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Germany, Part II: Worship
Along with the protective medieval walls that surrounded homes and towns of Germany, we found elements of Christianity everywhere we went. I have great affection for the long and complicated history of this religion, and it was a fascinating experience to view some very old artifacts of Christianity close up.
As in Italy, there was a stunning array of statues as well as representations of the crucifix everywhere we went.
This one appeared in the small cemetery in Bad Neustadt an der Saale. Unlike so many neatly-mowed cemeteries in America, this beautiful little cemetery featured tiny, unique garden plots on each grave site. Many had small glass-covered candles sitting among the plants, and every single one looked like it received regular, loving care from family members:
One day we drove up to Fulda to see the beautiful cathedral. While the Fulda monastery originated in the 8th century, the cathedral was built in 1704 and was modeled after St. Peter’s in Rome.
I expected a grand interior, but I was pleasantly surprised at the lovely pale shades of white and pastel colors that graced the inside of the cathedral. It was a welcome and refreshing change from the bold colors and gold ornamentation that make so many churches hurt the eyes with their overwhelming magnificence. The interior of Fulda cathedral was soft and welcoming.
Down in the basement of the cathedral, the tomb of patron Saint Boniface appears ready to open any moment. Martyred by some grumpy Frisians in the 8th century who were unhappy about his destruction of their pagan shrines, Boniface’s body now rests in this beautifully-carved marble tomb. (As for the Frisians, they were unfortunately subjected to the hearty forced-conversion efforts of Karl der Grosse/Charlemagne after Boniface’s death.)
There were many lovely representations of Mary both in the cathedral and across the countryside, as well as some dramatic scenes of the Passion of Christ. Some representations of the Holy Family and saints were beautifully lifelike, and some (below) were more primitive and dour, but all were quite beautiful.
While in cities like Fulda there were plenty of wealthy patrons to support religious establishments, out in the country monks often developed their own ways to earn a living while supporting the spiritual life of rural communities. The Kreuzberg monastery is an excellent example of this rural lifestyle. Hidden atop one of the Rhön mountains in southern Germany (and less than an hour from Bad Neustadt), the monastery’s current buildings have sheltered monks and their visitors since around the time the Fulda Dom was built (very early 18th century). The monks made fantastic brown beer and delicious cheese there - - and they still do, though now with the help of lay folk.
We spent one afternoon visiting the old monastery at Kreuzberg high up on the lonely mountain. There were several cozy dining rooms filled to the brim with hikers and cyclers merrily sharing steins of beer and large plates brimming over with delicate grey Bockwurst, rye bread, slabs of cheese, and the best juniper-berry-dotted kraut I have ever had (except Soupski’s). After a half litre of beer, I grew to have enormous respect for the cyclers who pedaled all the way up the mountain - - and pedaled back down again after downing a litre (or more) of this potent brew.
All that touring was definitely hunger-inducing work, and of course there were two places I searched out in every town: the Bäckerei and the Metzgerei. With plenty of fresh pastry in the morning and a paper-wrapped selection of fresh sausage and cheese, I am invincible.
Or maybe I am just a pleasure-seeking heathen.
Whether the motivation is to nourish the body to support the soul or to voluptuously enjoy earthly pleasures, the food in Germany was enough to satisfy. We had some delicious lunches of thin Wieners with hearty meat-dotted potato salad - -
- - and amazing selections of meats:
Dinners were equally hearty, and we enjoyed seasonal, regional specialties like pan-seared trout - -
- - and thick venison stew on buttery beds of spatzle. Seasonal pears filled with tart berries provided the perfect foil for the meat.
Pfifferlinge (Chanterelle mushrooms) were also in season, and I was lucky enough to enjoy a whole dish of them with my venison one lovely evening. Their delicate, earthy taste was out of this world, and as with all mushrooms they really are very best when they are freshly-picked. There was so much to choose from that the local chickens escaped my plate, but not my notice. Many of the hens I saw in the villages appeared to be some European relative of a Leghorn-Red cross:
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The history of the Christian Church is an interesting and complex intertwining of religion, spirituality, politics, violence, and the humbleness of daily life. Standing in a small medieval German village is like viewing a microcosm of this greater history: in the center of town is the church; down the street (or UP the street, depending on the personal power of the family) is the castle home of the local lord; fanning out for several blocks in each direction are streets for craftsmen and business folk, and if times were tough a high wall surrounded all and hopefully kept the enemy at bay. Bad Neustadt was an excellent example of this way of life, and across the country the tiny town of Beilstein was another . . .
To be continued . . .
Germany, Part I: Walls
Miss Pat, BD Soupski and I have returned stateside, and as I take time to pore through photos and reflect on our trip to the Old World, several things stand out in my mind.
One is the contrast between the homes and castles built in less secure ages and the modern, open, vulnerable ones in my own city. Our first part of the trip was spent in the tiny German town of Unsleben, northeast of Frankfurt and very near the city of Bad Neustadt an der Saale. We stayed in Schloss Unsleben, a walled and moated castle that has been the home of a noble family for many centuries. The current count and countess still reside in the castle, and they rent out portions of the castle to visitors.
The castle, like many old homes of this size, has been expanded and changed over the years, and you can clearly see several very different (and interesting) building styles in its mix of towers and living wings. Some of the buildings dated to the 14th century! The castle lies, as many do, at the center of town directly down the street from the church. Its security lies in its fortress-like walls coupled with a wide moat. As I sat in my little tower room I wondered what sort of lives the many generations of this family had experienced. Could I even imagine what it was like to see enemy armies from the high windows? It had happened on occasion. What was it like to know your very life depended on your ability to defend the house in which you lived?
There is another very interesting wall surrounding the town of Bad Neustadt an der Saale. It is said Karl der Grosse himself (Charlemagne) had the wall built in the 8th century, and if you view it from above you find it to be in the anatomically-correct shape of a human heart. Fortunately the wall still stands, and we took a morning to walk part of its perimeter when we searched for Soupski’s old house.
While I am sure that at one time the area outside the city wall was clear of growth, we found a lovely path lined with plum trees burdened with fruit, chestnut trees full of nuts, and gardens still blessed with the last of the early autumn vegetables. Miss Pat wisely brought printouts of old photos so we could locate areas that would have changed since Soupski’s last visit, and eventually we found his old house. A few more blocks of strolling outside the city wall brought us to a place familiar to me through old family photos: the Bad Neustadt city gate.
It was around 60 years ago that little Soupski stood outside this very gate.
For me it was somewhat surreal to stand there with him again all these years later. What on earth could have gone through his mind in those moments? Did the years rush through his head like a torrent, friends and brother and sister and Mama Ski and mysterious adventures with Opa Ski; returning to the states and trying to resume American high school; military, marriage and children and retirement and suddenly, suddenly right back in this place and - - well, I guess we’ll never really know what happened at that moment, as BD Soupski, like so many other men, spoke very little of what he was feeling.
He did, however, enlighten us to the details of one of his German adventures. It was a well-known family story that as a child Soupski had once snuck into an old castle near Bad Neustadt. While exploring, he met up with the duke who still resided in that castle. The old gentleman kindly showed little Soupski around the castle, even letting him explore the old dungeons below. After spending a friendly afternoon there, Soupski hustled home before Mama Ski began looking for him.
Now, Soupski has a lot of stories. Good ones. It is one thing to hear them, and quite another to encounter proof. The proof began as we made a short hike through the forest outside Bad Neustadt. As we reached the top of the hill, we saw the grey stones of the old Salzburg castle through the trees.
The castle is surrounded by imposing walls at the top of a considerable slope, making access to the castle difficult - - especially for enemy soldiers.
However, a small boy with proper motivation and little supervision could theoretically crawl through one of these small holes at the bottom of the outside wall:
Crawling up through the hole and climbing into a small chamber built into the wall might also lead here, to the castle courtyard.
And to prevent further (theoretical) invasions by tiny Americans, the small doorway is now sealed with a large iron lock.
There is so much to see and tell of our trip to Germany. It would take many more days to process the experience, and to put into perspective the places and people we met along the way. It is difficult for New World folks to understand the incredible history of Europe. While somewhat old as far as historical settlements, my town was not incorporated until the 1980s. The city of Bad Neustadt was “incorporated” in the 780s. I cannot begin to calculate all the differences in psyche a person growing up in that history must have from my own world view!
I will explore more of this trip and post a few of the hundreds of photos I took in two subsequent blog posts. As with my trip to Italy, and perhaps even more so, my visit to Germany was beautiful and life-altering. Walking along the walls of cities built in ages long past changed me and widened my view of this incredible world in which I am privileged to move.
Fair Day
It’s Fair time again, and we just cannot miss our Wilson County Fair. Can we still be modest and claim to have one of the best fairs in the state? Well, it’s true. I have been to many county and state fairs across the country, and I must say that the Wilson County Fair truly captures the essence of a traditional, old-timey fair. It has a fantastic array of competitions in all the traditional skills and crafts, well-turned-out livestock shows - -
- - and even a re-created, fully-populated settlers village called Fiddlers Grove.
The village features lots of period-dressed folks showing traditional crafts, such as the weavers.
There are also blacksmiths, soap makers, quilters, and lots of whooping and gunpowder smells coming from the mock battles that periodically erupt in the center of the village.
The WilCo Fair also has all the games and rides, music and fair food you could imagine. It is the one time of year many of us indulge in that good old fried, fried, fried and more fried stuff.
You can finish off your lunch of fried with some horse-made ice cream - -
- - and wander back through Fiddlers Grove to see a Civil War encampment, or even a long hunter’s camp. The long hunters of Tennessee were wild gents who made long-term, often solitary expeditions into the frontier during the 18th century. They were expert survivalists, brave explorers and knew a great deal about the flora and fauna of the Tennessee wilderness. The information they brought back to the colonies was essential to the eventual settlement of the state.
There are also plenty of demonstrations of early food production techniques, as with this sorghum molasses maker - -
And as older folks here know, sorghum is an absolutely essential topping on hot biscuits!
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Another more modern Tennessee essential is a good tractor. The Fair had these in spades: I have an unexplainable desire for a nice, big tractor, and I have never seen so many in one place! There must have been hundreds.
There were also plenty of animals on display, including a much more recent Tennessee phenomenon, the alpaca:
But for home-grown fun, who doesn’t want to see the pig races? Come on, is there anything funnier than little pigs running really fast??
After several hours of the Fair, it was time to go home and relax. However, once I noticed the fresh wild mushrooms in my kitchen (courtesy of my local market), I felt compelled to make some sort of wild mushroom tart that would satisfy the craving I had been experiencing ever since I first saw the trays of little forest beauties at the market. I did not work from a recipe, so I have nothing to share except the glorious recollection of the taste of that magical tart.
I gently sauteed the mushrooms in a bit of butter, and I added a pinch of fresh thyme and tarragon from the garden. I added a little cream, and then I figured it needed one more thing: a taste of cheese. Just not too much, or it would ruin the delicate taste of my mushrooms. What to use? Well, in one of those nicer touches of fate, I happened to have one precious sliver of Umbrian truffle cheese in the fridge. I grated the pungent sliver into the simmering, creamy mushrooms, and suddenly - - voila! I had the most incredible, perfumed delight you could imagine. I reverently poured the mixture into a waiting tart pan layered with puff pastry, cut a few more triangles of pastry for the top, placed it in the oven, and out came the most delicious mushroom tart I have ever tasted.
Despite the horrid condition of my kitchen “post-tart,” I quickly called Miss Pat to come over and share my delightful invention. When she heard “food” and “wine,” I don’t even think she remembered to bring her purse when she hopped in the car.
We sat on the patio and enjoyed a lovely French wine that, in another blessing of fate, just happened to be the perfect foil for the delicately-perfumed mushrooms. I love it when a day works out like this.
What will happen later in my stomach when the morning’s fried-fried-fried dukes it out with the mushrooms and wine is a story for another day.
Flaming June
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| Categories: Chickens, Food, Gardening, Recipes, Tennessee, Eggs, Critters, Nature-Outdoors 
June is in full swing here in Middle Tennessee: as I drive through The Shire in the mornings, the landscape is awash in the kind of gorgeous, lush green that used to make my eyes hurt when I arrived on visits from dry, golden California years ago. The fields and sprawling yards are overflowing with flowers of every color, but in early to mid June the beautiful deep orange of our native Tiger lily dominates the color palette, accented with the delicate white, politely bobbing heads of Queen Anne’s Lace.
I have always loved the Tiger lily, and adding to its beauty is the plain fact that it’s a useful edible plant. Every part of this lily is edible, and you can find something of use in every season. The flowers can be picked clean of pistil and stamen, rinsed clean and eaten as they are or used as small wraps for other foods like fresh, cool tuna salad. Somewhere in my recipe collection are directions on using Tiger lily blooms to wrap a dish that was baked. The roots may be harvested in winter and eaten rather like potatoes or other tubers. For those interested in keeping land that will sustain you, the Tiger lily is a great choice—and it will naturally spread each year all by itself.
In a small corner of my yard sits an old bucket with a prickly pear cactus I dug from the yard to save our riding mower tires (and our feet!). This is another great Tennessee native plant that yields edible parts; the flat pads of the low-growing cactus may be peeled and prepared in much the same way as green peppers. My preference is to peel and chop them, sauté them lightly in a pan with a few veggies and incorporate them into a nice omelette as I used to have at a dusty old cafe in the dry California Salinas Valley many years ago.
Despite a late start this year, the vegetable garden has taken off. We already have more zucchini than we can possibly eat, and the crookneck squash is just starting to ripen. I imagine I’ll have to dredge up some creative ideas for preparing it this summer so we don’t get tired of it too quickly! The tomatoes will be late, but there looks to be plenty of fruit. We did not use the cages this year, so it remains to be seen whether the deer will take more than their fair share.
My beautiful, rare booted bantam chicks are growing by the day. I have learned from experience now that self-hatched chicks are just friendlier than any I could buy from elsewhere. Having them imprinted on me—and handling them every day—makes for the sweetest, most trusting little chickens! The booted bantams will ride around on my shoulder, and my favorite little cockerel Louis XIV likes to just ride around with me all afternoon as I work in the yard. He rules from the throne of my shoulder, chirping away at all the other birds and issuing orders about his little kingdom. His father was quite a handsome fellow, so I expect great things from my little monarch. His namesake lived a long, productive life with plenty of female company, and I hope for the same for my Louis.
The first of my two black Australorp cockerels just went with his pullet to live at a lovely farmstead nearby. As much as I’d love to keep the last one (young Mick) as a young husband to my Dame Edna, I’m afraid that my suburban neighbors would not love him as much as I do—so off he will soon go to live on a farm in the country. I did not realize how hard it would be to sell off my chicks! I am so fond of them all, and I know each of them as individuals. This makes it quite difficult when the time comes for them to leave. This was the original plan—to gain the experience of hatching, to keep a few pullets for myself, and to sell the rest—but while moving along smoothly, the plan stings a bit. We’ll see how I feel about this next year.
The rest of my girls are doing well. My three young hens are growing faster every day, and they spend their afternoons strutting around the yard like tall, sleek supermodels in a clique-ish huddle. Squatty little bantam cochin Aunt Bea still terrorizes my now-huge Baby Mija for some inexplicable reason. As little Bea breezes across the yard I can just see the look of horror on Mija’s poor, half-blind face; Bea seems to sense this, and she deliberately moves toward Mija just to get the chase going. The sight of a squatty, feather-footed bantam Cochin running across the yard after a full-grown chicken is something that must be seen to be appreciated; I really must get the video camera out one day and capture it.
There is plenty of yard work to be done at this time of year so the place doesn’t start looking like a Heironymus Bosch painting; however, the extreme, unseasonable heat has made things slow going. Temperatures here have been in the mid to high 90s already, and nights are not much relief. By mid-afternoon on the weekends we are usually tapped out and ready to sit in the shade (or inside!) with a nice cool glass of Pinot Gris and just talk about yard work. RT will fire up the grill, and just to keep things simple we go to our old fall-back summer supper—steaks and fresh veggies, lightly salted and peppered and thrown right on the grill. Simple and no fuss.
One of the great early summer treasures here in the South are the sweet, delicious peaches. The real-deal peaches around here are only available for a few weeks to a month, and they are savored for the brief time they’re here. After our supper the other day, I whipped up one of my favorite peach desserts to enjoy out in the shade. I learned this recipe from a crazy pastry chef I used to know, and its delicious richness combined with the freshness of in-season fruit is absolutely spectacular.
I started with fresh Georgia peaches, first washed and dried then carefully sliced into bowls. The Amaretto Sabayon was whipped up in a double boiler I made by using a stainless steel bowl over a pot of simmering water. We used fresh eggs from the hens, of course, and when the lightly foamy concoction was ready we spooned it over the peaches and sprinkled with some of our own freshly-picked blueberries. Perfect! I placed the “recipe” here on my website if you’d like to try for yourself.
Every season has so many beautiful things to savor, whether food, wine, good company, beloved animals, mysterious plants or any of the other million things I can think of that I so enjoy experiencing. What a treat to move through this world exploring it with all my senses! On warm June days like this, it feels like a (hot) playground custom-made for me.
A Time and a Season
| Categories: Chickens, Food, Gardening, Tennessee, Critters, Glorious Reds, Wine, Nature-Outdoors 
To every thing there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate;
a time of war, and a time of peace. . .
- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, Old Testament
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The earth here is greening over, and the warm air is brimming with the sounds of songbirds and tiny frogs. Bright tulips are Monet splashes of color bobbing in the sunlight. Pink and white tree-blossoms shiver to the ground with each gust of wind, and wispy dandelion puffs float along looking for homes. In Jenotopia it is time to plant, and we spent last Saturday making preparations for the 2009 vegetable and herb gardens. The weather was beautiful, and like the few cirrus clouds that passed over, the day drifted by in a lovely kaleidoscope of images of my very favorite things:
Tiny chicks and spring flowers . . .
New Cayuga grape cuttings for planting . . .
Clematis buds waiting to break . . .
Lambs ear creeping along in the shade . . .
RT tilling the vegetable garden . . .
Hobie, sun-drunk while RT tilled the garden . . .
Beautiful Edna, iridescent black against the newly-green grass . . .
Crazy, bald Baby Mija stretching out to gather up every drop of sunlight . . .
Bantam girls pecking away in their new yard . . .
Fresh chives waiting to be added to dinner . . .
And when the work was finished, a lovely bottle of 2005 Domaine Magellan Grenache/Carignan . . .
I was looking for a Grenache blend this weekend (a GSM, specifically), and my local wine merchant suggested this absolute gem. Made in the south of France, this wine is grown without chemical fertilizers or pesticides, and uses no commercial yeast - - only what is naturally-occurring in the cellar. The result was a beautiful expression of the grapes: a vibrant mouthful of amazing red and black fruit tinged with a hint of anise; nice, balanced tannins and good acidity from the Grenache at the back end. I was so pleased to find this wine.
We finished our work (relatively) early on Saturday before relaxing into wine and dinner, and it was the perfect evening to grill out. While RT prefers his New York strip, I enjoyed tender morsels of locally-grown filet from our town butcher. What was not finished in the evening was wrapped and enjoyed Sunday afternoon as thinly-sliced filet sandwiches, cool and delicious as we enjoyed the last bits of warm weather before the impending cold front arrived.
Like so many other things in my life, spring here in Tennessee is always a surprise: from one hour to the next I really never know what I’m going to get, so I really must savor the sweet moments as they appear. When I sit inside later watching the cold rain, I will remember that sweetness with clarity, and if I close my eyes I will almost taste the deep deliciousness of red wine and smell the first wisteria blossoms in the air.
“For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts; even one thing befalleth them: as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath . . .”
