curried turnips

In my refrigerator is a jar full of curried turnips.  I was given the recipe on a day of cool easy perfection by the woman who runs Gratitude Gardens.  Turnips are capable vegetables.  Most people don’t know what to do with them.  They are purchased, turned over, stared at, occasionally boiled then likely pondered some more.  What I have found is that this particular vegetable can turn its self over to any flavor it greets.  It takes on the scent of parsley and rosemary then sizzles well diced up and fried as hash browns.  It soaks up the juices of coconut milk leaving you with no option but to douse it in golden curry powder.  It mashes beautifully mixed with heavy innocent butter and a bit of thyme.  Surely at any given point there is something lurking in your refrigerator that would accompany turnips with grace.  They are versatile.  They are malleable.  They are unpredictable.

Much like this household I would think.  One minute the world is serene with the misty morning air, the next I am yelling at my child in front of five children and two adults for head butting me in the mouth.  I begged my hands not to retaliate as I held my lip and tasted blood seeping on to my tongue.  Thankfully they obeyed.  The entirety of the playdate consisted of good cop bad cop between me and the overwhelmed three-year old.  Oh, the tension was palpable I am sure.  I am glad for good friends with understanding sympathy, for this morning was trying.

I am now eating cold curried turnips, perfectly fork tender, choosing to focus on the crisp clear morning air that surrounded me as I was told the instructions on how to make such a treat all the while remembering that this too shall pass and an easier day will come again.  Likely, following a much-needed nap.  For all.


In his words, “ooohhh, cold…. soft…. soap…”

Stolen with gratitude from the mouth of the woman at this spectacular farm

In a large stock pot of salted boiling water plunge whole turnips with the skin on until they are just tender enough to plunge a fork into with ease.  You will know when they are done because you will not have to put forth much effort to do this, but do it well before they crumble due to the puncture wounds.  Strain and place into an ice bath.  The skins will be loose enough to rub away.  This way you will not loose any precious meat by peeling before hand.  Halve, quarter and halve again each turnip.  Place them in a sauce pan filled with coconut milk and 3 tablespoons of yellow curry powder.  Stew at a low temperature until supper. Or however long your taste buds please.

How do you deal with play dates gone awry?  And more importantly how do you prefer your turnips?

three years of love

To go back in time and re-live the day your first child was born year after year, going through each step, tearing up at the marked time on the clock that they entered your life, is so sweet it is painful.  My little boy, for that is just what he is now, no longer a baby boy, but a little boy, is three.  Oh, how he has taught me.

There is no change in my life that that I can envision doing more good for my soul than his presence in it.  He has given me the grace of mindful living, the slowness and beauty of discovery, the letting go of expectations needed for ultimate patience, and the compassion and power of love.

Three years and three very different lives we have lived in his life span.  Each year somehow brought us a new home, in a new state, with what felt like a new child.  His growth and spirit seemed to morph each day as I am sure it will continue to do so.  From the high desert in Arizona where he was just a babe aweing us with first words and first steps, to the blustery lands of northwest Pennsylvania where he made snow angels and friends, to the southland where he has become so incredibly aware and fascinated with the world around him.

Each year on his birthday, we have had a small celebration with the friends we have made in the short time we have lived in that particular location.  

And each year I feel the strength of the universe in those friends.  We have had the pleasure of meeting so many people, good people, through our boy.  Having children doesn’t stop your social life, I promise you.  It changes it, but in no way does it stop it.  The bond that you make with a mother, as a mother, is something I could not have predicted would be so utterly important and undeniable.

And oh, to see them play.

Three is certainly bittersweet.  I love him growing, but does it have to be so fast?  

  Happy Birthday my boy.  I love you more than roses love the sun.