BaNNeR RooTS

Pick

 
I love picking with this girl. She reminds me so much of my mother - optimistic, goofy, sweet, crazy, loving. And she's a picker! I'm quite the proud lady. I know Ma is too.

 

 

 

"I almost picked as much as you," she said. And she's right!

Handmade

 
Sometimes knitting sounds like a fun thing to do. Especially when you have five-hour flights and lots of idle time. That's when having a few sticks and some wool is sanity saving because there's only so much ginger ale you can drink. And because there's just something about the repetition of stitching that is soothing and therapeautic. Like a soak in the tub, but then! At the end, you have gifts. Handmade gifts. And I don't know about you, but I love receiving handmade gifts. And I love giving them. They're just so freakin' special!

 

Here's the thing. I was always a hooker. OK. A step further. A crocheter. Well, one day I decided enough was enough and with the help of a knitting wonder, I made one sock. Then a few months later, I made the other. All. By. Myself. I'll just say it. I'm quite proud. Here's why. My mother was a knitter. She knitted thousands? of socks in her lifetime. People all over have socks made by her. It was her thing. And happily, now it's mine. Hooker turn stitcher. I think Ma would be happy. 

 

And the stitching continues because learning a new thing is fun. And people need hats too.

 

 

I will say (and you might not agree) that knitting is so much more versatile than hooking. And there's something about those little v-shaped stitches that delights my liver. Yes. My liver. If I could, I'd stitch a cosy for it.

Cheers to all the other hookers and stitchers who just love the feeling of fiber between your fingers. And anyone who enjoys taking material - ANY material - and making something beautiful. I'd give you a hug if I could.

My Little Stitcher

I learned how to crochet when I was about 12 years old from my Mom and Gram. I can still feel and see the bright yellow yarn making rows of lumpy stitches. I later learned how to crochet hats when I was in college and I learned from a guy. I know. How cool is that? My son, Joseph Campbell, is named after that guy. Campbell quickly told me the instructions at a barbeque or something and now I think about him every time I make a hat.

Well, my daughter Sidney has already one-upped me when it comes to crocheting and I'm not even going to try to be modest. I've been freaked out about it all night.

I showed her how to make rows of stitches a few weeks ago with Mom's old yarn. I came home to this today:

 

Get this. The girl didn't take instructions from me on how to make a hat. She didn't take instructions from Campbell. She figured it out all on her own while I was at work.

Here's how she did it:

"I made the starter stitches until they were about an inch long. Then I went to the start and hooked it. And then I just started stitching. And to make it flat, I made a regular stitch and added a starting stitch after and I kept on going and kept on doing that."

It makes total sense to me. It's not the way I was taught, but it works! And now we're giggling. It's real awesome. I'll post a photo of the finished masterpiece.

Nothing Lasts Forever

 
...not Jack LaLanne and not even my Steger Mukluks.

Yes. Jack died earlier this week. And my Steger Mukluks earlier this month. It's been a rough one for tough ones..

Here are a few words about the mukluks. They were dependable. And old. Not as old as Jack, but they were 13, which is old for a boot. Especially a boot I wore just about everyday in the winter. And they were warm. Real warm. Like 60 below warm. I'm not even kidding. As long as I kept moving, my feet stayed warm in 60 below.

And they've been with me. Ptarmigan hunting. Rabbit hunting. Heading to the outhouse during a snowstorm. Running away from angry moose. Snowshoeing. Mushing. I even played basketball in the 2010 Thanksgiving Belly Bowl in these guys.

 
And they got tired. See?

 
So it goes that I retire my first pair of Stegers--a gift from my mother. Tear. A sigh. And a pout. And I move on.

To another pair of Steger Mukluks:

I picked up the parcel from Shari at the Post Office. And opened it. With excitement. Same style. Different color. 100% awesome. 'Cause that's how I talk.

  

Chiutuuq

I think of the fiddlehead today. The simplicity of it makes me laugh, yet makes so much sense. 

There is only a short time in the year when fiddleheads are good for consumption. Early in the spring, the plants appear. When the coils are small and tight, one can sense the energy of the plant waiting to burst into beauty. In the coiled stage, the plant is a fantastic food source, rich in antioxidants and omega-3 fatty acids. Sauteed, they taste much like asparagus. Simple and fresh.

However, once the energy is released and the coils begin to unravel, the food source is gone. Although no longer fit to eat, the plant transforms and a green fern spreads in glory. 

Mom just stayed with us for a short time. She gave nourishment to those around her. She loved her family and gave goodness. And the energy--it was exhausting just watching her! She baked pies. She knitted socks. She made pizza. She whipped akuutaq. She cut and dried fish. She knitted more socks. She cleaned. And cleaned. And cleaned. She sang. She laughed. She baked more pies. And this I find incredible--she made dinner every night. She simply could not sit still. And her smile. She smiled and loved to laugh and had the ability to find humor in the simplest things. She gave. And she gave. And she gave. 

I picture her now, like a fern, spread in full glory, soaking up the sun. She's unraveled and I marvel, all the time, at how much was in that lady. It's beautiful. Her life is a beautiful thing to look at and I am so grateful.

For the Love of Lemon Meringue

 

There's a lot of things I love in this world. Pie is one of them. And thanks to my mother, I am a bit of a pie snob. I like homemade crust. I like homemade fillings (with the exception of cherry). Anything less is...less. I like pecan. I like blueberry. I like rhubarb. I like key lime. I like banana cream. I like peanut butter. I love apple. And my favorite to make is lemon meringue. 

I love zesting lemons. I love the smell. I love using my handy-dandy lemon juicer. For some reason using it makes me feel like all is right with the world. No. I take that back. Not just right. Luscious. Using my $17 Pampered Chef citrus juicer makes me feel like all is luscious in the world. That's one good juicer.

And there's nothing like whipping sloppy egg whites into something glorious, smooth and shiny. Nope. Nothing. Nothing at all.

So I don't often make lemon meringue pie. I hardly ever do. I plan on making it more often from now on because let's count them together...all five senses. It tastes good. It looks good. It smells good. It feels good. And honestly, admit it. I make it sound real good.

For the love of lemon meringue.

I'm a Picnic Princess...

What I love about going home is the food we eat. What I love more is that many times we eat it outside. The Erickson/Ivanoff clan are pros at picnics, which leads me to a story. 

My Mom was The Picnic Queen. She had a trophy. I would stare at that trophy, in amazement that my own mother was a queen of some sort. Jim Hjelm made the trophy before he took his family (and my good childhood friend, Ingrid) to Anchorage. The trophy had a plaque at the bottom that said, "Picnic Queen" and it had a plastic fork, spoon and knife sticking out at the top. That lady loved to get people together to picnic and eat and chat and relax and play games and laugh. Mostly laugh. She laughed lots. I wonder how many times Mom called the Hjelms saying, "Let's go picnic!" 

Kids always smile at picnics.

And get wet. It's nice being royalty.

From Scratch

Growing up, I took homemade for granted. I didn't realize not every mother made pies, cookies, sourdough pancakes, biscuits and bread from scratch. Mom did not like "store-bought" baked foods. I cringe when I think about it now, but as a kid there were times I dreamt of having a box of Suzie-Qs in the pantry. 

Mom always had something sweet to serve to us and to visitors. She said she wanted the goodies as much as everyone else and that's why she made them. I know exactly what she means. I love homemade. 

Mom's love for baking instilled a love in both my sister and I. My sister is The Master Cinnamon Roll Maker. She fills her rolls with all kinds of surprises. Really good surprises. You don't just get cinnamon in your cinnamon roll unless that is all you want. And of course there's frosting. Yum. Whenever we get ready to go to Unalakleet, Sidney gets excited because she knows she gets to eat one of Auntie Karen's cinnamon rolls. 

Karen taught me how to make cinnamon rolls. She showed me the rectangle shape you need to form in order to create a good-sized roll. She showed me how much brown sugar to spread on top of the butter. She let me roll the dough and cut it myself. And she ENJOYED giving me her cinnamon roll knowledge. I could feel her pleasure oozing out while she showed me the ways of dough. 

And she said, "Now you're gonna get hooked on making bread." I doubted I'd like it that much, but she was kind of right. The hook didn't sink in right away but I now enjoy making breads. Especially cinnamon rolls.

And Mom made the best pies. And I respect all other people who believe their mom or grandma made the pies. That's the way it should be. I hope Sidney thinks that way of me someday.

Sometimes my crust turns out perfectly. Sometimes it's a little tough. One time I made a glistening-topped apple pie for a pie social and instead of creating the shine with sugar, I accidentally used salt. It was not good. It was terrible. But beautiful. Most of the time my crust is fine, but I'd give my big toe to have one more piece of Mom's cherry pie. I'd have to think about what I'd give to have her exact recipe.

Mom never taught me how to make a pie crust, but I watched her do it so many times, I like to think I absorbed her crust-making skills through some 6th-sense transfer. One thing I didn't absorb is consistency like hers. Her crust was ALWAYS perfect. And she didn't even measure. She'd just kind of dump stuff in, which amazes me. I try to do that, thinking the 6th-sense transfer would suffice, but I find I still need my measuring cups...at least for the fat and the water. 

So thank you Mom and Karen. I love to bake. I'm most content when I bake. I'm exceptionally at peace when baking in a clean kitchen. And much of my joy in the kitchen comes from you. You both are with me when my hands are sticky with dough.

What We Do With a Storm Day

This is Joe getting pumped to go to the bathroom. It's currently gusting to 40 and visibility is about 70 feet. It's a STORM! Sometimes it feels like they'll never stop their cycle. Fen just named this storm Gerald. Sidney laughed. I really hope I don't have to go to the outhouse today.

So I picked up one of those skirts that everyone's raving about and I liked it, but didn't love it. Now I LOVE it. Mom picked up the fabric more than six years ago and I've used it sparingly. I want to put the appliques on EVERYTHING after this project. 

Like my pose? 

 

Thread color. 

Paint color. Please notice Sid's french manicure. *smile*

I ordered this yarn on Ebay. It was my first time ordering yarn on Ebay and I was a little nervous about it. I LOVE the color and am trying to imagine what kind of hat will form. There's a pattern on Purl Bee I've been eyeing, but will probably end up just going for it, hoping something cute will end up on someone's smart head.

This is the package the yarn came in. I know I've purchased a ton of products made in China, but not one directly from China. 

I was suspicious whether or not the yarn was really wool, so I put a match to it and it smelled like burnt hair. YAY!

So we really love honey. So luscious. Add milk and chamomile and head to relaxation station. 

Dryfish and SUN!!!

We did it. We cut more fish. With sunshine pouring through the windows this morning we had to give it another shot. The kids caught 26 humpies today and Sidney and I "labored." *smile* Sidney learned that new word today and worked hard. She also learned labor can be fun!

I loved watching her clean the fish and hang them on willows. It reminded me of the happy "laboring" I'd do with my Mom and Aunties and Grandma upriver at Eaton Station in Unalakleet. Those ladies would cut hundreds of humpies at a time and all the cousins would play in the water and clean and hang the fish for the gossiping/giggling cutters. So fun!

We also tried a new technique today. I cut all the fins off before drying. Mom used to leave them on to add structure and to keep the skins from folding. Hmmm...we'll see how these do....

Again, we hope for a breeze and DRY, DRY weather.

YAY! There's nothing brilliant about this picture. There isn't even a hiding caterpillar that I know of, but there is BLUE SKY!!!