Eric says I created my first Horcrux: I sent a box of cuttings from my garden to my british twin, Claire. A sort of ark, so that when leaving I can feel that my garden still has a tenuous link to my life.
Of course it is not true. I mean, it is not my first horcrux. There is already "Sharp Edge", my favourite painting ever. That, I think will stay with my mother. And the Bottles. And the Wizard Staff. I always felt my things where my only true home. I am ready now, to challenge this feeling, and go out in the world with nothing but the essential, and yet, yet Icannot just dump everything. Too much of my soul has gone into some of the things I made. My garden, my paintings, the lost, lost splendour of my house. I need to leave some things behind, to be found again, pehaps, one day.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Back home to my furries, huzzay!!!
The ponies are growing fuzzy around the edges! I five days their winter fur has grown visibly thicker, which is good, since we have snow on the ground now, and temperatures have plummeted dramatically. They do not seem distressed by the cold, but they trail their nose rather disconsolately on the ground, wondering where all the nice grass has gone.
The ponies are growing fuzzy around the edges! I five days their winter fur has grown visibly thicker, which is good, since we have snow on the ground now, and temperatures have plummeted dramatically. They do not seem distressed by the cold, but they trail their nose rather disconsolately on the ground, wondering where all the nice grass has gone.
Monday, November 17, 2008
"Walking alone through the big gates I stood in the street and waited for a bus.
I felt lonely. When a man has lived with a horse, eaten with a horse, swum with a horse, slept with a horse, travelled a lone with a horse for months on end - hundreds of miles - the world seems empty without him. I could no longer hear his footsteps by my side."
William Holt "Ride a White Horse"
I am of course less than a beginner in horse travelling, yet this passage rings echoes in my mind. In a few weeks, the ponies have taken residence in my soul, like my cats did, a long time ago.
I must travel for a few days to Italy, and my heart bleeds. Leaving my cats and, now, also my horses, is a hard, hard thing. To a person you can explain why you must go, and that, crossing fingers, pressing thumbs, or whatever it is that you do to ward off evil in your own country, you will soon be back. But furries do not understand this, and the last look they give you while you close the door is always heartbreaking.
I felt lonely. When a man has lived with a horse, eaten with a horse, swum with a horse, slept with a horse, travelled a lone with a horse for months on end - hundreds of miles - the world seems empty without him. I could no longer hear his footsteps by my side."
William Holt "Ride a White Horse"
I am of course less than a beginner in horse travelling, yet this passage rings echoes in my mind. In a few weeks, the ponies have taken residence in my soul, like my cats did, a long time ago.
I must travel for a few days to Italy, and my heart bleeds. Leaving my cats and, now, also my horses, is a hard, hard thing. To a person you can explain why you must go, and that, crossing fingers, pressing thumbs, or whatever it is that you do to ward off evil in your own country, you will soon be back. But furries do not understand this, and the last look they give you while you close the door is always heartbreaking.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Yesterday we had a Hunt. Not that we as in "we" went hunting, but a huge number of hunters convened a few undred meters from our house to go into the woods, flush out some of those darned wild boars, and turn some of them into steaks. At first I did not realize what was going on. Many more people passing our back alley than I have ever seen since I moved here, much barking of hounds in the distance, and horns! Hunting horns! That took me by surprise. In Italy, as a rule, boar hunting seems to be a grisly affair, where people go out quietly on their own, and end up shooting mushroom pickers, other hunters' dogs, or other hunters, period. I never heard anything resembling that except perhaps in the parade of the 25th of April. Wether that is a positive demonstration of the local hunters' musical talents, or a negative one of the City Council Band, I could not say.
With such a mess of people, guns, dogs and alarmed boars in the woods, there was no chance of going for a walk with the ponies, so I stayed home and played the Parelli Friendly Game with TomBoy for a while.
Late at night when I brought supper to the ponies a bonfire was roaring on top of the hill, and a promising smell of reoasted meat wafted around. I was heartily happy. It's the first time I see hunters off into the wild with my blessing.
With such a mess of people, guns, dogs and alarmed boars in the woods, there was no chance of going for a walk with the ponies, so I stayed home and played the Parelli Friendly Game with TomBoy for a while.
Late at night when I brought supper to the ponies a bonfire was roaring on top of the hill, and a promising smell of reoasted meat wafted around. I was heartily happy. It's the first time I see hunters off into the wild with my blessing.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Finally back on line, after Blogger and Google had been inaccessible for days.Why? How? Mysteries.
Our life with the ponies goes on with ups and downs, they seem to have good and bad days like the rest of us. They are now walking barefoot, which means we must put much caution in the choice of trails to train upon, until they get their boots. There is talk of them having bright red boots, easier to spot if they get lost, and certainly they would suit the general clownish attitude of the family. We shall see. They are extremely cooperative on the road: less on a field. The sight of all that green grass seems to stress their reasoning abilities a bit.
We had an interesting trek incident just before their shoes were removed. We had followed this path in the woods for a km or so and then there we met a lot of fallen trees over the path and branches and I was already a bit reluctant to go on with the horses, but they stepped gingerly over each obstacle, not a worry and then, inexplicably we arrived in this spot where the trail just ended. There was a ditch and then a very very steep back some 6-8 m high all covered in fallen leaves. I stood there thinking I would never manage to drag the horses up there, and was it better to just go back over the fallen trees again? There was clearly another, open path on top of the bank, but I did not trust myself to bring TomBoy up. I was there, fidgeting with the lead rope and undecided about how to preceed when TomBoy gave me this look like "Well? Are we going to stay here all day?" and he just stepped away and went up the bank, like you or I would go up the cellar stairs . Half way up he was at the end of the lead rope and he turned back to look at me in a "Coming up or what?" sort of way. I let go of the rope so he could best find his own way, and in a couple of seconds he was on top, looking down and waiting for me. I had to go up on all four and slid down more then I made headway lol. Kaylee came up slower because the hubby could not make it on his own and she half dragged him up. I was so completely stunned by this exploit that I could hardly speak, I just kept saying "Did you see him? Did you see him?" They are more like big goats in long blonde hair. Of course these horses were and are bred on the high pastures in the Alps, but heck, I was in awe. TomBoy is a dutch horse, I don't suppose he has seen many mountains in his youth, and yet he does really very well on steep paths and uneven footing.
The first cart, with the kitchen box is ready, except for the painting of the box itself and its smaller fittings. Still one cart to go, sigh.
Yesterday we cooked a truly delicious chicken dish on the Liard Firebox and Dutch Oven. They make a fine duo, because you need the box to start the coals or wood embers for the oven, and in the meanwhile you can cook on the box on the live flame.
Very well, you need 2 to 4 half chicken breasts, skinless and boneless, 2 cups of basmati rice, some small tomatoes and lots of spices. The amount of spices looks threatening, but trust the recipe and just proceed:
8 (2-inch-long)fresh chiles, red and green finely chopped
2 tablespoons coriander seeds
1 tablespoon cumin seeds
half a head of fresh garlic, squeezed or finely chopped
1 tablespoon black peppercorns
2 teaspoons sea salt
half a cup of good olive oil
Roughly grind the seeds in a mortar (or a grinder, if you are at home), then mix with the garlic and chiles, and cover with oil. Cover the chicken thickly with the spice mix, making sure that all of the surface is coated with oil. Reserve a table spoon of the mix. Start a lively fire in the box, and put a pot with four cups of water to boil. Skewer the tomatoes on barbecue sticks and start grilling them. Keep feeding the fire, as soon as you have embers for the Dutch oven, remove the tomatoes from the grill, and sear the chicken breasts quickly over the fire. Then put them in the dutch oven, with a moderate amount of embers on bottom and some more on the top.
Return the tomatoes to finish grilling and cook the rice as needed. As soon as the chicken is tender remove the dutch oven from fire and just keep warm until everything is done. Mix the reserved spice mix in the rice, and sprinle the tomatoes with olive oil and sea salt.
Another recipe adapted from Epicurious.
Our life with the ponies goes on with ups and downs, they seem to have good and bad days like the rest of us. They are now walking barefoot, which means we must put much caution in the choice of trails to train upon, until they get their boots. There is talk of them having bright red boots, easier to spot if they get lost, and certainly they would suit the general clownish attitude of the family. We shall see. They are extremely cooperative on the road: less on a field. The sight of all that green grass seems to stress their reasoning abilities a bit.
We had an interesting trek incident just before their shoes were removed. We had followed this path in the woods for a km or so and then there we met a lot of fallen trees over the path and branches and I was already a bit reluctant to go on with the horses, but they stepped gingerly over each obstacle, not a worry and then, inexplicably we arrived in this spot where the trail just ended. There was a ditch and then a very very steep back some 6-8 m high all covered in fallen leaves. I stood there thinking I would never manage to drag the horses up there, and was it better to just go back over the fallen trees again? There was clearly another, open path on top of the bank, but I did not trust myself to bring TomBoy up. I was there, fidgeting with the lead rope and undecided about how to preceed when TomBoy gave me this look like "Well? Are we going to stay here all day?" and he just stepped away and went up the bank, like you or I would go up the cellar stairs . Half way up he was at the end of the lead rope and he turned back to look at me in a "Coming up or what?" sort of way. I let go of the rope so he could best find his own way, and in a couple of seconds he was on top, looking down and waiting for me. I had to go up on all four and slid down more then I made headway lol. Kaylee came up slower because the hubby could not make it on his own and she half dragged him up. I was so completely stunned by this exploit that I could hardly speak, I just kept saying "Did you see him? Did you see him?" They are more like big goats in long blonde hair. Of course these horses were and are bred on the high pastures in the Alps, but heck, I was in awe. TomBoy is a dutch horse, I don't suppose he has seen many mountains in his youth, and yet he does really very well on steep paths and uneven footing.
The first cart, with the kitchen box is ready, except for the painting of the box itself and its smaller fittings. Still one cart to go, sigh.
Yesterday we cooked a truly delicious chicken dish on the Liard Firebox and Dutch Oven. They make a fine duo, because you need the box to start the coals or wood embers for the oven, and in the meanwhile you can cook on the box on the live flame.
Very well, you need 2 to 4 half chicken breasts, skinless and boneless, 2 cups of basmati rice, some small tomatoes and lots of spices. The amount of spices looks threatening, but trust the recipe and just proceed:
8 (2-inch-long)fresh chiles, red and green finely chopped
2 tablespoons coriander seeds
1 tablespoon cumin seeds
half a head of fresh garlic, squeezed or finely chopped
1 tablespoon black peppercorns
2 teaspoons sea salt
half a cup of good olive oil
Roughly grind the seeds in a mortar (or a grinder, if you are at home), then mix with the garlic and chiles, and cover with oil. Cover the chicken thickly with the spice mix, making sure that all of the surface is coated with oil. Reserve a table spoon of the mix. Start a lively fire in the box, and put a pot with four cups of water to boil. Skewer the tomatoes on barbecue sticks and start grilling them. Keep feeding the fire, as soon as you have embers for the Dutch oven, remove the tomatoes from the grill, and sear the chicken breasts quickly over the fire. Then put them in the dutch oven, with a moderate amount of embers on bottom and some more on the top.
Return the tomatoes to finish grilling and cook the rice as needed. As soon as the chicken is tender remove the dutch oven from fire and just keep warm until everything is done. Mix the reserved spice mix in the rice, and sprinle the tomatoes with olive oil and sea salt.
Another recipe adapted from Epicurious.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Dear diary, today for once we had some really good reason to get spooked and scared and bolty: a flock of foul smelling wild boars galloped in the woods just meters from us. We all got skittish, dragged the bipeds into the woods, broke loose and got all sweaty and wide eyed and unreasonable. But we went back to the bipeds because they have carrots and they scratch our mane soothingly. Then there was grass and we forgot about the pigs. Good day.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Fear
I am sometimes overwhelmed by panic about the "nomad" project. Especially when the horses are uncooperative, or the weather is horrid, or the house, and my bookshelves, are espeially inviting, or when I cook something fanciful and complicated in my huge kitchen. But most of all, I get scared when insomnia gets hold of me, and I lay silent in the bed at night, the grandpa clock upstair beating hour after hour in the dreamless darkness, and endless wreaths of words unfolding in my brain, anchoring me into uneasy wakefulness. I have visions of horrible damp camp places, smoky fires, cold nights, accidents. I created a scale for fear states: 0 is "jolly go merry", 10 is "blind flailing terror". Most of the times, at night I settle on grade 9, "scared s**tless".
I am however in good company. TomBoy is also a scared creature. He is huge (for a pony), and remarkably strong, but he is still a big baby. He has the face and manners of one who still believes in Santa Claus. He has a puppy look about him that is painflully cute. It is terribly difficult to draw lines with him, and establish rules. It must be done, but it always leaves a bitter taste, a sense of guilt. He looks at you with those huge puzzled eyes, and you can figure him sucking his thumb and spilling tears.
Today walk was relatively succesfull. He only "muled" three times. Once he actually needed to do some toilette business, and I had to apologize for being so inconsiderate as not to get the hint of his meaningful looks. The second time was because of a very scary, tarp-covered wood pile. It is well known that tarp-covered wood piles are a favourite ambush place for huge horse-eating sabre-toothed tigers, so we all convened that the wood pile had to be approached with utmost caution, everyone of us trying to hide behind someone else, and no blame was put on anyone. But the third time was embarassing. A family of four, leading a black and white terrier the size of peanut, appeared on the path, and nothing could convince TomBoy to move another step until the father of the family led the offending dog 20meters out of the path into the woods, and every other grinning member of the family had passed us, and sunk the horizon in the opposite direction. "This is my haflinger horse. I call him Braveheart". Who knows. May be he hunderstands things about terriers that we can't even suspect.
In order to gather a bit of courage about our future life I took out the dutch oven today and made roast chicken. This was a variation of this recipe: http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/My-Favorite-Simple-Roast-Chicken-231348
which is the best recipe for roasted chicken I ever met, and one of my favourite dishes. A 12 inches dutch oven is just a tad cramped for a whole chicken, but you can cut a small one in a half, or roast a packet of chicken legs. In any case, pat dry, sprinkle generously but judiciously with salt and pepper, and lay on the bottom of the dutch oven, skin up, with a mere sprinkle of olive oil under it. Close the dutch oven and roast for an hour or until the meat is done, with the cover well closed. When almost ready pile more embers on the cover of the oven and let it slightly open to let the steam out, so the skin becomes nice and crispy. Remove the chicken from the oven, overturn the cover, carefully discarding the embers, and lay the chicken on it to keep warm. Scrape up and mix the juices of the chicken on the bottom of the oven, using a tiny bit of water to mollify them if necessary (but only the minimum needed). Scatter a spoonful of fresh thyme leaves in the juices, take the pot from the fire and melt a nice piece of fresh butter (50 g or so) in the "gravy". Pour over the chicken and serve hot.
You will understand by now, that I will need a pot of fresh thyme on my travels. Of all fresh herbs, it is the oneI cannot abide to do without.
I am however in good company. TomBoy is also a scared creature. He is huge (for a pony), and remarkably strong, but he is still a big baby. He has the face and manners of one who still believes in Santa Claus. He has a puppy look about him that is painflully cute. It is terribly difficult to draw lines with him, and establish rules. It must be done, but it always leaves a bitter taste, a sense of guilt. He looks at you with those huge puzzled eyes, and you can figure him sucking his thumb and spilling tears.
Today walk was relatively succesfull. He only "muled" three times. Once he actually needed to do some toilette business, and I had to apologize for being so inconsiderate as not to get the hint of his meaningful looks. The second time was because of a very scary, tarp-covered wood pile. It is well known that tarp-covered wood piles are a favourite ambush place for huge horse-eating sabre-toothed tigers, so we all convened that the wood pile had to be approached with utmost caution, everyone of us trying to hide behind someone else, and no blame was put on anyone. But the third time was embarassing. A family of four, leading a black and white terrier the size of peanut, appeared on the path, and nothing could convince TomBoy to move another step until the father of the family led the offending dog 20meters out of the path into the woods, and every other grinning member of the family had passed us, and sunk the horizon in the opposite direction. "This is my haflinger horse. I call him Braveheart". Who knows. May be he hunderstands things about terriers that we can't even suspect.
In order to gather a bit of courage about our future life I took out the dutch oven today and made roast chicken. This was a variation of this recipe: http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/My-Favorite-Simple-Roast-Chicken-231348
which is the best recipe for roasted chicken I ever met, and one of my favourite dishes. A 12 inches dutch oven is just a tad cramped for a whole chicken, but you can cut a small one in a half, or roast a packet of chicken legs. In any case, pat dry, sprinkle generously but judiciously with salt and pepper, and lay on the bottom of the dutch oven, skin up, with a mere sprinkle of olive oil under it. Close the dutch oven and roast for an hour or until the meat is done, with the cover well closed. When almost ready pile more embers on the cover of the oven and let it slightly open to let the steam out, so the skin becomes nice and crispy. Remove the chicken from the oven, overturn the cover, carefully discarding the embers, and lay the chicken on it to keep warm. Scrape up and mix the juices of the chicken on the bottom of the oven, using a tiny bit of water to mollify them if necessary (but only the minimum needed). Scatter a spoonful of fresh thyme leaves in the juices, take the pot from the fire and melt a nice piece of fresh butter (50 g or so) in the "gravy". Pour over the chicken and serve hot.
You will understand by now, that I will need a pot of fresh thyme on my travels. Of all fresh herbs, it is the oneI cannot abide to do without.
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