This Old House

Some might think that living in an 1860 log house in the country would be idyllic, and they’d be half right.  It’s true that these thick log walls can withstand the strongest winds and fiercest storms with nary a sound to be heard inside.  We, the occupants, have to put up with the small, chopped up rooms, the bathroom addition that can get so cold that it can be quite painful to jump into the shower on a winter’s morning.  We don’t dilly dally.  The floor drops precariously downhill in the dining room and on those rare occasions when we eat in there, we seat the taller folks at the low end of the table - seriously. Our grandsons like to bowl in this room as the ball always rolls downhill and they’re assured of a strike or at least a spare.  The temperature varies in each room, depending on the direction of the wind, whether the woodstove is  going, or if it’s sunny or raining out.  The sun room is glorious on a sunny, fall day – but look out come sundown - so, we move around a lot.  Sometimes when it’s damp outside, the old house gives off a musty, old wood smell which can be unpleasant at times.   That’s when I light the woodstove, put on a pot of soup, or chili and before you know it, it smells wonderful in here. That’s what I did today. 

Brian and I don’t often work together in the kitchen, it’s always been my domain, but he wanted to use up some of the apples from our old apple tree.   I absolutely do not have the patience to work with those little apples; by the time all the blemishes and the little worm holes are cut away, there’s not much left, but he painstakingly peeled, sliced and trimmed until he had enough for a pie.   It just so happened that I was in the process of making chili at the same time, so I worked from my centre island, and he used the kitchen table to prepare his pie.  Quite harmoniously, I might add. 

While he was working at the table, I was busy cooking up the ground beef, onions, garlic, celery, peppers, mushrooms and zuchinni.   Chili is so much fun to prepare.  It’s basically layering meat and vegetables, beans and spices until you’re satisfied with the results.  I never make it the same way twice, but it always tastes fine, especially when reheated on the second day. Today,  I tossed in a jalapeno pepper  and I added a bunch of kale.   A really neat trick I learned recently was how to chop up kale.  After washing the kale to remove any dust or bugs,(I missed a tiny caterpillar last time – he became my first cryogenic experiment and, sorry to say,  did not come back to life once he thawed) -  just place in a large freezer bag and toss in the freezer.  Once frozen, all you have to do is crunch up the bag with your hands and all the kale falls off the stems.  Throw away the stems and you have a lovely bag of chopped up kale, ready to throw in soups or omelettes or chili. 

Brian had finished his pie preparation and was just about to throw away the rest of the custard that didn’t fit in the pie when I suggested cooking it in a saucepan on the stove.  After just a couple of minutes, we had a lovely custard to enjoy.  Mmmm.  There are benefits to collaborating in the kitchen.  I could get used to this. 

The old house seems to enjoy the warmth, the aroma coming from the baking pie in the oven, the chili bubbling on the woodstove.  It holds memories of 100 years and more of farm families working together, enjoying and sharing the food grown on their land, in rhythm with the seasons.  Brian's off to do his outside work, whatever that may be, (maybe he's found a soft place to nap up in the haymow - I never ask), while I sit indoors on this sunny but cold autumn day, enjoying how the tree's branches whip back and forth in the wind, while the leaves blow in frantic circles on the lawn.  This old house, though aging and imperfect, remains stalwart, comforting.  This place is home.