I love learning. I especially love learning new things about ethnic food.
We make stock all the time, and we use stock all the time. In soups. In stews. In risotto. In quinoa or couscous.
When a wind delivered the first smell of rain to me about which I wrote in my post, The Throbbing Earth, it also brought to me a voice.
Chris and I have started eating differently.
There’s an air of happy expectancy settling in among our fruit trees. Or maybe it’s just an air of happy expectancy around Chris and me.
Because of a crushing farming schedule, our friend Bruce was unable to attend my recent 50th birthday party.
