AfricanKelli

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Yesterday was a national “Food Day” — a time to encourage Americans to improve their food choices and physical activity for a healthier citizenry. Of course, this is my cup of tea. The celebration in Denver was hosted at the botanical gardens with a day full of courses, lectures and other activities.

With work, I was able to swing through one class in the evening — “Canning like your life depends on it.” Holy pickles and sauerkraut — I could not have lucked out more. Lead by local business owner Milan Doshi, the course discussed basic canning and fermentation techniques.

For this sustainability-loving domestic dork, it was so, so cool to be a room of like-minded folk, scribbling notes. Pickles are not so hard to can. Who knew? And sauerkraut? I can do this. I’m not sure I want to do it. The instructions included both the words “scum” and “burping,” but now I could if I wanted to.

Milan’s company — Five Points Fermentation — is leading a local culture change. He encourages people to research their family food history and to honor this with their cooking choices. Listening to him speak, with his adoring Indian mama sitting by his side, was enchanting. He talked of the shelves of pickles he’d eat as a kid visiting India — each jar made with love by his grandmothers. Each jar including some spice or vegetable was was in bounty on canning day.

It is so lovely to hear enthusiastic business owners honoring their families and their communities with their work. And of course, this means pickles for Christmas. I can’t wait to get going…

~K

A few of the new books on my shelf making me very, very happy.

~K

Pike’s Peak

I’ve been hiking around Evergreen in Jefferson County open space for the last several months. The one hike that’s alluded me — until this weekend — was the 10 mile round-trip summit of Bergen Peak. Five miles one way isn’t much, or so I thought. Once upon a time, I’d run 10 miles in my sleep. Come to find out, that once upon a time was many moons ago. Add in several thousand feet of elevation gain, one very excited dog and a backpack with a camera and supplies that felt like a ton of bricks by the time we made it to the top, and I was dizzy tired.

My car is in that tiny parking lot, way down there. Anyone seen the elevator?

But a very happy tired. The switchbacks on this trail were littered with golden leaves from the aspens running up the mountain. From the peak, the aspens look like veins of gold. The cool pine air, scattered snow patches toward the top and handful of forest animals we saw made it seem like something out of a Grimm’s fairy tale.

Plus, I’ve been working with Nelson on going off-leash. It is a lot more fun for both of us if he isn’t pulling me along. That said, he’s love and hunger for squirrel meat could be trouble. I didn’t want to end up chasing him through the forest. Thankfully, he did great, coming when I called and staying only a few paces ahead.

I’ve yet to find anything quite like a hard, head-spinning hike to get my thoughts in order. Maybe it’s the dreamy quality of that thin, crisp air this time of year. Maybe it’s spending 5 hours uninterrupted in nature, my Blackberry and responsibilities left far behind. Maybe it’s taking a break on a big rock, closing my eyes, and listening for God.

Whatever it was — yesterday it worked. And while I don’t plan on conquering Bergen again any time soon (poor Nelson has never slept so much), I am so thankful we pushed forward to reach the summit.

~K

I adore this poem. It’s printed and hanging in the window of a bookshop in my neighborhood.

My favorite part:

On cold winter nights, love is warm.
It lies between you and lives and breathes
and makes funny noises.
Love wakes you up all hours of the night with its needs.
It needs to be fed so it will grow and stay healthy.

Love doesn’t like being left alone for long.
But come home and love is always happy to see you.
It may break a few things accidentally in its passion for life,
but you can never be mad at love for long.

Is love good all the time? No! No!
Love can be bad. Bad, love, bad! Very bad love.

Love makes messes.
Love leaves you little surprises here and there.
Love needs lots of cleaning up after.
Sometimes you just want to get love fixed.
Sometimes you want to roll up a piece of newspaper
and swat love on the nose,
not so much to cause pain,
just to let love know Don’t you ever do that again!

Nelson approved literature.

~K

When my parents visit, I go into Type A Jessie Spano mode. Everything must be cleaned, tidied, ironed, watered, and so forth. It doesn’t make sense; if I was living in a compost bin, they would be just as happy and proud.

I might, at times, be a bit crazy in the expectation department.

Then again, such visits get me moving on projects that have been idle far too long. I moved plants inside this week because it’s starting to get chilly at night. Plus, as of today, it’s officially autumn. Or as we like to call it on the homestead — pumpkin season. But, that’s a post for next week.

I’d been meaning to sew a table runner for this bookcase to match my other entryway table.

This table runner was a Finny/Donk sewing project back in the day.

Before.

Any bets on how long those plants have to live? I’m giving them another month.

After.

While my mama was here, we tackled an entirely different set of projects: those I couldn’t figure out myself. This woman seemingly isn’t intimidated by any project’s size or depth. She’ll tinker and research and keep trying until she’s got it figured out. These are rather awesome characteristics in a houseguest who also has a hard time sitting still. Plumbing, stained laundry, knitting project gone awry — all solved.

Let’s hope she figures out a way to come back and stay.

~K

The net sum of all I’ve knit this year — one item.

And only 9 months late — a Christmas gift for Meg.

~K

I’m not sure where I originally heard the theory of gardening in thirds, but I’d guess it was from my Grandma Maxine. She grew up on a farm in Pennsylvania during the Great Depression and was forever transformed. She is exceptionally thrifty, I’d guess in part because she was no stranger to hunger as one of five kids. She is also exceptionally generous. She has led a life of giving. Thrift and gift are forever entwined in her view; the more clever you are with money and supplies, the more you can help — and in this case feed — others.

Gardening in thirds goes a bit like this: when planning your garden boxes, you plant three times as much as you anticipate needing. One third comes home to your kitchen. The next third is sacrificial — you anticipate losing this to the critters in the yard. This is, after all, organic gardening. And the final third is to be giving to others. Could be your neighbors, or in this case — the local food bank.

Metro CareRing is a unique food bank to Denver for several reasons. The director, Lynne, noted her favorite room at their small facility is the produce space. In this area, clients can select the fruits and vegetables they want to take home. This reduces waste and provides a bit of humanity to those in need. They have a choice; they are not simply given a box and expected to make the best of it for the next month.

And so, when the radishes were begging to be picked, their purple bodies bulging from the earth, to the food bank they went.

Thank you, Grandma Max. You’ve taught me more than I can say.

~K

My friend Juliann and I are currently rocking the Whole 30 challenge: 30 days of nothing but strict paleo eating.* It’s a way to reset your diet if you’ve been doing paleo, but have found yourself having far too many cheat days/exceptions.

My goal is to continue with this way of eating, keeping the 80/20 rule in mind. And, it’s working. I feel great. I started this challenge in addition to finishing the UltraMind Solution, which Finny recommends. I’ve watched her migraines disappear thanks to Hyman’s formula for adding a few specific supplements and vitamins to a much healthier way of eating. While it is far too early for me to make sweeping statements about what my new routine is providing, I will say the combination of drinking less alcohol, being mindful of what I’m eating, taking a supplement and vitamin routine, and getting a daily dose of exercise has me feeling good.

In fact, the way I know I’m feeling good is a result of those cheats. When I do fall head over heels into a bucket of margaritas and guacamole? I come out the next day achy, cranky and with a sick stomach. And the ever-annoying feeling of guilt.

Better sleep, clearer skin, stronger nails (as in, I actually have nails for the first time in my life), and a rosier outlook — they may all be placebo, but I welcome them happily. I’m fascinated to see what the result of our 30 days will be, and how we’ll move forward.

And having this little one as my hiking, walking and running buddy isn’t hurting either.

Yeah. 100% madly in love.
If you are interested in paleo, I highly recommend Karen’s blog for recipes, insight and humor.

~K

*By “strict” I mean allowing myself a bit of wiggle room on the weekends when being social.

The last six weeks or so have been a steady stream of visitors and fun. And while I have had a summer to remember, I haven’t been able to shake the type A guilt from countless projects left incomplete in my office. That knitting project. A sewing project long since cut out. A couple writing assignments for various magazines and a friend’s website. Even my reading — I’ve been slogging through the final book in the Dragon Tattoo series. And oh, that book I’m writing. It hasn’t been nurtured much lately either.

I’m preparing for a quick turn around trip to Phoenix later this week. Professionally, my life is busy and exciting and waking me up at night with ideas I need to jot down right this minute. Rather than accept an invitation this weekend for a road trip to Breckenridge, or join friends at Wash Park this afternoon for a bbq and hijinks, I dug in my heels and kept my agenda closed.

I needed time with the mountains, my yoga mat, Willie Nelson Mandela and a lengthy list of podcasts in the queue. I needed to catch up on sleep — as boring as it sounds. I needed to spend time in silence with God.

I’m reading a book Mini gave me on her recent visit: The War of Art. I spent less than an hour with this book today and felt a rejuvenated spirit for my many creative pursuits. If you are a creative person, or simply someone who sets goals and needs a bit of encouragement to see the finish line, I recommend it highly. It was exactly what I needed this morning for a final push to see several of those nagging loose ends tied in a bow.

It feels especially good to have a new energy here; I’ve gone from posting daily to grinding to push out something slightly different a couple times a week. A bit of downtime and my creative coffers are full again. I had a “zone” run this weekend, followed by a hike that left me dizzy with thin, crisp, sweet mountain air. There was even a bit of namaste and craft store’s worth of finish line ribbons.

I might be a bit punch-drunk on a productivity high.

BOO-hells yes-YAH.

~K

Min sent an email a couple of weeks ago in planning her trip to Denver with Rebecca: “Girls, let’s white water raft!” My response was, “Or! We could go to hot springs and get massages and hang out at the spa.” We volleyed back and forth between our ideas.

Her: White water raft!

Me: Pedicures!

Her: White water raft!

Me: Mimosas and hot stone massage!

Min is notoriously nervous about travel, but loves a great rush of completely non-controlled adrenaline — like rafting and climbing trees full of bee hives.

I, on the other hand, have no problem taking a prop plane into a tiny African town, but a weekend activity that requires a helmet and public display of lycra?

No thank you.

(More about that lycra later. )

Needless to say, Mini won and by the end of the day, we all agreed white water rafting Clear Creek was one of the most fun things we’d ever done. We screamed, giggled, yelled and talked over chattering teeth as we dipped and bobbed down the 6 mile trek. Our guide, Chelsea, was the perfect fit for our high strung, type A raft. Like the Aussie surfing turtles in Finding Nemo, she was so laid back and sweet — it was hard to think what we were doing was in the least bit dangerous, dude. With a head full of dreads, arms weighed down with dozens of bracelets and tanned arms and legs that showed she rarely left the river, she called commands as we paddled like mad.

It. Was. Awesome.

So fun, in fact, I’m now trying to talk my dad into a long float trip down the Grand Canyon. I love rafting for the same reasons I love fly fishing — it brings you to the most beautiful places you’d likely otherwise not see from that vantage point. The river was breathtaking. And I’m hooked.

So, in rare form I’ll admit Mini was right. This was such a good idea. Perhaps even better than a spa day.

~K

* Our raft trip included 6 boats full of people, including a boy scout troop. I was the only one who didn’t plan on wearing more than a Speedo to go down the river. The yoga pants I brought wouldn’t work and I just didn’t think to bring shorts. So, there I stood on the side of the highway with 35 clothed folks wearing only my lap swim bathing suit and a pair of Chacos. It’s not like I’ve got some sort of ridiculously fit bravado at the moment where I didn’t care that my butt was the only one flapping in the breeze. Oh, I cared. But when life turns out to resemble a cliche fashion nightmare, what can you do? Throw back your shoulders, slap on a fake smile and pretend you MEANT to be the only one in a Speedo.

Yep. Meant to.

Gulp.

The fact Mini and Bec were willing to claim me during this public display of humility? Well. They are very good friends.