picture. As I was my own photographer, apparently I was annoying myself?)


Brown with pink stripe: both brown and pink yarn are double-crochet.
length:110in width: 7.5in


Gray/khaki, single crochet, length: 97in width: 10.5in

The width and lengths vary because I determine the size as I go, simply based on the feel. As I am working, I pause occasionally to loop the yarn around me to help decide when I should stop. In general, my aesthetic with scarves leans toward the oversized. In addition to the dramatic look there is a bit of practicality: the winter and early spring temperatures in Southern California are generally mild enough that a large scarf will do the trick- no jacket necessary.

As I go to hit publish on this document, it was 95 degrees today. While I wore these scarves frequently in January and February, they will not find use again until November. In the meantime, when I reach past them for the short sleeved tees and tank tops, the folded stack on my closet shelf makes me smile.

Sunday, November 13, 2016

crochet projects

I crave to produce things. I have so many little sketches and drawings and ideas and I give such a small space of my life to actually producing or bringing things to life. I really want to make more.

A few weeks back I was flipping through a sketchbook and realized that I had completed one of the ideas in it. Around nine years ago, we were camping for a week in Yosemite and I had some ideas for some scarves. If I recall correctly, I had been inspired by the colors of the climbing ropes that my husband and our friends flake after a day spent rock climbing. I was so hung-up on the ideas that I remember buying colored pencils from the park gift shop just so I could sketch them out. I did nothing with it right away but about three years ago, I revisited it in another sketchbook and got to work. (Just to clarify, you did read that correctly: I go camping with super cool people who rock climb all day and I am pleased as punch to just read and sketch. They are very kind to not make fun of me.)

Crochet is an ideal medium for me because I can make quick progress, pick it up or set it down at any time and the kind of designs I create do not require much concentration. I basically keep going as long as it looks good to me.

Over the winter of 2013 I made a number of scarves with this edging idea that you see below but I had not stopped to think of the finished accumulation of product until a few weeks ago.


Being in Southern California, thick scarves like this are completely impractical for me. In fact, I think I have actually only worn one of the scarves. In the execution of the idea, some turned out better than others. The brown infinity scarf with white piped edging is not my favorite. I chose too thin of a chocolate yarn and it curls in on itself, hiding the edge. I love the salmon color with teal piping. It reminds me of the colors from "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou". It is also made of a very soft cozy cotton yarn. I do not know why I keep buying wool:
                              
                              Me in the store: "This yarn is so pretty! I must have it!"
                              Me at home after finished product: "Yuck, this is so itchy and scratchy."

I never learn.

I am a big doodler and so it is such  a pleasure to hold in my hands something I once imagined. I regularly feel that the years pass too quickly and that I do not have enough to show for them. But when I have tangible created things, it helps me at least know how I have spent a little of my time.

So, step one is get the ideas on paper and step two is to actually make the ideas. I buoyed by this little vignette.

Sunday, August 28, 2016

places of pink and jams: roasted strawberries with lavendar


I lived in Alaska for 18 years and, with this August, have now lived in California for 18 years. I have been thinking about this because of the recent writing class I took with Molly Wizenberg (!) on the craft of memoir writing through the lens of place. In July, I spent two weeks in Alaska: a week in Sitka at the Sitka Arts and Science Festival and then traveled to Haines for a week with my family. It was an amazing experience and I am still processing through it all. I met incredible people who I now consider dear friends. I plan to share more in a future post, but for now, I am reveling in post-glow of Alaskan vacation. I have also been thinking about the color magenta.


When I was around 7 or 8, I fell for magenta. I don’t think I was ever a light pink fan. I liked the deep dark saturated pink. It is the color of fireweed that grows rapidly in the summer in long Alaskan daylight. It is such a lovely shock to see swaths of it framing the edges of beaches and roads, a contrast to all the green and blue. When it reaches the top of the stalk, it’s seed-pods split open to reveal downy feathers and we know summer is almost up.

For me, the California equivalent of this deep pink is found in bougainvillea. Their brightly colored papery blooms are seemingly present year-round. There is scale to their shade- some can be almost apricot in tone- but I like the pink that fairly pulses against the eyes. In growing, it seems to take over: draping over chain link fences and climbing up pergolas, wrapping around sides of homes. It transforms even the most mundane scenes with it’s gorgeousness- like a charming person livening up a boring cocktail hour.


As much as I love it, I do not wear this deep magenta shade. But looking at my kitchen shelf, I think I have been trying to preserve it: jars of jams, jellies, butters all tend towards that dark hue. 



The box of jam arrived from Alaska on a Friday afternoon. Miraculously, only one jar broke. It was shipped priority mail and somewhere in route got a bit beat beat up. When it was delivered to our doorstep it was set inside a thin plastic USPS mail tote. This was to contain the deep pink stickiness seeping through the upper left corner edge. It must have been dumped upside down at some point for it to leak through like that.

I took the box into the kitchen and cut it open. The other jars were covered in a mixture of raspberry jam and glass shards. Josh carried the tote over to the kitchen sink and carefully pulled each jar out. I gingerly rinsed them off, gently turning and brushing so I didn’t cut myself. What remained of the delivery were 5 raspberry jam, 2 high bush cranberry jelly and 3 apple butter.

I made the raspberry jam about a week earlier, at my parents stove. While I was in Sitka, Josh and my mom had picked the wild raspberries from a couple of spots around Haines. They froze the berries overnight on cookie sheets and then bagged them up. The last day of our vacation, I made a double batch of raspberry jam. It turned the most beautiful deep color and puckery sweet as only wild raspberries can really deliver. I used a recipe from Martha Stewart online and scrolled through it on my phone while skimming pink foam from the bubbling mixture on the stove. My mom and I did consult a few of her vintage cookbooks for recipes. One of my favorites was “Farm Journal’s Country Cookbook” and on the page opposite the title, my mom had signed her name and dated it “1/21/74 – A present to myself.” I love that. The final result was 10 sealed half pint jars plus one large mason jar of extra that my mom put in her fridge. They packed up six of the sealed raspberry jars, along with some of my mom’s preserves, to send to us.

I put the jam jars on my kitchen shelf, along with the other home canned items: brandied cherries with red wine, strawberry butter, strawberry lavender jam, strawberry chamomile syrup. It stirs my heart to look at those shades of red and deep pink, the caramel brown of the apple butter. 



My Dad says my great grandma Helen used to take people on tours out to her cold cellar/shed to show the rows of shelving with jars of preserves and canned goods, savory and sweet. All of it made by her.

I get a similar sense of pride with my own little kitchen shelf. I displaying the wares out in the open so I can see them and others can too. Preserving or "putting up" may be a one of those kitchen skills we're losing, I think. In my little slice of southern California, it also feels a bit like a privileged one: fresh fruit in quantities enough for jam or jelly can be expensive. Two years ago I closed my eyes and handed over $75 to a berry vendor at the Claremont farmers market for a flat of jewel-like raspberries. The berries were gorgeous but I was fully aware that the cost of the fruit and my labor pushed the expense of a jar of the resulting jam into the area of “luxury”. 

I do it anyway because I like the connection to the history of women in my family, who lived on farms in Washington, Colorado and South Dakota and worked tirelessly every day of their lives. I do it anyway because, no matter where I live, towards the end of summer, there is a grasshopper voice in my head that says I need to prepare for the winter. I like knowing that my family and I can enjoy the same jam on our toast for breakfast, even though we are in different states.

I lead this little life, between the pink of the Alaskan fireweed and the magenta of the California bougainvillea, between the ditch-side raspberries free for picking and the stalls of organic produce at the year-round farmers market. Sometimes I love the other most when I am away from it. I feel very lucky to know both.

While I would not hazard to provide a recipe for canning, I will share my favorite book on the subject: “Canning for a New Generation” by Liana Krissoff. The Amazon link is here. The book is arranged by seasons and a wonderful mix of classic preserves alongside other recipes with a modern twist. One of my favorites is strawberry lavender jam. The flavors complement each other so nicely, that I also pair them for a quick dessert: roasted strawberries with lavender. Sliced strawberries are roasted with a little sugar, butter, and a 1/2 teaspoon of dried lavender. In the heat of the oven, the berries give up their juices and results in a more concentrated brightness, I feel, than if the sauce were cooked on the stovetop. Also, doesn’t it just sound romantic? I mean romantic in the broad sense of the term: as in the quiet of an evening kitchen, the clip of a knife  on the cutting board as it slices through the petit fruit, the fragrant rustle as I dip a teaspoon into my stash of dried lavender, the scrape of spoon across the roasting pan reaching for every puddle of syrup, the wordless way I hand my husband a bowl where the dark heat of the roasted strawberries is softening the edges of a scoop of pale vanilla ice cream. I can still find strawberries at my local grocery stores and if you can too, I recommend trying out this treat.





As in so many things, I owe a debt of gratitude to Molly Wizenberg for her writing on roasting fruit. I adopt her method here. If you are unfamiliar with Molly’s writing, I am thrilled to introduce you to her blog, Orangette. Her books stand out among my favorites, here and here. If you’re in the Seattle area, a visit to one of the restaurants she and her husband own is a must (Delancey, Essex, and Dino's Tomato Pie). 

Roasted strawberries with lavender

1 lb. strawberries, trimmed and thickly sliced. I cut each strawberry into about 4-5 vertical slices.
 ¼ cup granulated sugar
3 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
½ teaspoon dried culinary lavender
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cubed

1) Preheat oven to 400.


2) In an 8 x 13 baking dish, combine sliced strawberries, sugar, lemon juice, and lavender. Give a big stir to evenly distribute sugar. Dot the top with unsalted butter cubes.


3) Roast uncovered for 12 minutes. Stir. Bake uncovered for 12 minutes, stir. I usually go another 5 minutes after this, but up to you.



4) Once pulled from the oven, let cool ever so slightly. If serving warm, enjoy with ice cream. Otherwise refrigerate, covered. When consuming from the fridge, warm in the microwave (10 second bursts) to melt the butter and stir to reincorporate. This is also great on a slice of toast spread with cream cheese or mascarpone.

Please note: as is the case with most cooked fruit, the volume shrinks down quite a bit. The recipe above makes enough for a dessert serving for two. If feeding more, I would recommend doubling and taking care to roast in separate pans in the oven.