Putting Wine in Its Place

Weekdays, wine glasses will be for purposes other than
chardonnay or cabernet sauvignon. *

I know this will come as a terrible shock to my wine-loving friends, and that includes almost all of them, but I'm putting wine in its place. Its place is on weekends and special occasions. It is not for every single day, as it has been for more years than I care to count. Why this sudden loss of sanity? Why the deprivation? The suppression of desire to swill wine while cooking dinner and eating it?

It's about a couple things. Weight is one. I've been seeing the same 3-4-pound-range on the scale for more than 10 years. Ten years ago is when a near-death experience and 9 days in intensive care led to a 15-pound weight loss.  I started to regain the weight (which I was ecstatic to have dumped), because I still believed in the erroneous low-fat-equals-weight-loss theory of dieting. Too many bowls of brown rice, dry baked potatoes, and boxes of fat-free Junior Mints later, I discovered low-carb nutrition. I committed to the lifestyle and yada yada yada. I lost the weight I'd regained and stabilized, with a few minor corrections through the years.

Now, I'd like to drop a jean size or two. But I detest dieting and don't want to give up anything. I already said goodbye to bread, pasta, rice, sugar, potatoes, bananas, wheat and most grains ten years ago. I'm NOT putting aside butter, cream, eggs, meat, berries, olive and coconut oils, mountains of kale, chard, spinach and broccoli, plus a little bit of chocolate at night. What else is there?

Wine.

Let's see. At 3-4 glasses of wine daily, I'm consuming around 15-20 carbs and between 300-600 calories, which adds up to as much as 140 carbs and 4,200 calories a week. Yikes.  I know, I count carbs, not calories. But still. I can't ignore these numbers. PK has suggested several times over the years that we test our shared wine habit with a period of abstinence.  Go ahead, I've always said. I wasn't ready to stare at the stove in the twilight without a glass of wine nearby. What changed my mind?

I'm not sure. Just a gradual dawning that I was indulging a daily habit that, despite claims to wine's health benefits, probably wasn't doing me any good. Plus the fact that the ugly A word kept bobbing  up. After all the years of routine wine-ing, could we really quit?

Yes, it appears, but on our terms. We've decided to drink only on weekends or special occasions, including vacations. So. A couple weeks ago, we put away the corkscrew and Sunday through Thursday did not imbibe. Come Sunday night, we were back on the wagon again for a second week, which included the 3-day MLK weekend, technically a special occasion. Come Monday, though, a return to alcohol-free living. It's been a lot easier than I thought.

The truth is that I needed to push the reset button on everyday drinking. I'm going to stick with it for a year and see what happens. In the meantime, we're spending a week in Mexico soon with a group of friends. It will be a special occasion, indeed, and I will raise a margarita to toast my new relationship with wine.

*Those lovely geraniums are growing in our living room!

I'll Drink to That!

A lovely twilight reflected in a glass of cabernet sauvignon. Why deny?

I will make this short and not-too-sweet. Since declaring wine as a "special occasion" treat 18 months ago, I have slipped back into my decades-long daily habit of enjoying wine during dinner prep and dinner itself. Savored. Sweet. Silky.

Failure to sharply curtail wine intake had a lot to do with the "special occasion" clause PK and I set for ourselves when we launched our wine deprivation experiment. Turns out that almost any turn of event can qualify as "special." Weekends, of course, even though we're retired and it shouldn't matter. Travel. (We spent a week in Mexico with a group of 10 friends just a few weeks after our declaration, which put a serious in crimp in our resolve.)

Other special occasions: A colorful sunset. A day that the cat didn't spray in the house. A good dinner. A Ducks game. The grass growing. Flowers blooming. The first ripe tomato.

PK is on the same page. What the hell? We enjoy wine, but we were worrying; are we alcoholics because we drink wine almost daily?  I don't think so. And I don't even care.

My initial impulse about drinking less wine was to lose 10 pounds, which I've now determined I don't need to do. Damn, some parts of getting older are liberating. Why stress about a few pounds? Who cares???? NO ONE! No one cares if I wear size 10 or 12. Those are good sizes for someone approaching, in just a few months, age 70. Yes. Freaking 70.

So I am claiming the age advantage of doing whatever I want without apology. Vanity is giving way to comfort and comfort includes drinking nice wine and cozying up with a book and toasting the world for my family, great life, good health, wonderful friends, precious grandchildren—and special occasions, of course.

Not to mention a ready and steady supply of fantastic locally made wines. Plus those from around the world stocked in affordable abundance at our local Grocery Outlet store.  Cheers!

Camping is, of course, always a special occasion as this pic from a few years back illustrates. 

Tourist territory 2 - Applegate Valley, Oregon - Wine etc.

It's Mother's Day 2010. Sister Monette and niece Lisa, hardy Minnesotans, are visiting. First order of business: have dinner (at noon)with mother/grandmother LaVone, 93, at her abode, the Rogue Valley Independent Retirement Living.  Whoever thinks that their parent(s)will end up in a retirement community? I didn't, but then I was in  la la land about aging. I still am, at least about my own progression toward the grave, but I have a better grasp of what's going on with my mom. That woman is getting old!
But for her age, she's doing famously. She takes one medication, probably superfluous, and has no complaints other than deafness and muscle atrophy, the later of which we are combating with exercise. By "we" I mean that she does the exercises and I nag. I believe she'll live to be 100. I don't mean to gloss over her hearing loss. Being left out of conversations is a terrible curse for somebody who hates to miss anything.

LaVone, Monette & Lisa

The place she lives is good. Really good. It is for independent seniors, that is people who don't require assisted living or "memory care." Most important: rent includes three chef-prepared meals a day, all of them good to better than good, and numerous daily activities. Score for Mother's Day dinner on a scale of scale of 1-10: 8. And it cost just $7 per guest. Then we headed out on the Applegate Valley Wine Trail.

(Click photo for larger view.) Late in the day May 9, 2010, along Kubli Road, the Applegate  Valley, Oregon.

It was a blustery day, and time was short, but my guests loved the pastoral scenery so much that we were compelled to stop numerous times for my sister to snap photos. There are close to 20 wineries along the Applegate Wine Trail, but due to time, my reluctance to drink and drive, and my mother's frailties, we stopped at only two: Fiasco Winery & Artisan Faire and Schmidt Family Vineyards.

Wines at both were good—southern Oregon wines are emerging as world-class, after all—but Fiasco's warm attention to guests, including an impromptu primer on wine tasting, far exceeded the (in) attention we got at Schmidt's. We bought wine at both places, however. I'm sorry we missed  the other wineries, and I hope that local friends will get together, as we've discussed, and hire a driver for a day of wine touring. Actually, it would take three days to visit all the wineries in our local Rogue, Illinois, and Applegate valleys. If you have the time, they have the wine.

An all-local menu— how to host a (fun)draising dinner

First, have a cause. 

Mine is Women's Crisis Support Team, a progressive grassroots organization in Southern Oregon devoted to preventing (and helping the victims of) two of the most shameful criminal acts: domestic violence and sexual assault.
Second, recruit a friend to help plan, cook, and serve. Make sure his/her culinary instincts match your own. In this case, I got a twofer with Jeanne Schraub, a wonderful cook and prodigious gardener, whose mate, Gary Clarida, looked great in his black and white serving outfit. PK, of course, was the bartender.

Gary the server explaining the fine points of waiting tables with guest Dave Frank.
 Who is that ghost in the garden? 

Here's Jeanne arranging flowers for the dinner table.

Third, get a theme. Ours was not original, but authentic: all local. This was easy as we pulled produce from our overflowing gardens and one 17-pound salmon from the Rogue River. (Not quite as easy. See previous post.) We also enjoyed some great donated Applegate Valley wine, thanks to Steve and Louise Rouse, as well as wines purchased from Del Rio Winery and Michael McAuley. Michael donated a portion of his proceeds to WCST, plus he delivered the wine to our house!

Fourth, pick a date a few months in advance and invite guests. It isn't that difficult to round up eight people (or more) who are willing to pay for a fancy dinner with good wine, all for a great cause. 

Paying dinner guests awaiting delivery of the next course.
We moved our dining room table outside to take advantage of perfect weather  and to
get the guests out of the cooks'' corner. 

Fifth, create a menu worthy of the price. (We asked $50 a person, but got some big "tips" which together made $550 for WCST.)


And now, what you been waiting for, The Fancy All Local Harvest Dinner Menu!
If you want any of these recipes, please email me or respond via Facebook. I need to figure out how to get rid of the stupid hoops you have to jump through to comment on this blog.


The starter - Paul's frescatini - a martini made with vodka, fresh mint and cucumbers.
PK and I rarely drink cocktails (we're actually winos) but discovered this potentially addictive drink in South Beach, Fl. that time I won a cruise and we had to fly to Miami to get on the ship and decided to see how the other half lives by spending a couple nights in pricey South Beach. The martini calls for quality vodka, and we used made-in-Oregon Crater Lake vodka plus some Absolute that I infused with sliced cucumbers for a month.

Mark Goracke, with beer-swilling-martini-avoiding Susan by his side,
passes judgement on the Frescatini. He liked it!

The appetizers:  Jeanne's deluxe marinated, pickled, or grilled garden veggies and Sicilian-inspired caponata served with crostini, plus a wedge of Rogue Creamery's world-famous (really!) blue cheese and a slab of Willamette Valley Creamery's smoked gouda.

Jeanne with her veggies and crostini.

The salad: Burrata caprese with brandywine tomatoes and basil-infused olive oil, a drizzle of reduced balsamic vinegar, and fresh basil. Burrata is a silky and rich blend of mozzarella and cream, available at the Rogue Creamery and other speciality cheese shops. Don't look at the price. It's worth the splurge for a special occasion.
The soup:  Squash bisque. Made from butternut squash, vegetable broth, cream, and a slew of subtle spices and herbs.
The main course: Jeanne's French potato salad made from her red spuds, oil, vinegar, and herbs. Steamed green beans with sauteed-in-butter chanterelle mushrooms. The beans came from our garden, and the shrooms were gathered in the forest by Jeanne's colleague who wanted our dinner to be a hit. The marinated grilled salmon was served with chimichurri, dill, and chipotle sauces on the side.

Nasturtium-bedecked dinner plates ready to be served. 

Jeanne's incredible tarts, one pear and the other, a blackberry-topped marvel appropriately dubbed PET—positively erotic tart.

Remember, if you want any recipes, email me or use Facebook.
I'll post the recipes in a week or so. 

Consider hosting your own small-scale fun(D)raiser dinner. It's a great way to get together with friends and test your culinary creativity with another foodie. You might even impress yourself—or catch a fish!

And the non profit of your choice will be super grateful you made the effort.

Death check at Grocery Outlet

I saw a friend in the wine section of my favorite grocery store. She was standing in front of the chardonneys when I came up behind her and put my hands on her shoulders. She turned, and fell into my arms for a serious hug. Long story short: her husband is dying of liver cancer. He's in hospice care, and she is his full-time at-home caregiver. She looked tired. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she clearly wanted to talk, which we did for at least a half hour, edging back and forth so the wine shoppers could examine the goods. Our subject was the inevitable, which most people choose to ignore until it is looming. What me, die? No way, or at least, Not anytime soon.

It is looming for her husband, and they have been working through the details: wills, finances, and, most importantly, I believe, Oregon's Death with Dignity provision. It is legal in this state for a terminally ill person to check out under his or her own power. She described the extensive steps they've taken so he can do this legally, if he chooses. So far, he has not chosen death, although death  has chosen him, and he feels weaker and more miserable every day, she says.

I don't know her husband, but I guess that he is depressed and fearful. He holds his death in his own power. Imagine that. I mean, anyone can commit suicide, a desperate lonely act that few condone and is difficult to understand and so often leaves a dreadful wake of sorrow, guilt, and questioning for survivors.

But to be able to end your own suffering with full support of your loved ones and in a deliberate planned way, well that is something else. It is a gift, of sorts. But I wonder if he'll be able to look death in the eye and say, I'm ready. I wonder if he'll gather the courage to tell her, It's time, and ask her to set the scene for him to take the steps to put himself into into his final sleep. Imagine staring down death from over a handful of sedatives and saying, Ok, come and get me.

I don't know if I could do it. But then, I'm in the "not anytime soon" category. Or am I? As my friend pointed out, you never know what's going to happen. 

In the meantime, I immensely enjoy everyday things, like this bumblebee in the flourishing cosmos on a cloudless and warm late October afternoon. No matter thar the adjacent sunflowers have turned brittle and brown, all but abandoned by hungry birds and nectar-seeking bees. Winter is, after all, almost upon us.

Gal-camping get-away to Lemolo Lake, OR

Girlfriends are happy to be at Lemolo Falls, via a 1.5-mile steep trail 
at the end of an off-the-beaten track 4WD road. 
Photo credit - Margaret Bradford

You notice I didn't claim that my girlfriends and I were glamping, which has, I think, taken on a commercial twist. But the term still includes excursions in amped-up vintage trailers with lively paint jobs, coquettish decor, and enthusiastic owners, mostly female.

That's not us. Instead I'm talking about women friends who own plain vanilla RVs, most often with a man, but who are capable of handling said RV without the man. And also, they occasionally want to get the H out of Dodge with their girlfriends. Hence our three-day getaway to one of Southern Oregon's most iconic areas - the North Umpqua River corridor along highway 138.
Ten waterfalls. Thirteen public campgrounds. Numerous trails. Beauty abounds.

Our camp was close to Lake Lemolo. 

Lemolo Lake in the early morning, steam rising from lake water that's warmer than the air. Mt. Thielsen is reflected. Crater Lake is close by. A few hours later, this view was obscured by wildfire smoke.

Just a few miles from Lemolo Lake is a short easy trail to Warm Springs Falls.

The way we roll has nothing to do with glamour but is a giant step up from tent camping. We're done with that! (Except for two of the seven women on this trip who still backpack) Our group included two ride-alongs, one who was new to camping, and one who wasn't, but she's done plenty without a man, including raising a musical man-child with dreads and a lion's heart.

We all have petite rigs. Gail pulls a Casita and Margaret an ECON trailer, a bit more commodious with a 3-foot pullout, but still smallish. Jeanne drives a 4WD truck with a cozy pick-up camper. Sueji pilots an older Pleasure Way van and I enjoy road tripping in a 2008 Roadtrek Agile van.

Nothing wrong with a little wine on a before-dinner hike around the lake, is there? 

Most of us are in an extended group of friends-for-decades who are aging together. We've all turned gray. What a trip! We've seen one another through the harried childrearing and work years and slogged together through menopause. We're now bounding into the last third of life, where friendships are more nourishing than ever. And the view from our backyards is always beautiful.

Lots of gray hair here, but not an "old lady" in the bunch. Spirited? Yes. Even feisty.

Gail is the only one of us who has taken a solo RV trip. We won't get into detail about that episode, but getting away by herself was just what she needed.

And our recent trip together was what we all needed, in one way or another. Sometimes it isn't just getting into the outdoors, but who you're with when you go there.

We caravaned about 100 miles from our Southern Oregon homes to Lemolo Lake, not far from Crater Lake. What did we do besides hike to waterfalls and around the lake? Talked a lot about life changes, ate voluptuous salads and allowed ourselves ginger bars and thin slices of coffeecake dripping with icing. We drank wine and a tad bit too much vodka.

We did not spend even one-second man-bashing. Of a certain age, between 62 and 72, we explored the new reality we're all facing in different stages. (Sorry, Paula. You might be younger.)

I'd never seen this butterfly, but Jeanne knew
 its name immediately -  a mourning cloak.

One camper's beloved husband died in March, a fresh wound that we know could be ours. Or our mate's. We all know people who are gravely ill or dying, including parents. We know, we know.

One thing we reaffirmed.  Life is bitter-sweet. Grab every moment and run for the hills, the ocean, the rivers, the woods, and the wild places while you still can.

And don't forget to spend quality time with your friends.

If you want to visit the Lemolo Lake area

Here's a guide to all the North Umpqua River waterfalls along Highway 138.  Including ones accessed via Lemolo Lake. Note that the directions for Lemolo Falls do not lead to the view-from-the-bottom as my photo above depicts. It's a lot easier to reach the trailhead described. But if you want to see the falls from below (way better) check with the resort for directions and condition of the 4WD road. Muddy may not be good. Otherwise, no problem except clearance.

I'll leave you with a photo of a close-by waterfall we'd all seen before and didn't visit this time. 

Even without a kayaker in it, I think Toketee Falls
is the most spectacular of the North Umpqua's waterfalls.
That is son Chris Korbulic in 2011. 

An addendum: I got this in an "Only in Oregon" email today and just had to add the link.

HIGHWAY OF WATERFALLS

On the Road in Baja Part 1

This is the first of what I hope will be a series of posts about our Baja travels earlier this year. The blog is best viewed on the website. Just click on the title, if you are an email subscriber. Thanks for checking in!

Many landscape photos that appear in this blog were shot through the windshield with an iPhone7plus. My blue shirt is reflected here. This scene is representative of the dramatic and beautiful northern Baja terrain. Baja scenery overall is outstanding. 

We were 50 days on the road earlier this year driving to the Baja Peninsula and back. Fifty days, most of them in our Class B RV - a Sprinter van all dressed up with camping conveniences crammed into space about a quarter to half the size of a walk-in closet.

I have toured closets that could sleep five or six adults. Believe me, our van can handle only two. And it's good that we're average to small-sized shrinking adults. And that we like each other.

Now that we're home with ridiculous comforts, more room than any human beings need or deserve, and calming predictability, I am entertained by my travel notes.

TRIP STATS

• Nights spent van camping - 35
• Airbnb stays - 8 
• Nights in hotels - 3
• Nights spent with friends - 4
• Miles logged  - 5,185 from Southern Oregon to Todos Santos, Baja CA Sur and back (with a quick side trip to Arizona)

 It all went by with a whoosh.

One of few negatives about travel is that frequent relocations tend to shift time into hyper speed. Every day has its own story, beats with its own rhythm, and glows with its own light. 

Well, honestly, a few of those days were far from glowing. I'll get to those later; I know that the bum-luck bad-decision stories are appreciated.

For now, I'll start with crossing the Mexican border at Tecate, a surprisingly anxiety-free experience despite warnings to the contrary. And then an account of our first days on the Baja Peninsula.


CROSSING INTO MEXICO 
We chose to cross the border at Tecate because it is the smallest and least used of the three ports of entry in San Diego County, CA. The reason? It's out of the way. For us, was, coming from Joshua Tree National Park, it meant navigating narrow twisting mountain roads. Yippee! We like those roads.

This one would have been better without snow, however. The snow was an unwelcome travel surprise about 50 miles north of the Mexican border.

At the border, we were almost lonely; one car was ahead of us and none behind.

No would-be immigrants swarmed the area. It was peaceful and the Mexicans working the crossing were friendly and helpful, performing only a cursory search of the van. Our uneventful crossing took about 15 minutes. In another ten, we were out of town.

RUTA de VINO

Who knew? Northern Baja has a lovely wine region spanning from Tecate to Ensenada and beyond. As we drove the deluxe Highway 3 sixty-seven miles to Ensenada, the vines were dormant and, early in the day, the tasting rooms closed

We also spotted vineyards south of Ensenada before lush greenery and intensive farming transitioned to desert. The Ruta de Vino includes 64 wineries spread over seven different valleys in a Mediterranean micro-climate.

We did our part to ensure the success of Mexican vintners and sampled a fair amount of Baja-produced wine. 

     The scenery along the Ruta de Vino close to Ensenada. 

ESTERO BEACH in ENSENADA 
It was the day after Christmas, and we gave ourselves a gift by booking a room at the Estero Beach Hotel, which, we discovered, no longer operates an RV park listed in our guidebook and where we had planned to stay. 

Darn! Too bad. But after several days camping en route to the border, we were ready for a hotel. It was a good place to practice showering without ingesting any water.

The Estero hotel is a beautiful accommodation, and it was off-season, so we scored a half-price room and enjoyed the view (pictured below) from our balcony. It was an odd but great way to start our Baja camping adventure - lounging around in a luxury hotel!


       

The hotel restaurant served fine Mexican fare. PK ordered a combination plate for lunch not realizing it was crowd-sized. Somehow he polished it off. Because it was so tasty.

Mine was served on a cutting board, each crispy taco stuffed with either shrimp, catch-of-the-day, or octopus.  Hmmm.  Octopus. It was OK, but a bit chewy. I tried not to think about the suction cups. Great cilantro salsa.

                                       ****

We headed south the next morning all cleaned up, well fed and eager to explore.

Oops. A military roadblock. This looks worse than it was.

We knew we'd run into "crime-stopping" roadblocks, and had been advised to remove wallets and purses from the van as it was being searched for guns and drugs. Other than getting the stinkeye for taking photos, this and three or four other roadblocks were no problem. 

Oops! Road construction. Quite a lot of it between Ensenada and our night's destination, Don Eddie's Landing.


We waited in a long line for our turn to pass through the construction area. Food vendors were standing by to ease the pain. Candy or pork rinds anyone? 

DON EDDIE'S LANDING - Nice surprise!
When we travel, PK strongly prefers to drive. Fine with me. It is my job to navigate and ferret out attractions to visit and places to spend the night. Since Mex 1 is the main road going north and south in most of the Baja, navigating isn't that challenging. Even though finding side-trip routes can be tricky. And one never knows about camping. 

Our camp spot at Don Eddie's was, umm, Spartan. And big. And not too far from the restroom, which, unfortunately, was hidden behind a palm tree and unlit. There's a story here, but I decline to tell it.

Don Eddie's Landing, an old-time fishing lodge, turned out to be a bit of a side trip that I found in an indispensable guidebook, Traveler's Guide to Camping Mexico's BAJA by Mike and Terri Church.

It was 3.3 miles off Mex 1 on a paved road, although the short entrance to the "landing" itself was sketchy.  

One wouldn't expect much while bumping along this roadto camp,  but a big juicy surprise awaited. 

Don Eddie's Landing turned out to be a popular stop on the snowbird circuit, and we got lots of "beta" from other travelers, as our son, Chris Korbulic calls information garnered before you commit to something. 

We were still a bit skittish, on day two in Mexico, after friends and relatives questioned our sanity for traveling to such a dangerous place. My auntie Ellen forbid me to go. 

Ironically, the first traveler we talked with, camped next door and headed north to home, was eager to tell us all about the thieving going on in the south. 

His story was one we heard repeated, and that we later witnessed, in the same area he described — Bahia de Conception, on the Sea of Cortez, south of Loreto.

I'll save that story for a later post. The point is, despite the following statement that actually came out of his mouth, we were not deterred by this news.

"With that van, you look like millionaires," he declared. "You will be prime targets!"

Thanks, dude. Would we turn around and go home? No. We would not. But we would take extra care and be a little bit wary.

For the record, we had NO problems whatsoever during our Baja travels and never felt unsafe or threatened.

True, the US State Department has issued "do not travel" warnings for several Mexican states on the mainland, but none for most of the Baja Peninsula. 

The homicide hotspots in Baja are clustered in the north, close to the US border. Tijuana, Ensenada, and Rosarito Beach are cities to hurry through. 

The next person to provide "beta", but with a positive spin, was a woman who frequented Don Eddie's Landing. 

"Where are you going for dinner?" she whispered in a conspiratorial way as I headed into Don Eddie's inviting bar and restaurant to check the menu. 
I didn't know there was a choice, but she sure did. She and her husband led me over some rocks to a path leading to a "hidden" restaurant tucked between buildings. The woman insisted we try it.

"You will not believe it," she promised.

Thus we were introduced to Eucalipto Restaurant, the best place we ate in Baja. With all the great seafood and authentic recipes yet to come, that's saying something.

It was a culinary thrill to happen upon a place such as this that doesn't fit in its surroundings and presents unexpected excellence. For me, at least, although PK is not prone to superlatives.

The chef was blasting something the entire
time we were there. The restaurant was packed.
I'd rename the place House of Fire.

Flames lit a nearby table as the waiter fired up liquor and poured it into a shrimp and pasta-filled Parmesan bowl. The entire kitchen was open-view, and I couldn't keep my eyes off the sauteeing veggies flying around and flames licking fish, meat and even mashed potatoes.

Dinner! Mediterranean swordfish and flamed-finished mashed potatoes topped with done-just-right tossed-in-the-air veggies. We both ordered this and had delicious leftovers for the next two nights of van dining.
Along with local wines, of course. We do our part.

NEXT UP:  We made a bad decision the next day. It will be embarrassing to tell the tale. 

Mid-July Garden Madness

The perspective here is that the white surface is not a cutting board. It is a freezer top. And the largest zucchini weighs 5 pounds. All this growth occurred in two days on three plants. Bad zucchini! The striped ones are Latino variety.
The deep green is the typical Black Beauty, and the yellow one is....
well, yellow, and not as prolific this year as in the past. Thank God.

Mid-summer has somehow crept up and it is becoming dangerous to leave the premises without a guard  to beat back the garden. Spring veggies - kale, broccoli, asparagus, chard etc. - were manageable and could be left alone for several days without their attempting to overtake the neighborhood. The summer garden is another story.

We were away a couple of days for an organized weekend bike ride, and I harvested all the zukes from our three plants before leaving. But when we returned just two days later, several huge numbers were bulging obscenely beneath hip-high leaves. Ridiculous. 

All the jokes about zucchinis are warranted. Too bad their exuberant growth habits can't be replicated in grapes (more wine!) Some of the best zuke uses are low carb zucchini pizza crust, zucchini spaghetti, and smoky zucchini lasagna noodles. (Unfortunately, I can't link to this post as it has mysteriously and maddeningly disappeared from my archive. I will recreate soon as I begin to smoke large zuke slices to use as lasagna noodles. )

But wait! There's more!

Twenty-seven pounds of cabbage in five heads, ready for the sauerkraut crock.
Look for this operation in a future post. 

The first of the cucumbers with Walla Walla  onions in a simple salad. One cucumber got too big while we were gone for two whole days, and I had to scrape the seeds out and halve, hence those half-moon slices. Still tastes great.
We eat this salad all summer, which requires a tiny fraction of the cukes produced by our small
group of happy vines.  Recipe below. 

The first of  the tomatoes, Sun Gold cherry variety. Photo is  blurry and warranted only because this is the first "harvest."  Tomatoes were saying, We're not ready! Don't take our picture! They'll be sweet ripe in a few days. 

Volunteer cosmos, sunflowers and others are joyous in their corner.
They require little attention and are unlikely to leap the fence. 

I love the in-your-face early volunteer sunflowers. The birds are already watching,
and the bees and other insects are ecstatic about all the pollen.

The following recipe comes from my mother and her mother before her. They used real sugar, of course, while I use substitues. I've enjoyed this every summer since I can remember.

Simple Summer Cucumber/Onion Salad

2-3 small-to-medium cukes
1/2 large sweet onion, more to taste
1/4 cup red wine vinegar (or any other vinegar, non sweetened)*
1/4 cup water*
1/4 cup sugar, or sugar equivalent to taste.* I use a few tablespoons Splenda).
salt and pepper to taste.

Slice the cucumbers and onion thinly. Place into a glass bowl. Mix the vinegar, water, sugar substitute and salt and pepper and stir into the cukes and onions. Marinate for at least an hour. Adjust seasonings. Refrigerate unused portion for a week or so. It gets better by the day for up to a week.

* The proportions are the important consideration. Three equal parts. It gets tricky with sugar subs. I mix the vinegar and water then add Splenda, or whatever I'm using, to taste—in this case just a few teaspoons.

Sharing Love Through Food, Wine, Music, Dance.....and Ping Pong!

Thanks, Steve, for the wholesome post title, (my first attempt was "Dance, Drink and Dink Around) and Laurie Gerloff's photo, above,  which says it all. Ping pong and dancing were temporarily suspended so the feast and toasting could proceed apace. Nothing fancy in the presentation, but what a gourmet spread! And what a celebration. The best way to start the holiday season is with friends and family, music and dancing, PING PONG, and a lush cornucopia of deliciousness that spills across December like a wave of rich gravy crested by sweet potatoes and pecan pie.
It's taken two weeks to sort this out, and I'm not sure it's quite jelled. But as I've learned,  writing, and even thinking about writing, is a process that can reveal (to yourself and maybe your readers, if you have any) what you're thinking and feeling. I'm writing this because I'm curious. What  am I thinking? It should be easy to describe something that was absolute fun, starting on Wednesday before T-giving and ending on Sunday after.

But.... no. I have to complicate with comparisons of Thanksgivings past and sentimental reflections about the future. But first off, it's clear that the marathon shared with a gang of friends and family bore NO resemblance to the iconic Norman Rockwell painting. For one thing, those sitting at Rockwell's Thanksgiving table don't look like they had anything to do with preparing dinner. And who's going to clean up? Never mind. And have you wondered how that fleshy grandmother held a 25-pound bird at arm's length? There are other problems. Celery sticks? Water? Where's the wine? Where's the stuffing and cranberry sauce? Where are the Brussels sprouts? I see you Norman, peeking out from the right lower corner. I wonder what you'd think of our Thanksgiving.

Valle Cochamo' - a private park in Patagonia

South America adventures 2018 - Episode 7
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Some say that Patagonia's Cochamo' Valle park, the first major stop on our road trip, is reminiscent of Yosemite National Park. Photo credit - Chelsea Behymer

We awoke in the Puerto Varas hostel, not exactly refreshed.

The kerosene fumes that about did me in the previous day had left the building, but we'd stayed up past midnight trying to hammer out an itinerary that included making reservations. Old people like to know where they might lay their heads the next night. 

The millennial people.....not that interested. But trying hard to accommodate.

PK and I were still giddy about a couple weeks on the road in Patagonian with our son and his partner, Chelsea Behymer. (I'm restraining myself from typing a row of !!!). The serendipity involved for this to occur sounds made up, but it is a true story.

Patagonia comprises the southern-most parts of Chile and Argentina. We traveled in Chile only. The terrain, unlike most of Patagonia, was cool and damp rainforest. 

Regarding accommodations, we were looking at Airbnbs, lodges and hostels. As we began our two-week journey, we had three nights booked. That was it. And also a ferry ride or two planned, I think. At least we were set for the next couple of nights.

But first things first. Trip food.

It was rainy and cool as we stopped at a supermarket on our way out of Puerto Varas. December through February is high tourist season in Chile, like summer in the USA. Most tourist areas were crowded, and traffic and parking were ridiculous in urban areas. As were scoring restaurant seating and negotiating 20-foot long lines at the supermarket.

Never mind. Our goal was to a get outta town into the wilds of Patagonia without having to hunt and gather.

We left the market with a cardboard box stuffed with salad fixings, a little salami and prosciutto, fruit, cheese, bread, peanut butter, coffee, cream, and Chilean wine. The basics.

At this lunch stop, we were reduced to mostly peanut butter. Did you know it's good with veggies and stale chocolate chip muffins? Chelsea is helping Chris dress up a carrot.

We used that same cardboard box the entire trip, avoiding as much packaging and plastic as possible. Chile is committed to recycling and conservation in a big way. But the country is not likely as committed as our traveling companions, who never intentionally buy plastic bags or plastic almost-anything.

Reuse, buy used, waste nothing.

Traffic thinned the farther away we got from Puerto Varas, and soon we were on a gravel road carrying us into the wild Patagonia I had imagined.

En route to Cochamo' we saw two young guys hitchhiking at a sharp curve along a snaking
narrow road, no shoulders, no place to pull off to pick them up. 

And who picks up hitchhikers, anyway? Chris does.

He depended on hitchhiking when he first traveled in Chile 12 years ago and "people picked me up all the time."

He jumped out to rearrange our super-sized luggage, gear and groceries stuffed under a bluetarp in the pickup bed. Space was tight, but the hitchhikers whooped at getting a ride.

Turns out they were headed to the same place we were: Valle Cochamo'.

TRANSLATION  - PLEASE READ THIS INFORMATION AND RESPECT THE INSTRUCTIONS
The Cochamo Valley is not a park or Public Reserve. From here to the border the trail passes through private property. To be able to visit, enjoy, and maintain good relations with the landowners, it is very important to respect these rules and stay on the trail. 

Like numerous parks in Chile, Cochamo' is private. That doesn't mean it's a club with
exclusive memberships, or that it costs big bucks to visit, but that the property owner takes
care of it and wants to share its beauty.

According to an August 2013 United Nations study, an impressive 308 private parks now exist throughout Chile, covering more than 1.65 million hectares (4 million acres), with more than half in the southern regions of Los Lagos, Magallanes and Los Rios. More  striking, over 200 of the parks are led by individual owners and some 60 percent are small private parks of less than 200 hectares (50 acres). From the Patagon Journal article Private Parks on the Rise, Summer 2014 issue. 

We visited several private parks, even one with a visitors' center that charged a $10 entry fee.
Cochamo' was free to hikers, but charged $15 a night for tent camping.

We stayed two nights at Campo Aventura along the Cochamo' River not far from a trailhead leading to a hanging valley six miles uphill. Once in the valley, numerous other trails provide access for campers and climbers. The large body of water on this map is a bay. The Chocamo' River is close enough to the ocean to be affected by tides.

SSpeaking of the Cochamo' River, it was just a few steps from the sweet cabins we rented for $20 a person per night, including a homemade-everything breakfast.

Of course our companions were compelled 
to take a dip in the snowmelt stream, which 
they did most days depending upon the 
presence of cold, clear water that did not
require negotiating life-threatening access.

Chelsea gloating, following a polar dip, about her foresight to grab
 a robe from the cabin, a surprising perk for a minimalist accommodation.
And a minimalist person.
.

View looking up the Cochamo' River near Campo Aventura.

To reach the cabins at Camp Aventura, we crossed a swinging bridge
and passed through a sheep pasture.

Campo Aventura is rustic. The building on the right is a common area with a wood stove and sheepskin-covered seats for hikers to warm up. We used it to prepare and enjoy our usual dinner salad and a bit of vino. Well, quite a bit.

The next day Chris and Chelsea planned to hike to the hanging valley, six miles up, and camp for the night. However, they were advised that the camping was closed as more than 1,000 people had reserved spots. What?! A thousand? Well, in that case, who wants to camp? 

They decided to go up and back in one day.

PK and I knew we didn't want to do a 12-mile hike, but set off to walk as far as we could in a few hours on the only trail to the hanging valley. Roads do not exist in the park.

Mud was ankle deep in some spots.

Trail was a trench much of the time.

We decided that the next time we're there (and we do want to return) we'll hike and 
make reservations at the lodge up top. However, we won't be too proud to hire a horse to
pack in our stuff.

It was fun seeing horses crossing the crystalline snowmelt creeks. Hikers took the swinging bridges. Photo credit....Chelsea Behymer

One of numerous swinging bridges. Horses can't use them. 
Photo credit.....Chris Korbulic

Loved the madrone-like trees near the cabins.

Also loved....

Foxgloves and fuchsia TREES dripping with blooms,along the trail.

Horses and waterfalls along the road to the trailhead.

Playful banter between Mike Rock, the caretaker/manager at Campo Aventura, and a horse packer just returning from the mountain. In the small world department, Mike had lived in Ashland, OR, not far from our home, and had guided trips on the Rogue River. He's lived in Chile for 17 years and has no plans to return north.

This is a Chilean dish that the four of us shared at a restaurant in the town, Cochamo'. We'd seen families devouring huge plates at various locations, and decided to give it a try. Wouldn't order it again, but pichanga includes sausages, hot dogs, boiled potatoes, tomatoes, boiled eggs, avocados and mozzarella cheese. In the background, is what's left of the best crab dish any of us had ever tasted, a thick cheesy soup. 

On the right, the handwritten cheque for this meal, which included a beer and a bottle of wine. With tip included, the total is around $70 USD. 

Chile is not cheap!

 It is also not a Third World country. Chris, who has traveled around the world, including most of South America, says it's his favorite.

In a future post, I want to explore why.

And also take a quick look at other places we traveled during this trip: Argentina and Uruguay.

Coming soon... finding an accommodation the old-fashioned way, and tackling another challenging trail, this one in Parque Nacional Hornopiren.

Earlier posts about our South American travels

1. Around Cape Horn - Happy 2018!
2. Ushuaia, Patagonian peat moss, and a polar plunge
3. Patagonian Paradox - the more you see, the more you want
4. Penguin drama - #1 attraction near Punta Arenas, Chile
5. Magellan was a mean SOB
6. Millennials take the lead. Boomers traipse behind.