summertime, thus far.

Well hello! I hope you're having a lovely summertime, dear reader. I am making this long-overdue stop to tell the story of my summer to date.

If, by chance, you are questioning my use of "thus far" and "to date," if you are by necessity purchasing fresh notebooks for a fall semester or writing lesson plans or already sitting in a classroom, or if--God forbid!--you are one of those hurrying the season away, let me just tell you right now that I firmly believe that things last as long as we choose, and my summer is not over. I know, I know, easy for me to say in my post-collegiate, (currently) non-academic world. But as long as I still want iced coffee and am not wearing scarves and tights, it is summer. I anticipate that summer will last well into September, maybe October.

Is that okay with everyone? Good. Onward.

This summer has consisted of many a lovely thing, as it tends to be with summer. There have been picnics by rivers

and on beaches.

Overheated in my windowless little orange kitchen, I have prepared an abundance of baked goods filled with market-fresh fruit, from rhubarb

 to strawberries

to blueberries.

I also made a chocolate cake, to ensure that chocolate didn't get completely slighted in my kitchen this summer.

I developed a slight obsession with ricotta, atop toasts and further adorned with...anything,

or inside of crepes, similarly adorned,

and I added this incredible savory tart to my repertoire. Thank you, David Lebovitz!

I fell, hard, for white wines

and deepened my affection for the iced americano.

And I traveled! First, to Minnesota in late May (uh, also summertime on my calendar). There, I visited my lovely sister and brother-in-law and also spoke on behalf my organization. I was rather excited about seeing the church Anthony pastors.

Sara and I baked up a storm

and ate copious amounts of rhubarb. (Anthony abstained.)

The three of us enjoyed good food, walked all over the little town and nearby woodlands, talked for hours and laughed. It was wonderful.

In early July, Ben and I hopped on a train with a bunch of amazing young people from Ben's church

and spent a number of very hot days in Austin, Texas, where we talked to homeless folks and threw carnivals for kids and boxed food and painted houses and learned and laughed and worshiped and didn't sleep enough.

I love these youth-folk.

And though for the most part, the culinary dimension of the experience left something to be desired, there were a few high points.

Ben and I also took a trip to Chicago, where we spent time with two sets of good friends

and adventured

and frequented a bakery I adore. (We enjoyed our glorious pastries at a nearby park.)

My whole (immediate) family recently congregated for one very happy day.

And I camped with friends. It was not nearly as cold as my first real camping experience last September, and although it rained, it was fabulous.

I wore red patent leather shoes to the wedding of two people I love very much,

where I also saw a dear friend after too long apart.

I have passed many Saturday morning hours at the market and have prepared and thoroughly enjoyed many wonderful meals

and, on the less-fancy-but-no-less-delightful end, a lot of toast with yogurt and jam.

Ben's sweet nieces and nephews increased my joy, and we welcomed another little one into his family's fold and into the world.

I wore sundresses and sandals and installed a window box air conditioner and read food memoirs.

And this fellow kept making my world ever-so-bright.

In sum, it's been a good set of days. Hopefully, I'll return soon with a recipe, and before long, some exciting (blog-related) news!

Until then, keep enjoying summer, my friends. And remember--it is not over yet!

recuerdos de denia (memories of denia)

I recently wrote a contribution to a book of memories commemorating the twenty-eight years that students from my alma mater--myself included--studied in the sweet and lovely city of Denia, Spain. The program will be moving from that eastern point of Valencia's coast to Oviedo, and I'm certain the new location will be wonderful, though much colder, and without the people and fallas and streets of Denia that I loved.

I have about a million things that I could say about that beautiful, deep, full semester of my life, the spring of 2007 when I was a sophomore in college, wide-eyed and ready to embrace the world, but for today, I'll just share the reflection I wrote for the book.

Oh Denia. Was it really so long ago?

All of my lovely neighbors

María, me and Maite

Cuando considero mi semestre en Denia, la primera cosa que viene a mi mente es la gente: mi querida mamá española, la hermosa Maite; su amiga María; mis vecinos; los amigos que conocí en la iglesia; mis profesores. Es verdad que hay un mar increíble, calles bonitas, un gran castillo y el formidable Montgó, pero últimamente, estas personas son mi Denia.

Maite, mi madre española, influyó mucho mi buena experiencia en España. Comíamos juntos, me enseñó como hacer una buena tortilla y íbamos a los cafés para meriendas de pan tostado y café con leche. Ella compartió conmigo no solo su piso y comida bien preparada; también compartió sus historias, su sabiduría y su amor.

Y compartió sus vecinos. La mesa de mis vecinos era una buenísima aula de clase. Mientras comía un gran plato de paella, escuchaba sus voces, cada uno tratando de hablar más fuerte que los otros, y aprendí mucho de su país y su cultura. Pero también aprendí las cosas que solo se puede descubrir a través de una amistad: las historias personales, las raíces de su cultura y las razones porque le aman su país.

Y yo también me enamoré de España, de Denia y de cada uno de estas personas queridas.

When I think about my semester in Denia, the first thing that comes to mind is the people: my dear Spanish mamá, the beautiful Maite; her friend María; my neighbors; the friends I met at church; my professors. It's true that there is an incredible sea, lovely streets, a castle and the formidable Montgó, but in the end, these people are my Denia.

Maite, my Spanish mamá, had a tremendous influence on my good experience in Spain. We ate meals together, she taught me how to make a proper tortilla española and we went to the cafés for pan tostado and café con leche. She shared with me not only her flat and delicious meals; she also shared her stories, her wisdom and her love.

And she shared her neighbors. The table of my neighbors was an excellent classroom. While eating a plate heaped with paella, I would listen to their voices, each one trying to talk over the others, and I learned about their country and their culture. But I also learned the things that one can only learn through friendship: the stories of their lives, the roots of their culture and the reasons why they love their country.

And I also fell in love with Spain, with Denia and with each one of these dear friends of mine.

where the pines are so high

Good heavens, it has been more than a month since last I posted! Summer is (unofficially) here, and life continues moving rapidly along. My apologies for my brief hiatus from this space. One reason for my absence was a recent trip out to the beautiful west, first to a wedding in Minnesota and then to see family in South Dakota. And yes, recap follows.

So first things first: the wedding was wonderful. I loved seeing Rita and G at the start of their adventure together. There were many dear folks to catch up with at the wedding, a couple of charming little farm towns to explore, reception tables to decorate and, of course, joy-filled tears to be shed. I love these two so much, and I'm confident that they will make it and, together, offer the world so much wisdom and hospitality and strength and goodness and beauty.

From this weekend of celebration, I journeyed on to South Dakota...

Although I am from Michigan, through and through, I've always felt that some small part of me is from the Black Hills. My parents both grew up in Rapid City, South Dakota, and most of my dad's family still lives there, along with my mother's tall and lovely aunts (seen in one of the pictures below). Every summer of my childhood, my parents, sister and I would vacation out that way, and my memories of growing up are peppered with the moments of those trips. When I walk through the door of my beloved grandparents' house, that peace of home settles into my bones, and I am flooded with the memories of family gathered together and rhubarb pie and card games at the kitchen table, reading books in the living room and falling asleep in the big bed I shared with my sister as the cool summer breeze drifted through the screen of the open door. Life was safe, simple and ever-so-good.

This summer's trip brought meals and ice cream and coffee enjoyed over meaningful conversation with loved ones, long morning runs with my dad, a cousin's graduation party, a bike ride on the Mickelson Trail, a morning of baking with my grandmother, hours spent poring over old photographs while drawing out stories from the past and the simple joy found in the togetherness of family.

And without fail, when I am up in the Hills, surrounded by the deepest browns and greens that nature has to offer, with a herd of buffalo around each corner and elk hiding somewhere in the woods, the sense of home returns. Maybe it's that song my mother used to sing to me, a song, she told me during this trip, that her mother once sang to her: "take me back to the Black Hills, the Black Hills of South Dakota, where the pines are so high that they kiss the sky above." When we were riding our bikes on the Mickelson trail, my dad breathed in deeply and told me that that smell, the smell of the Ponderosa Pines, smelled like the Hills to him. Like home.

And the tiny green leaves of the aspens turn and blink in the light, flickering like candles, clapping like the smallest of hands, welcoming my soul home, urging us to live on in gladness.