A phone call came quite early on a recent morning. 7:30 usually means I have just stumbled out of bed and am eager to head toward the kitchen where Doug has the coffee ready. With my morning voice I answered it, always fearful that no good news comes by phone this early. What a pleasant surprise to hear from a friend of many years ago, but one whom I rarely visit, other than with the yearly Christmas card. Kay was quick to apologize for the time, but after a few greeting pleasantries, she got on to the meat of her message, one of panic. She had lost my Pepper Jelly recipe, the recipe she usually makes every Christmas as a gift to many of her friends.

“Pepper Jelly,” I repeat in my still gravely voice. “My gosh, Kay. I haven’t thought of pepper jelly in years, much less made it. I have no idea that I still have that recipe, but let me check on it and I’ll email you tonight.”

“No,” was her reply. “Not only do I want the recipe, I want to visit with you, so call me.” A good plan I thought, and we said our goodbyes, she heading for work and me heading for the much needed coffee.

I spent considerable time that day unsuccessfully searching for that pepper jelly recipe. Not too many years ago I had almost completed revising and organizing my recipes. But alas, like so many other of my great project ideas, it was never quite finished in perfect fashion. So many of my recipes still remained in a brown paper bag, tossed together no matter they be “candy” or “seafood.”

All day I pondered over how to tell Kay the news. She was prepared to make 24 jars of this jelly the next day, and she simply couldn’t remember how much vinegar to use. My next step was to think of others with whom I might have shared the recipe. I placed a call to another friend whom I have only recently reconnected with by phone. She has moved from Georgia to be close to her children, and we haven’t seen each other for years. The problem was Mimi was babysitting her grandchildren and wouldn’t be home for a couple of days, but she was sure she had the recipe.

Over the next couple of days my phone conversations with Mimi and Kay did not turn up the coveted recipe, but they did elicit so many wonderful memories and cherished moments from our past lives. How easy it has been to lose these as the years have gone by. Somehow it seems fitting here at Christmas to recover and regain so many of our past friendships.

Just over the last few days Doug and I have made a point to schedule a Christmas visit to see other friends with whom we risk the danger of becoming disconnected. I’m calling this my Pepper Jelly Christmas.

Oh, and by the way, the happy ending to this recipe drama is that I have found the recipe. I had filed it in “Condiments” not “Appetizers.” Quite revealing, don’t you think? Friends are definitely the Condiments of our lives and no better time to relish this than Christmas!

Pepper Jelly:

3 large green bell peppers, cored and seeded
12 little hot peppers (so many years ago, there weren’t as many varieties
of hot peppers available -- you can choose your desired heat)
1/3 cup water
2 cups cider vinegar
5 pounds of sugar (can you believe this???)
2 bottles of Certo
green food coloring
paraffin
12 half pint glass jars

Blend the water and all peppers in the blender. (If too little liquid, add a little of the vinegar) Pour through a strainer into a very large pot. Add sugar, vinegar, and strained pepper liquid, and bring to a boil. Cook 5 minutes on low heat (Be very careful because it will boil over quickly). Add Certo. Bring to boil and cook 1 minute. Remove from heat and skim off the top. Add coloring. Pour into glasses and cover with melted parafin.

In Praise of the Pumpkin

What is it about the pumpkin that calls to me? The minute those bright fleshy fruits begin to show up in the grocery store and the garden shops, I’m more than ready for them. I’m pulling out all my pumpkin recipes and checking my cupboards to replenish my supply of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. Yes, fall is in the air and pumpkins are a huge fetish of my fall!

I’m always delighted to work the “pumpkin patch” at church, knowing I’ll have plenty of time to walk through that massive front lawn of assorted shapes and even colors. Pumpkin growers have really turned on the creativity in recent years offering up not only the gorgeous orange spheres, but bumpy ones, veined ones, green ones, white ones, tall and skinny ones, and oh so many combinations of the above. Knowing that my pumpkin purchases from church send money to good causes, I come home pumpkin poor. Pumpkins find their way into almost every room in the house, by the back door, and decorating the back terrace.

No longer do we carve our pumpkins at Halloween, hoping to make these beautiful delights last unit Thanksgiving. Our grandchildren, however, treat us to photos of their spectacular creative Jack-O-Lanterns. A favorite family memory is of the 18 inch “perfect” pumpkin that voluntarily grew in our back yard, just beneath the patio where we most likely carved the last year’s Jack-O-Lantern. Since that time I have tried for several years to grow pumpkins, but somehow my attempts have been futile. Heeding the old timer’s advice and sowing the seeds about the time of July 4th, planting in what I assumed the perfect spot -- none of that has produced another pumpkin.

But alas, the frost is on the pumpkin. Several nights of below freezing have resulted in a few blemishes and soft spots on the skin of several of my pumpkins. I suppose, just like all the Christmas decorations in the stores, the word is that fall is on its way out and winter is fast approaching. But I cry out for just a few more weeks of falling leaves, crisp and invigorating 60 degree temperatures, and beautiful blue skies. Let me languish in my pumpkin mania for just a bit longer.

Lingering Impressions of Amalfi Travel

“Positano bites deep.” That according to John Steinbeck and certainly seconded by me and my traveling party, only we would apply the phrase to all of the Amalfi Coast. Only home a week now, I have no trouble evoking images of those marvelous Praiano sunrises. Opening the shuttered doors of our hotel room, we delighted each morning to the spectacular scarlet hued transformation of night to day. And at the end of the day, walking just up the hill from our hotel and turning west, we were treated to another solar spectacle. For fleeting minutes, the Praiano sunset lends its striking illumination to the majolica tiled dome of San Genarro, the cayenne rooftops of Positano, and the jagged limestone coastlines of distant Capri.

What I called “Sensory Overloads” were common occurrences on this trip to the Amalfi Coast. Our first morning we were treated to Tosca’s “Puccini” played by a military band on the tiled piazza just outside the church. Being a day the Bishop visited, families gathered at this village church, as aged and stooped little ladies in their sensible black pumps bustled about inside the church, making sure the flowers were placed, the candles were lit, and all was in order for this very important visitor. Outside the band played on and the beautifully dressed grandchildren begged their grandfathers for money to buy a balloon from the balloon man strategically stationed for just such purchases. And just over this seemingly levitating piazza is the beautiful blue of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Not a bad way to start our day and our nine day visit to the Amalfi Coast.

Visiting beautifully ornate churches throughout this area was a history lesson, usually suggesting the wealth of their past. Their vast fishing industry, silk industry, and holiday repose for various emperors, corporate tycoons, and movie stars brought wealth to the villages early on. Mostly today their income seems to come from tourists who revel in the tarnished as well as the natural beauty that abounds.

And there is such great beauty to be found at every turn. As one guidebook says, “The camera almost clicks itself.” The gardens of Villa Cimbrone in Ravello were no exception, and the early morning light and small number of tourists were in our favor. Ravello was only one of our many excursions, but perhaps my favorite. Pompeii was an amazing and enduring testimony to the sophistication of the Roman’s culture and engineering. Collecting the dust on my shoes, I continued to look up to Mount Vesuvius in awe, always wondering of the lure that keeps civilizations building in its dark shadows.

Positano is definitely a vertical experience, as is Capri. We shake our heads in amazement considering what a feat of engineering was accomplished in hollowing out these mountain sides. Lemon studded Amalfi was Italy’s earliest maritime republic and a hub of great eastern trade reflected in the Byzantium architecture of the Duomo of St. Andrea. The piazza in front of this Duomo buzzes with gelato shops, jewelry shops, and the very popular ceramics shops seen throughout this coast.

Lemons, lemons, everywhere-- but not our typical grocery store lemons. No, these baseball sized lemons hang from terraced trees on most any available land, even inside restaurants. They are used in many of the Italian dishes, but their most popular use in this part of Italy is the renowned Limoncello. This after dinner drink is the perfect ending to all our perfect days on this coast!

The thirty mile stretch of exquisite coastline is often hard to enjoy when riding any vehicle that drives on this one and one-half lane coastal highway. Luckily we did not drive this, but left it to the questionable expertise of hired drivers or bus drivers or our hotel shuttle. It is not uncommon for these one and one-half lanes, marked for two cars, to questioningly accommodate two cars, a bus, a motorcycle, and a delivery truck, as well as the car that weaves through all this, determined for what or where I have no idea. All the travel guides print about roadway rage is true, but not our typical American road rage. Italian road rage, while sounding and appearing serious, seems only to be another of their communication tools, just a bit more serious than “Caio!” It’s such a way of life for them, they seemed amused when we appear to be cringing in the back seat. Vincent, our favorite driver, could handle all this and still quote his favorite recipe for Mushroom Risotto and his father’s famous dried fig confection, made for the Christmas holidays.

We soon learned the advantages of hiring a water taxi transport from village to village. Admiring the mountain side terraces, homes and churches from this seaside perspective soon became a preferred way of travel. Not only could we gain new perspective of the villages, but we could come almost close and personal to the huge yachts sailing this sea, watch swimmers dodge the jellyfish abounding in these waters,and visit many of the water caves that put the bright turquoise of this Tyrrhenian Sea to its full advantage. And always we made conversation with these local water taxi skippers, learning a bit of the colorful local lore.

Language never seemed to be a problem even though the local Praiano villagers, especially the older villagers we met on the street, spoke almost no English. The younger folks usually had some command of our English, as did most shop and restaurant owners. Their limited English and our lack of Italian never seemed to impede our respective understandings. Other than mastering the common daily phrases of Buongiorno, Buona sera, Grazie, and Prego, we simply put our English into the marvelous Italian cadence, and everyone seemed happy with that.

Ahhh. . . the food and the wine. What’s not to like, or should I say revere, about the culinary experience of this Campanian region of Italy? In choosing a restaurant we always deferred to Gary, our travel companion of pure Italian descent. Rather than a visit to a restaurant, we always had a dining experience, and by the time we left, we usually had met most of the kitchen staff, the chef, and the entire Italian family who owned the restaurant. Gary charmed them all with his earnestness to know more about their families, their histories, and most of all their culinary skills. Campania is a foodie’s delight with its abundance of the freshest ingredients, especially the tomatoes, basil, and fresh cheeses. Its dishes were always enhanced with the local olive oil, fresh herbs, and lemons. As novices, Doug and I ate many wood fired pizzas and the beloved Caprese salad, but soon warmed to the seafood laden pasta dishes. We ate pasta we had never experienced and came to know the marvelous taste of freshly prepared gnocchi. Being well known for their seafood, the Amalfi Coast treated us to delicious prawns, squid, clams, mussels, and a variety of the day’s catch of fish, often brought to the table on ice, awaiting our selection. Always, this feast for the eyes as well as the stomach, was eaten from the local and colorful Majolica pottery.

And certainly what was not to like about the wine? We drank the local Amalfi area wines with every meal but breakfast. The no-sulfite reds became a favorite, Doug often holding out for the fruitier whites. Of course no wine labels offered a hint as to the grape -- be it chardonnay or merlot, we drank to our heart’s content. And the coffees! From the morning cups drunk in our hotel to the cappuccino I preferred in the afternoon, violating the Italian custom of drinking cappuccino as a breakfast beverage, I loved every cup. Doug, being the ice cream aficionado, sought out more than a few gelato shops, usually enticing us all to join him with the paper umbrella decorated parfaits.

Let me not forget to mention our market experience. Most every afternoon after 5:00 when the market reopened, Gary, Judy, Doug and I walked down to the local grocer, usually to purchase our before dinner appetizers. After Doug and Gary carefully studied the contents of the butcher’s selection of cured meats and cheeses for the day and heard the butcher’s recommendations, the decisions were made. The butcher then proceeded to hand cut our meats while we worked hard not to drool over the glass counter. After our preferences of fruits, wine, olives and breads were made, we climbed back up the hill to enjoy this evening ritual of patio delights, including what ships were sailing the Tyrrhenian that afternoon.


It is difficult to close this memory studded Amalfi Coast experience. Of course we returned with the usual mementos -- a few small rocks and shells stuffed into pockets along our way, a few ceramic pieces carefully packaged for travel, and one bottle of limoncello we’ll probably save forever. The photographs play over and over on the kitchen counter frame, but all the wonderful memories play over and over in our hearts. Arrivederci Amalfi!

Pompeii Dust, Dirty Clothes, and Asters

Sitting amongst piles of dirty clothes hastily unpacked from my suitcase last night, I long for that morning wake up call of unbelievable sunrises and Tyrrhenian Sea breezes. But right now I can be happy to settle for this gorgeous 62 degree, sun filled morning in Georgia.

No matter that I suffered from a considerable lack of sleep (5 hours in the last 40), the first place I headed on setting down the suitcases, was my back yard garden. Two days of welcomed rain prior to our arrival has made everything (well almost everything) in the garden stand up straight and salute my return. Even having just seen the marvelous Villa Cimbrone gardens of Ravello, my backyard beauties stand the test. The profuse blooms of the purple asters, recently moved to a new spot in the garden, demonstrate their happiness with quite a show. The bright yellow swamp sunflowers, given to me by a neighbor and just budding when we left home, are happy to take the place of the faded summer phlox. My much awaited lavender mums burst with buds promising to open most any day. And all of this to a backdrop of bright blue skies and gentle fall breezes coaxing the maples to begin their transformation.

And so as I return from ten days spent on the glorious Amalfi Coast of Italy, I do so knowing that the Piedmont of Georgia offers its own special beauty, comparable to most any place on the globe. Time to shake the Pompeii dust from my shoes and start the wash, comforted by awesome memories and thoughts of the colorful autumn that my little corner of the world promises me.

Fingerprints

The grandchildren and their parents left yesterday after a weekend visit. There is comfort in the routine that Doug and I so easily slip back into following one of these visits, but the delightful memories linger and so too the fingerprints. The fingerprints are mostly left on the glass of the French doors leading to the back yard. A wise neighbor, a grandmother herself, once told me to leave the fingerprints as a reminder of the grandchildren’s visit. She said she left them for several days, providing her with great remembrances. And so, I too never fail to leave the fingerprints.

No longer are they the prints of a toddler, two and three feet off the steps. No, the prints are quite a bit higher now and not as many. The maturing hands so very often have found the door knobs now, but a few of the fingerprints are there, and I will leave them for the week. What fun we had building a fire in the firepit on the garden terrace and roasting marshmallows for our s’mores. Each grandson had his own style for how a marshmallow should be roasted, some smoldering, others catching the flames to become their own torch. A small entry into the personal style that each is creating for himself, as distinctive as the fingerprints of each.

As grandparents we can only hope that we leave an imprint on their lives, and certainly that we leave memories. Here’s hoping we leave fingerprints that don’t get cleared away for some time.

Fall IS on the Way!

Take heart all ye Southern gardeners. Fall seems to be making an entry, albeit with some 90 degree temperatures still, but there are real signs of this only heretofore imagined autumn. My walk around the neighborhood block reveals a freshness in the air, bright blue cloudless skies, and lengthened shadows. If I time the walk just right, I am also blessed with the high school band tuning up for their Friday night halftime performances. Does anything say fall like football?

Fall has always marked my New Year. Perhaps this is a reflection of all my years of teaching. Time to start the calendar, rev the engines, and make use of the energy level that summer drained away. Of course my garden delights in this possibility too. Time to cut back many past their prime plants and replenish a few spots. I can’t wait to get my hands on the bedding mums -- nothing smells like fall any more than those brightly colored chrysanthemums happily planted among my other fading perennials. I often regret allowing these mums so little time in my garden, yanking them up to plant the pansies as soon as frost seems imminent. I hope they know what delight they bring to me in such a short time.

Listening to the school bus as it stops to pick up the neighborhood children, my mind starts to process the day. No, not with bulletin boards and lesson plans, but thoughts of breakfast on the patio and where to shop for those mums!

Kitchen Window Beauties!

My kitchen window serves me well. It is the place where great ideas bubble up and profound insights are realized. Well, maybe!? And of course it is most often entry into my backyard nature, especially when weather or life’s other events keep me inside. This morning was no exception.

Peeling the last of my fresh and deliciously dripping Georgia peaches, I looked up to see goldfinches at the left feeder and a ruby throated hummingbird on the right. As usual, by the time my hands were cleaned and the camera was found, they were gone, but not for long. To my delight many flew into the feeders, not all goldfinches nor ruby throated hummingbirds, but others as well. A few agreed to have their beauty photographed as they dined, and only too late did I ask myself why I hadn’t removed the window screens that I usually do for the summer.

The goldfinches have always been such a delight to see when they fly through and visit the feeder, often in numbers, families I suppose. I must study up on their habits, but I now remember how well they love the old fashioned Black-eyed Susans, wildflowers actually, and many other of the yellow flowers that are fairly prolific in the garden right now. Just yesterday I had almost cut back the Black-Eyed Susans which are looking really bedraggled now, but I was reluctant, wanting to give them one last stand. I’m so glad I left them to host those little golden jewels.