Category Archives: Canada

Pebble Beaches and Pizza

In a previous post (A Day Off in Wine Country) I wrote about how this last summer Dave surprised me with a wonderful day off (aka a Surprise Day), touring local wineries on Vancouver Island like we used to do in New York. Then, just before the end of this last semester, I decided it was the perfect time for me to surprise him too. So Little Man and I went to pick him up at our normal time, but we weren’t going home for a slow cooker super that evening. Little Man “hid” behind his special teddy bear (both in the rear car seat of course) and yelled “SURPRISE!” as soon as Dave got to the car. We then whisked him off to the shore for a walk along the pebble beach at Neck Point.

View from the trail leading to Neck Point.

This Surprise Day was actually inspired by the water table at Little Man’s Strong Start program (more on that program in a future post). For those readers who don’t have toddlers, a water table is a sensory tool where kids can explore different textures and types of things in water. You can fill a plastic storage tub with anything you would like, then put in a couple inches of water… or sand… or whatever you would like. The one that Little Man was playing with had a couple of inches (or a few centimeters, depending on which side of the border/metric unit you prefer) of water in which floated a scattering of plastic sea animals, as well as a number of smooth, rounded pebbles and assorted sea shells. Little Man loved playing with the pebbles in the water and I asked the teacher where she found them. The answer was Neck Point.

Walking along the beach in the shadow of the forest.

Neck Point is a popular pebble beach and walking path in Nanaimo and I had heard of it but not had a chance to check it out yet. The directions posted on the Nanaimo Information website are as follows: “Turn off Hammond Bay Road onto Morningside Drive, north of Pipers Lagoon. Or, you can park at the end of McGuffie Rd and follow a path.” We followed those directions and our GPS and got there unscathed, with about an hour of light left before the sun started to go down. A perfect amount of time for a toddler-sized walk along the beach before food/snack is required.

View from the parking lot.

From the parking lot, you first see a beautiful pebble beach, but to get to the “neck” of Neck Point you need to walk a bit further. We took the trail to the left of the pebble beach and headed in what we hoped was the correct direction. The path curved around to the left, climbing slowly, and passing a couple of scenic benches and picnic tables. Then as we turned the corner and walked into the shadow of the mountain, we saw a beautiful log-strewn pebble beach. With the blue, blue sky and the cries of the cormorants, it was stunning. Little Man scampered down the stairs, over the logs and had a great time threw rocks into the sea. Dave clambered over rocks, over the logs, and out on some sea rocks looking like he was walking on water. In the shadow of the forest with the sun lowering behind the trees it started to get a bit cold, too cold for a picnic dinner. But once we get into springtime, we are definitely going to be giving that a try.

Stretching our legs

After a bit of family clambering around and pebble hunting, I realized that we hadn’t quite made it to the “neck.” So we continued down the curving path, up a long stairway and raised wooden walkway leading over the rocks, and down again towards the “neck.” During low tides the “neck” consists of a narrow strip of pebbly land that juts out to a “head” of rocks surrounded by sea. We were lucky in our timing and were going out just before the tide started to come back in. The view was gorgeous, and we all had fun climbing around… though I was wishing we had brought Little Man’s lion tether as he kept creeping closer to the edge and wasn’t feeling like holding his parents’ hands while climbing like a little mountain goat. A few tussles later and we decided it was time to head back for dinner.

Dave walking on water.

Timber strewn pebble beach

The walkway to the “neck” of Neck Point.

Neck Point at low tide reveals a narrow pebble path to the sea rocks.

Climbing on the sea rocks.

On this particular night I was going to treat Dave to our favorite Indian place, Amrikos, for dinner. Our plans changed when we discovered that the restaurant had suffered a horrible fire and had moved locations at least temporarily. So our dinner was good, but a bit subdued that evening. To make up for it, the next weekend I made a pizza inspired by one of our favorite restaurants called Farm in Bloomington, Indiana. The food is amazing and it’s still a place that we miss even years after moving from the area.

The Harvest Moon Pizza is inspired by one of their seasonal flatbreads. The Farm version used locally sourced kielbasa and smoked gouda, along with homemade sauerkraut and grainy mustard. It may sound a bit odd on your pizza, but it is absolutely delicious. My version uses more premade items, and switches up the flavors a bit, but it still comes from that homey, cold-weather type of comfort food… on a pizza crust. Feel free to make your own pizza dough, I’ll be sharing my recipe for that in an upcoming post, or pick some up premade from your favorite store or pizzeria. I’d suggest not buying the pre-baked variety, but go for something that is still the dough that you can shape and season to your own liking.

Harvest Moon Pizza

Ingredients

Premade whole wheat pizza dough (white flour dough can be used too)

2 Tbsp. butter

2 Tbsp. flour

1 cup milk, preferably whole milk but any grade will do

1 bay leaf

1 garlic clove, crushed

¼ tsp. grated nutmeg

1 tsp. dried mustard powder

¼ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese (not the canned stuff)

Salt and pepper, to taste

Olive oil

1 tsp. herbs de provance (or other dried green herb like thyme, basil or oregano)

½ package kielbasa, sliced into ¼ inch rings (save the rest for another meal)

Small can of sauerkraut, drained

1 ½ cups good quality white cheddar, freshly shredded

Directions

Preheat your oven to 450 Fahrenheit. If you have one, this is the time to put your pizza stone in your oven. Mine stays on the lower rack all the time, so it’s always there when I want some solid, ceramic-based heat.

The Sauce

First, make your roux, or mixture of butter (or other fat) and flour. In a medium saucepan, melt the butter over medium low heat. Once the butter is melted whisk in the flour, and keep on whisking for one minute. Watch your roux like a hawk, and do your best to not let the flour color, turning down the heat if necessary. After a good minute, slowly pour in the milk, whisking all the while until everything is smoothly combined into a thick béchamel. Add the bay leaf, garlic clove, nutmeg, and mustard powder to your sauce, and cook gently for about 5 minutes or until very thick, stirring often. This is not a light béchamel for pasta, but is a thicker version for the white sauce for your pizza. Your sauce will be more robust rather than dainty. Once the sauce has thickened whisk in the parmesan cheese until velvety smooth. Taste your sauce for seasoning, adding a little salt and pepper if necessary. You should have a slight bite from the mustard, but it should not be overpowering. Once the flavors are to your liking, take the sauce off the heat and set it aside.

The beginning of a roux, or thickener made from butter (or other fat) and flour.

Adding the flour

Now whisk like you mean it

Adding flavor to your bechamel, in this case from garlic, a bay leaf and mustard powder.

The bechamel is thickened.

Parmesan cheese rounds out this flavorful white sauce for your pizza.

The Pizza

If you have a pizza stone, it should already be heated in your oven. If you do not have a pizza stone, place a large baking sheet upside down on your middle oven rack. This will serve as your stone.

Heat a non-stick skillet over medium-high heat, and then add your kielbasa slices to the pan. Continue to cook and toss your kielbasa until it is golden brown in spots. Then turn the kielbasa out of the pan onto a paper towel- lined plate and set it aside.

Adding the kielbasa to the hot pan.

Golden brown kielbasa for the pizza.

Using lightly floured hands and board, roll or stretch your pizza dough out into a circle. I like whole wheat here, but if you can only find white flour dough that is good too. The dough should be rather thin. Pierce the dough all over with a fork (or dough docker… I love mine. It does this task in about one second), leaving a scant inch border around the edges for the crust to rise. These little holes will keep large bubbles from forming in the middle of your pizza dough.

Docking the dough, or piercing it all over with little holes, keeps bubbles from popping up and pushing your toppings to the side.

Transfer the dough to a pizza peel, or if you don’t have one you can use a metal pizza pan or the back of another large baking sheet. Drizzle the dough with a little bit of olive oil, and then sprinkle over the Herbs de Provence or other dried green herb mixture. This ensures that you have great flavor in every layer of this pizza. Slide the dough onto the pizza stone or upside down baking sheet in your oven, and bake for about 10 minutes or until starting to brown in spots. The crust may not yet be fully cooked, but I find this step creates a crisper and less doughy crust, and it will finish cooking in the next step.

Seasoning the pizza dough with olive oil, herbs de provance and a little salt.

The prepared crust.

Remove the pizza crust from the oven and transfer it back to your work surface. Now you get to put all the pieces together. Slather the crust with your mustard cheese sauce, leaving a border around the edges for your crust. Scatter the browned kielbasa evenly over the sauce. Then scatter a thin layer of sauerkraut over the sauce. You likely won’t use the whole can, but can serve the extra in a small bowl for passing at the table. Lastly, cover the pizza generously with your shredded, white cheddar cheese. This is where I have to fight off big boy and little boy hands from snatching the cheese right off the pizza before I can get it into the oven. Slide it back in the oven before an all-out battle breaks out in your kitchen.

When saucing your pizza crust, be sure to leave a nice border for the crust.

Kielbasa scattered over the pizza.

First give a light scattering of sauerkraut to your pizza, then cover it with a generous helping of freshly shredded white cheddar.

Bake this for about 15 minutes, or until the cheese melts and gets bubbly and brown on top. Sometimes I switch the oven to broil, and then stand guard like a hawk until the cheese is nicely browned. From personal experience, don’t step away from a broiling oven for a second or you might just get a bit more “carmelization” than you hoped for. Remove the pizza from the oven, and let it sit for a moment so it isn’t “hot lava” hot. Then slice, serve and enjoy! We like to serve this with a harvest or Oktoberfest ale, and a green leafy salad with sliced apple and walnuts and a balsamic vinaigrette. Delicious!

The pizza as it is just slid into the oven on my pizza stone.

Golden, bubbly and delicious, dinner is ready!

Click here for a printable version of the Harvest Moon Pizza recipe.

On the Eve of New Year

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I have made no resolutions, save to be happy.

I have eaten nothing “lucky” or numbered 7, but I shared a simple feast with loved ones.

I may not even make it to midnight.

Our first Canadian snow.

But this has been one of the best and most unsettling (or unsettled) years of my life. Everything is set up to start, and I’m excited to see what it will all end up being. A new life in an old country.

Closer and yet still far from family.

New friends being made, and mourning the distance from others.

Ridiculous toddler and amazing husband.

A first view

New as we approach the new year, I hear the ending verse of Maya Angelou’s “On the Pulse of Morning” over and again. It is my New Years wish…

“Here on the pulse of this new day

You may have the grace to look up and out

And into your sister’s eyes, into

Your brother’s face, your country

And say simply

Very simply

With hope

Good morning”

Ladysmith Lights

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Now that we’re into December and the Christmas season, our American and Canadian holiday schedules are finally coming together… but they got there in a very odd way. Christmas is Christmas, whether celebrated in the States or in Canada. Our dates and traditions are mostly the same, and it’s nice to feel a part of something that the people around you are gearing up for too. To start our Christmas season here on the island, our little family went to a local holiday light festival. This festival just happened to fall on the same date as American Thanksgiving, so our two holiday schedules collided in an odd mash up of Thanksgiving thoughts and Christmas imagery.

Since I’m still getting to know the area, I admittedly knew little about the town of Ladysmith where the Light Up festival was held other than the fact that it is mainly perched on the side of a mountain with painfully steep inclines that rival those of San Francisco. When we got to the festival, the early winter night was in full swing and the streets were packed with people eager to see the lights and the parade, and we slolumed down the hill with Little Man’s jogging stroller to be greeted by a fire juggler. The flames were the only special lights to be seen, since the special tree lighting ceremony had not yet been held and the copious holiday lights lining and crisscrossing the street had not yet been lit.

Our arrival coincided with dinner time, and both Little Man and I started to fade fast. So the three of us scouted up one hill and down the other, looking for a good place for dinner. There were some street food vendors that looked interesting, but with Little Man and all of our stuff (jogging stroller that we would not have survived without on those hills, potty seat and all assorted clothing changes in case potty was not achieved, etc.) we needed a place to sit indoors where it was warm.

What we found was a little Chinese/Vietnamese restaurant called The Wigwam (I have no idea why it has that name), which based on the stories we overheard during dinner sounds like it has been around for decades. I was a bit leery of eating in a Chinese restaurant with that name, but it seemed the best of our options and a booth opened up just as we got there. Because of the special parade night and the extra influx of diners they were only offering buffet (or smorgasbord as they say here north of the border… “smorg” for short), and it was pretty good. There were lots of good vegetables, sauces that tasted “real” not from weird packets, and copious amounts of Chinese tea to warm us from fingers to toes before going outside again. So while dinner was good, it was arguable the strangest Thanksgiving meal I’ve ever had… ever…

While we were inside toasty warm having dinner, we missed the lighting of the tree and the start of the parade. Then suddenly, from our booth in the Wigwam restaurant, we started to see the most massive semis going down the street, festooned with hundreds of lights and blaring their horns. Thus was answered the question of how on earth they were going to get dozens of parade floats up and down those near vertical hills… with large trucks. It was stunning, both visually and audibly. We quickly finished our meal and headed outside to see things better. Soon Little Man, who was on his dad’s shoulders for a better view of the floats, had Pooh Bear and his hands clamped over his ears. When his looks of wide eyed wonder turned to fear at the thought of one more truck horn, we decided it was time to go.

Before we could go far, we passed a store front where the wafting smell of cinnamon and sugar stopped us in our tracks. Dave and Little Man stayed outside to watch a few more floats, and I got in line at the awesome Old Town Bakery. The display cases were full of pies, cookies and the most amazing array of cinnamon and caramel rolls I’ve seen in a long time. Since it was American Thanksgiving, I kept myself focused on the task and limited myself to one apple pie and three small ginger cookies. Then back out into the cold to rescue my boys.

We tromped up yet another hill to catch a shuttle trolley ride back to our car. Had to stop only once for an impromptu use of the potty seat in someone’s driveway, and then finally made it up to the shuttle stop. After a short wait we all loaded on, and shortly after the shuttle started moving the fireworks started. We finished the fireworks display in our car in the parking lot, and then all three exhausted holidayers headed home. Next year we will plan things differently. Probably a light dinner in advance so we can have a street food treat at the festival. Definitely warmer clothes complete with hats and gloves so we can stomp around outside while waiting to see the official lighting of the tree. And most importantly, Little Man will get to join me in the Old Town Bakery to make his own selection from their amazing cases. It will feel just like Christmas.

Thanksgiving in a Foreign Land

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This is Thanksgiving week… American Thanksgiving, I should say. This is, however, not just any Thanksgiving, but my first Thanksgiving out of the country and the 150^th anniversary of when President Lincoln established it as the third national holiday (along with Independence Day and Washington’s Birthday). The holiday takes on a different feeling when you think of the timing; the end of the Civil War, the government trying to hold the increasingly fragmented nation together. How do you forge a lasting union for a nation of people with loyalties, cultures and traditions that span the globe? Part of the answer, apparently, was to give them a common tradition tying together families across the country in thanksgiving.

Two cousins in a crib. The “pricelessness” of family at Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving has long been my favorite holiday of the year. The focus on food and family has become increasingly important to me, first when I moved across the States for graduate school, then trying to create new homes with Dave as we progressed through our impromptu academic tour of the Midwest, and now with Little Man in Canada. So here we are, looking for ways to create our own new identities, to create new family traditions, and to create a dual nationality identity for our son.

Thanksgiving, however, is anything but a simple holiday. The children’s stories of pilgrims and Indians sitting down to a nice turkey dinner are just that… stories. But the creation of Thanksgiving, the annual retelling of this fictitious meal uniting disparate peoples, is still a powerful tool today. For a fascinating study of the history (and fiction) of Thanksgiving, please check out Janet Siskind’s The Invention of Thanksgiving (click on the link to download a pdf of the article). You’ll never think of American Thanksgiving in the same way again… but in a good way. It’s powerful, and so is the resulting holiday.

For my personal purposes, not so differently from Lincoln’s, Thanksgiving has long been about creating a sense of home when “home” is not necessarily apparent. A sense of family when family is far away. A sense of belonging in a place that is still a bit foreign.

When living in upstate New York, this meant celebrating Canadian Thanksgiving with Dave. Until we met I had no idea that Canada had a Thanksgiving; assuming that it was a uniquely American holiday. It is and it isn’t.

Thanksgiving in Canada is celebrated on the 2^nd Monday of October, not the 4^th Thursday of November. It is a harvest celebration, without any stories of Pilgrims and Indians. The meal is mostly the same with turkey, stuffing and the sides. However, Canadians tend to avoid the dodgy green bean casseroles, with most Canadians I know being horrified by the dish. In Canada, Thanksgiving is a relatively minor holiday and is quickly eclipsed by Halloween. I didn’t quite understand this until moving to Canada this year. For all of my adult life, even when moving often, the idea of a Thanksgiving alone or uncelebrated was tragic.

One Thanksgiving when we were first dating, Dave was not going to be able to join anyone’s family dinner since he needed to stay in town to finish writing his Master’s Thesis. This seemed an abomination to me that someone would be home, alone, on Thanksgiving, with only the hope of an at best mediocre TV dinner to look forward to. So even though I was definitely going out of town to be with my adopted New York family for Thanksgiving, I devised a nice, stay at home version for Dave. All he would have to do was put things in the preheated oven at a certain time, take them out, reheat a couple of things, and he’d have his own pint-sized Thanksgiving meal. I think I even wrote out the instructions for him, down to the unwrapping of the carton of crescent rolls and how to form/bake them. After all, this Canadian obviously did not understand the importance of the holiday since he was willing to sacrifice it. Who knew how far his ignorance of the proper foods went? In theory, this should have been fantastic, or at least sweet. In reality, it has lived in our combined memory as well intentioned, but horrific. I mean absolutely disgusting and barely edible. He’s lucky that it was partially edible, since even the local pizza places weren’t delivering that evening.

Dave’s Thanksgiving meal was to be an oven-roasted Cornish game hen, mashed potatoes (oy!), gravy, sweet potato praline, balsamic vinegared brussel sprouts (double oy!), canned crescent rolls (hence the instructions) and I think a mini-pumpkin pie for dessert… but that might also have been burned in the oven. Of all this, the Cornish game hen was good, the crescent rolls were passable, and the sweet potato praline saved the day. The mashed potatoes, on the other hand, were raw. The brussel sprouts were disgusting. The pie, if it ever existed, has not survived in memory. It would take me a good 8 years to make passable mashed potatoes. After this (and other experiences) I was forbidden by friends and family alike to attempt mashed potatoes. In fact, just a week ago I made pork chops with mashed potatoes and gravy, and both Dave and I commented on the fact that I just might have learned how to actually cook them properly. I have no idea how a person who even then was a pretty good cook could not make mashed potatoes.

And while the brussel sprouts (yes, I can cook these well now too) were so bad that they don’t even deserve discussion here, I will share with you the one glowing beacon of the day; Praline Sweet Potatoes. These are now the one thing, no matter whose Thanksgiving I am going to, that I always bring with me. They are almost sweet enough to be a dessert, but have just a hint of a savory edge that pairs excellently with turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce and the rest.

Dave’s Mom’s gorgeous table setting with fresh persimmon candle holders.

The pictures in this post are from my first Canadian Thanksgiving. They look the part and embody that sense of Thanksgiving that I think will likely be missing from our American Thanksgiving this year. We’re still fiddling with tradition, and straddling the line between nations. Say “Happy Thanksgiving” to a Canadian this time of year, and you get some very confused looks since for them Thanksgiving was over a month ago. There will be new photos of new traditions coming soon. In the meantime, no matter what we are doing I plan on keeping family close and tradition a bit loose.

I don’t have step-by-step pictures here, but the recipe is easy and the results are worth trying for even without a safety net of photo documentation.

Praline Sweet Potato

2 lbs. whole sweet potatoes (not from a can)

¼ cup milk

1 egg, slightly beaten

1 tsp. salt

Pepper to taste

½ cup brown sugar, packed

¼ cup butter, melted

¼ cup dark corn syrup

1 heaping cup of pecans, chopped

1. Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Pierce the raw sweet potatoes all over with a sharp knife and place them on an aluminum foil lined baking sheet. Roast the sweet potatoes in the oven until soft and easily pierced with a fork, about 45 minutes to an hour. In the meantime, butter a 2-3 quart shallow casserole dish and set it aside. Once the sweet potatoes are cooked through, allow them to cool until they are easy to handle with your hands. Lower the oven temperature to 350 degrees.

2. Tear the skins from the sweet potatoes and put the orange flesh into a large mixing bowl. Mash the sweet potatoes until they are creamy. Add the milk, egg, salt and pepper and stir to combine. Spoon the sweet potato mixture into the buttered casserole dish.

3. In a small bowl combine the brown sugar, butter and corn syrup. Pour this over the sweet potato casserole and spread it around so that all of the sweet potato is covered. Sprinkle the pecans evenly over top.

4. Bake the casserole uncovered for 45 minutes, or until it is set. The topping will still be slightly soft at this point, but it will harden as the dish cools. Watch the pecans towards the end of the cooking time. If they start to brown too much or burn, drape a piece of aluminum foil over top to slow the browning.

Click here for a printable version the Praline Sweet Potatoes recipe.

Playing in the Mud – Part 2

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I stepped into the Bowen Park pottery studio with the intention of throwing a few bowls, doing some slab work, and overall just getting my hands dirty again. I imagined that the other people there would be like me, relative novices or people playing with pottery. Maybe some nice grandmotherly ladies rolling out clay like cookie dough to cut out shapes for Christmas ornaments. As I turned the corner into the studio, the first woman I saw was doing exactly that. Her little frilly apron completed the picture. Then I looked beyond her, and felt a wave of inadequacy wash over me.

The room was filled with predominately senior-age women, which was to be expected since seniors get free or very inexpensive access to a fantastic array of classes and activities at Bowen Park, ranking from lawn bowling to language classes to dance to pottery. These women, however, were not dabbling. They are artists. One was crafting an amazing clay mask wall piece that was around two feet in diameter. Another was doing slab work on a series of massive platters. To my left were a couple of women dipping their bisque wares (pottery that has gone through one firing, but still needs a glaze before a second firing) into glaze, but their pieces were gorgeous. Applique star fish on a series of mugs, bowls and casseroles. Another had tall narrow pieces that are incredibly difficult to throw. To my right was the wheel room with three women at pottery wheels throwing pieces that were taller, wider, and all around more stupendous than I had ever been able to do even when I was practicing multiple times a week.

A quick selection of some of my pottery created here in Nanaimo.

Anyone who has thrown pottery can tell you that the more clay you have on your wheel, the bigger a piece you can make, but also the more you have to muscle the clay into submission. I had gotten proficient with smaller pieces of clay, ranging from 1 ½ to 3 lbs. at a time. Once I had tried a 5 lb. piece of clay and it just about threw me across the room. A nice, petite, grandmotherly woman dropped what looked like a good 8 to 10 lbs. of clay on her wheel and almost immediately had it centered and was pulling up an amazing deep, wide bowl. The idea of sitting with these women and practicing my “skills” that hadn’t been dusted off in years was daunting.

This bowl originally was a fail. I pinched the top right off of it while trying to draw it higher. A carved leaf vein in the bottom and some good glaze, and it is reborn as a lily pad bowl.

I mentally put on my “big girl pants,” sent up a quick prayer that I wouldn’t totally embarrass myself, grabbed my bag of clay and other tools, and sat down. Then I proceeded to get up and sit down again a good three or more times as I remembered a different tool I needed, or couldn’t get the bin around the machine on correctly, or forgot a board for my clay, or forgot to wedge my clay before throwing it… the list goes on. The lovely women on either side of me offered kind advice so that my brain slowly wrapped around the process again. Now every time I go, I am excited to see these women working too. They are a wealth of advice and inspiration with what they do. I learn so much from getting muddy with them.

A butter dish or spoon rest.

As I’ve now been throwing in Nanaimo long enough to have finished pieces (thrown, set, dried to greenware, fired to bisque, dipped in glaze, and then fired again), it’s been fun to look at the differences in my pottery between Indiana and now here in Nanaimo. In Indiana (pre-Little Man) much of what I did was based on having friends over for dinners or parties; small dishes with ringed bases that are great for oil and balsamic bread dipping, appetizer plates with a circle cut out to hold a wine glass, fancy serving dishes that look like giant tropical leaves. Pieces are largely still packed away in boxes from our move in order to protect them from Little Man. They are the type of pretty, fragile pieces that he could quickly turn into thousands of pottery sherds for a future archaeologist.

It may be hard to tell in this shot, but this is a clam shell plate with a raised portion at the back for dip.

The pieces that I have been making here in Nanaimo show that I’m trying to get my feet wet (or my hands dirty) again, sort of slowly flexing my pottery muscles as my brain remembers what my hands haven’t quite forgotten yet. In all honesty my thrown work has been a bit shaky, but I’m just now catching my stride. My slab work has been better. The pictures included in this post show my most recent work here in Nanaimo, while the previous Playing with Mud post shows pictures of my Indiana work. Instead of being inspired by dinner parties, I’m trying to think of what types of things we can use now with Little Man. For example, he LOVES the planets, the Moon and the stars, so I’ve started a little “series” of planet and moon plates. They aren’t anything special in terms of technique, but I hope they are fun for him to eat off of at meal times, and that they inspire his imagination in other ways. I’ve also been making more piggy bowls that I first created in Indiana.

One of Little Man’s planet plates… maybe Neptune?

Another one of Little Man’s planet plates… maybe Uranus?

When I first made a piggy bowl, I had been inspired by an old pottery piggy bank that a fellow student at the studio brought in. The face looked so cute, and more importantly easy to replicate. I also quickly learned that any bowl that goes a bit wonky on the wheel can be immediately saved through the transformative powers of a piggy face. When I throw pottery, unless the piece absolutely implodes on the wheel (which does happen, but less frequently the longer I practice) I don’t want to waste it. Sometimes you can slap on a handle and a slightly wonky bowl can become a nice mug. Other times, a piggy face is just what is needed to salvage an otherwise unattractive piece. The first couple bowls I threw needed some salvaging, so piggys they became. I’m planning on throwing some bowls next week at the studio, so I should probably look into expanding my animal face repertoire. Our cupboards are getting a bit full of piggys, but luckily these small bowls make great presents for little ones and a number of my friends have new additions that will be receiving piggy bowl presents soon. Little Man loves his piggy bowl, and gets to use it often at meal times (with some supervision) for soups, bread rolls, hummus/dips, cereal/oatmeal, and the like. I’ve been wanting to make some from scratch chocolate pudding, and I have to admit that his piggy bowl is the inspiration for that. I think it would be the perfect thing for that special treat.

The piggy bowl tradition continues in Canada. It’s amazing what a piggy face and some good glaze does to fix an otherwise so-so bowl.

Cannon Firing

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This post also announces the creation of a Things to do on Vancouver Island page on The Sheep Are Out Blog. As I come across fun things to do on the island, I will write about them and link them to that page on the blog. If you are looking for interesting things to do in the Vancouver Island cities you see listed there, please check out the links and blog posts to get ideas. Also, if you have any ideas for things that aren’t listed there, please send me an email. We are definitely still learning our way around the island, and welcome any fun ideas.

Cannon Firing

Every day in the summer at noon they fire off the cannon by the Bastion in downtown Nanaimo. We stumbled upon this tradition one sunny afternoon as we were wheeling Little Man in the jogging stroller towards the sea wall. It was the music of the bag piper that caught our attention first, the massive cannons second.

We learned from these presentations that the cannons were never used in battle or for protection, but that they were used in official ceremonies and now were a part of local tradition for summer afternoons. The firing was always proceeded by bag pipe music, and a few times a local highland dance troupe would dance as well.

Over the summer we went so often that if we were anywhere within ear shot of the cannon and Little Man heard the pipes, he’d ask about the cannon. Little Man had a love/hate fascination with the cannon firing. He wanted to be there, wanted to see and hear it fired, but would sit for most of the time with his hands clamped over his ears throughout the presentation. He would eye the cannon suspiciously through the whole thing, then we would cover his ears before the shot, and once it was over he’d ask for it to fire again.

The pipes reminded me of Binghamton where a friend played pipes and we would go to his troupe’s biannual Robert Burns dinner complete with requisite haggis. There was also something special about sitting on the balustrade, watching the ocean and listening to the music. Little Man would sit spell bound, so for a moment I could concentrate on the sound, not on whether or not my toddler was about to dash into traffic or tip over the sea wall.

When the cannon firing starts up again next year, Little Man will be a year older. He’s now at an age where he is developing long term memory, and he might… just might… remember these visits to the Bastion and the cannons. I can’t wait to see what his memories are.

Ever Changing View

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One of the most special places for Dave’s family is their cabin in the interior of British Columbia. The cabin itself is redolent with memories, one action triggering dozens of stories about previous experiences from over the years. Since he’d been living so far away, there is a huge time gap for Dave where he hasn’t been able to be a part of the stories being forged there. Now that we live in Canada, that is changing and Little Man is making his mark (sometimes literally) on the cabin as well.

For me, one of my favorite things is to watch the ever changing view of East Barriere Lake. It never ceases to amaze me. Like the weather in the American midwest, if you don’t like it, wait a moment or two and it will change. Here are some of my favorite views from the cabin from our trips to the cabin since we’ve moved to Canada.

East Barriere Lake summer sunset.

When it rains…

Summer storm

Autumn morning with the water as still as glass.

Sunset at our first Thanksgiving in Canada (at least for Little Man and I).

I can’t wait to see how it looks the next time we get to go out.

A Corn Maze and the Making of Fall Traditions

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When Dave and I first started dating I was surprised to learn that Canadians celebrate Thanksgiving also; though their holiday is a month earlier (on the second Monday in October). I’d always thought of Thanksgiving as a uniquely American holiday, but in fact it is not. The importance of the Thanksgiving meal, however, does vary greatly between the two nations. In Canada, or at least on Vancouver Island, there no displays in stores, no Thanksgiving-themed commercials, no chatter about getting together with family, or trying to figure out long distance travel to get home for this one evening. Instead, all the focus seems to be on Halloween, complete with fireworks. Our cats will not be amused…

With this difference in Autumn celebrations, I feel out of sync with the season. Halloween seems on time, but the fact that Thanksgiving is already over leaves me feeling like I’ve missed out on something important. We had a great Canadian Thanksgiving, and we will be celebrating American Thanksgiving come the end of November, but in the meantime we’re trying to carve out some new Fall traditions and get into sync with our new community. In Nanaimo that means a trip to McNab’s Corn Maze and Pumpkin Patch.

A perfectly foggy day for the corn maze and pumpkin patch.

The day we went was a little late in the season, since it was after Thanksgiving (Canadian) and most of the really big pumpkins were gone. However, they had tons of small to medium pumpkins, a local school fundraiser with all the homemade baked goods my heart could ask for, and the corn maze was still in full swing. I was already feeling nostalgic for Iowa since a much-missed friend was throwing a fall celebration party with all of our friends, and we had just passed the dates for two of our favorite things to do in Iowa; the Farm Crawl and the Brews and Muse Festival at Peacetree Brewery. Oh, friends, we were sure missing you on those weekends (especially those friends who shall remain nameless but kept sending emails and Facebook comments about the delicious new brews from Peacetree that we were missing out on… trisky hobbits that you are).

So with homesick hearts we went looking for new traditions at the pumpkin patch. I assure you I never thought in my life that I’d say I was homesick for Iowa, but I’m getting sincerely tired of leaving places behind that have become home. In our quest for new traditions to make this place home, McNabb’s did not disappoint.

Even after living in the American Midwest for five years, I had never been to a corn maze. At Farm Crawl there was a corn maze, but I was always more interested in Pierce’s Pumpkin Patch, the borscht served at Coyote Run Farm, and the amazing preserves, people and brew (Peacetree again…) at Blue Gate Farm. So McNab’s was my first time to be in and amongst the corn.

Dave and Little Man heading towards the corn maze.

Surrounded by corn… like being back in Iowa.

The day was perfectly foggy for an Autumn trip to the pumpkin patch, and we headed off to the maze first. We had a great time trying to get lost, and searching (often fruitlessly) for the little markers hidden in the paths. Apparently the markers haven’t been moved in years so the locals all know where they are, but since we’re new the hunt was still fun. Once the chill of the maze started to get to us, and the enclosed space of the corn from Little Man’s viewpoint started to wear on him, we took the Hay Ride tractor to the pumpkin patch. Here we selected a couple of pumpkins, had them measured and then heaved them back to the tractor, wishing we had brought the stroller to carry our pumpkin booty.

Hmmm… Which one can I carry all the way to the front?

As we got off the tractor at the front of the farm, we ran into some friends from town, and hung around the fire pits chatting. That is the sort of thing you miss when you move often; the regular meeting of friends in public places. Little Man ran around with their kids, visiting the piglets and goats, and climbing massive downed stumps.

When Little Man finally started showing signs of wearing down and needing lunch, we headed off for lunch. We could have stayed there for hot dogs, but the morning was cold and we all wanted some warm, inside rest. So we headed for Coco Café in Cedar. The café’s name is an acronym for the Cedar Opportunities Co-Operative, whose mission is to provide developmentally disabled adults with employment opportunities within their community. This year the maze was dedicated to Coco’s, and I had heard of it before as well. It has the reputation of being a nice little café with cozy atmosphere and good, local food, for good prices. Perfect.

Walking into Coco Café I caught a glimpse of our little family in the glass door; all looking cold, dazed, hungry, and distinctively muddy. Inside I ordered a hot cocoa, and Dave got coffee. Little Man was very pleased with my drink choice, and did his best to polish off my whipped cream before I could get to it myself. Dave had a Thai Curried Chicken Panini with a green side salad. Little Man had the grilled cheese on an awesome whole wheat bread; and I had a massive bowl of Beef and Barley soup complete with a good-sized hunk of warm Pumpernickel, rich with molasses. Dave’s Panini was great, and we were both impressed with the salad. After our time in the Midwest we had come to loath side salads since inevitably they were tasteless piles of wilted, ice berg lettuce buried under a mound of not-cheese. At Coco Cafe even the side salads were great. Not a hint of iceberg lettuce to be seen, but only dark, lovely salad greens with a homemade vinaigrette. Little Man liked his sandwich, but preferred my cocoa; and my soup was divine. It was full of great vegetables, barley and beef, the broth was rich and stew-like with a good amount of black pepper. This soup was a perfect example of why homemade soup is so much better than the stuff from a can. All in all we had a great, home style lunch that did not break the bank, and which warmed us up from our stomachs to our fingers and toes.

On the way back home, Dave struggled to keep Little Man awake so that he could take a nice long nap at home. Little Man, for his part, did his best to hide behind his Pooh Bear and fall asleep. In the end we all had great naps, and ever since I’ve been fixated on hot beverages. I want drinks that I can hold in a real mug, not paper or factory made, but something made by real hands, something that fits nicely between my palms, and warms me from the fingers on out. And that brings me to my family’s Wassle; a hot mulled cider that fills the home and the heart with the aroma of the holidays.

This recipe for wassle comes from my dad’s side of the family, and just a whiff of this simmering away in the slow cooker makes me think of “family.” I don’t mean “family” in the sense of just the three of us, but of gatherings of loved ones, whether or not you are biologically related, where you can just relax and be at home. In fact, it’s worth making this wassle just for the aroma.

When Dave and I first made this wassle for our friends-who-became-family in upstate New York, their first comment was “mmmm… this is good…” followed quickly by asking if we’d ever tried this with rum. We hadn’t. We did. It was delicious. But I have to say, this wassle is amazing on its own and doesn’t need any accoutrement. What sets it apart from other mulled ciders I’ve tried is the mixture of apple cider with pineapple, orange and apricot nectars. Cardamom and cinnamon round out the spiciness of the hot, hot drink, and are key to its aroma. There is no added sugar, the juices are sweet enough as it is. So if you’re having friends/family over and want that scent of the holidays that will stop them in their tracks the minute they set foot in your home, this is the wassle for you. The only problem will be getting them to leave later, since it’s so nice to just sit with loved ones while cradling a mug of this wassle in your hands.

Wassle (A Hot Mulled Cider)

Ingredients

4 cups apple cider

4 cups unsweetened pineapple juice

1 ½ cup apricot nectar

1 cup orange juice

6 cinnamon sticks

1 tsp. whole green cardamom

Directions:

Pour all juices into your slow cooker and turn it on to high.
Place the cardamom pods on your cutting board and crush them with the back of a spoon or flat of a knife. Alternatively, crush the pods in a mortar and pestle (I just can’t find mine since the move…)
Add the cinnamon and crushed cardamom to the slow cooker.
Cover and heat until pipping hot, then turn the slow cooker down to low and simmer the wassle for 25 minutes. Enjoy!
Optional: float a new cinnamon stick in each mug.

Click here for a printable version of the Wassle recipe.

Frost Morning

The Horse is Out?

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Last week I had just gotten Little Man up from his nap and was carrying him into the living room when I caught movement in our front yard out of the corner of my eye. I glanced over expecting a couple of quail or maybe a dog, and instead found a large white horse munching grass contentedly about four feet in front of my window.

This won’t go down as my best mothering moment, but my first thought was that I had to get a picture of this. I had failed at getting photo documentation of loose livestock for the opening incident that gave this blog its name, and then again a couple of weeks later when Dave was wrangling a pig that had gotten out of its pen. I was not going to fail today… Remember the part where I said I was carrying my sleepy toddler? Yes…

I unceremoniously plunked Little Man down on the couch and ran for my phone. The horse was already moving on, so I had to be fast. No time to grab the other camera in my office. Of course my phone’s memory was full and wouldn’t take the shot. Quick a delete of a couple of (hopefully) already downloaded pictures, and I was able to get these photos. The horse had already moved farther away, but was still in our yard and was now apparently interested in playing a little basketball after his snack.

Let me also introduce this “horse” a bit better. He belongs to a neighbor who originally named him Pegasus, but he just goes by Gus. While I was trying to find a phone number of that neighbor to call about the escapee and hoping that the Farmer-Landlord’s dog didn’t find Gus first, another neighbor came out and escorted Gus home before he got too much of a nibble going in her flower garden.

In the meantime, Little Man had started to protest his abrupt drop on the couch. I went to assuage the bruised toddler sensibilities with a little juice and story time, secure in the knowledge that I had FINALLY caught a photo of a beastie loose around our house, and that Gus was no longer out.

The Sheep Are Out…

I'm a mom, an anthropologist, and a food lover finding her way on a small farm on Vancouver Island

Category Archives: Canada

Pebble Beaches and Pizza

On the Eve of New Year

Ladysmith Lights

Thanksgiving in a Foreign Land

Playing in the Mud – Part 2

Cannon Firing

Ever Changing View

A Corn Maze and the Making of Fall Traditions

Frost Morning

The Horse is Out?

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