game of squash

I guess you have to pass through the actual first day of autumn before the squash is ready. If only we had a root cellar.

We'll be on the road to Dickerson, Maryland this afternoon to stock up from the greatest squash farmer / stand that I know of in these parts. Well, I haven't done any actual research between farmers but this falls into the "I've found what I want and I'm not moving along." If I were to work out the probability of finding a better squash guy (that's what The Eleven call him) then I'd have to do a bunch of 1*(-x) and various other things I don't understand when all I really want it a myriad of gourds. I'm not interested; and, for the small possible increase in quality or farming technique it's not worth it. If you happen to live out here in the area then I give my full recommendation to Comus Market (in this case, that picture above is actually the thing I'm blogging about). As I passed along via other media, I got a million way to cook squash and there's nothing nearly as versatile. You can thank me later.

I finally got around to getting my new lenses ordered and installed in my old frames. I appreciate that they call them progressive lenses vice bifocals; I don't feel as old and it matches my political leanings. Anyway, this takes a bit of getting used to since the sweet spot for normal (or in my case, horrid-yet-corrected far sight vision) is a fairly small portion of the glasses. If I use my peepers more than my head to see off-center then I get into the blurry area. Add in the typing or reading and using on the bottom portion and I feel like I'm some sort of Cosmonaut. I'm sure it will get better. I'm sure all the older folk think I'm just a kid complaining. And to them I say, true enough.

X and G. headed to the National Book Festival on the Mall this morning. Huge crowds as expected and longish lines for authors to sign books. The target, Suzanne Collins (of Gregor and Hunger Games fame), had a line that wasn't going to get through in the hour she'd allotted. At least there was a visual sighting.

Off to Maryland. We have our passports.

t

crafty vegetables

The Eleven got up early-ish yesterday and spent Black Friday doing something much more interesting than even contemplating stores and malls: we drove about southern Vermont visiting artist studios around the Putney area. We'd done the tour over Thanksgiving weekend in 2005 and it was high on my list this year. Putney, and the surrounding woods, is surrounded by what must be hundreds of beautiful studios and artists who create every type of art you can imagine. Yesterday we narrowed down our list to six or seven that included pottery, tiles, quilting, Japanese woodworking, bookbinding and prints, and a spinnery. With a loads of rain in the morning the studios weren't overly crowded so we were able to stay warm by diving into studios warmed by wood-burning stoves.

This morning I headed into Brattleboro to gather some root vegetables at the Winter Farmers Market. The holy grail was a Gilfeather turnip that I was clued in on at Thanksgiving dinner at Ellen's. She made an unbelievable turnip soup and discussion rounded back to exactly what type of turnip was the genesis of the dish. This led to some ooh-ing and aah-ing by the locals as they spoke in hushed tones of the heirloom Gilfeather turnips. I have no way of knowing whether it was Ellen or the turnip (that would be a great book name: Ellen or the Turnip) but I'll have some idea when I make soup next week from the five-pound Gilfeather that's safely ensconced in the car. I also grabbed loads of massive parsnips for roasting, what appears to be a five-to-seven-pound bag of organic hardstem garlic, red and golden beets, and three pounds of beautiful Jerusalem artichokes. All will travel well back to Northern Virginia and end their service in soups, gratins, and myriad roasting pans.

There's a short story about Laurel, a small goat, and I from a visit to Vermont a few years back. Maybe I'll jot it down, have Laurel add to and edit it, and then pass it along. Either way, the above is another Vermont picture; it's the barn next door that plays a central role in the Laurel and the Goat tale.

We're loading up the car this afternoon and will drive halfway home this afternoon. We'll be back on The Hilltop pretty early Sunday afternoon.

t