Whitewater Winter Stoke

As we quickly tumble away from summer into cooler weather here in the Kootenays, our thoughts move away from all the summer joys of beaches, bonfires, swimming in the lake and the like and we start to dream of the winter fun that lies just beyond the horizon. For many of us, that means Whitewater ski resort. Here, we love big, fluffy flakes the flutter fearlessly thick and carpet the mountains and tree tops. We love how the snow crusts over and sparkles like diamonds. We dream of deep powder that goes flying as we glide through it. Through those dark winter months, this is what keeps our hearts beating. If you are lucky enough to find yourself in the Kootenays in the middle of winter, tap into the pulse that keeps us going. Check out the magic of Whitewater.

Jammin'

It's that time of year again when the trees start to be laden with fruit and preserving hangs heavy in the air. As luck would have it, I was gifted a box of jamming cots. I hardly eat jam myself as I prefer to stay away from anything with too much sugar in it, however, it's always nice to have around the house for when company arrives. And truth be told, I can't resist how pretty the jars look sitting on my shelf. There are also the odd times when I come across a recipe that calls for apricot jam and it would be a pity to not have a jar or two around considering how easy it is to make and how plentiful the fruit is this time of year.

I did save some of the fruit for smoothies as I am crazy about smoothies and have been freezing up fruit where possible to get me through the winter.

As you can see, I also made some spicy red pepper jelly. Now this is a treat that I will indulge in every now and again. It's a real hit around the holidays if you pair it with crackers and cream cheese. If you'd like the recipe, you can find it here.

Chocolate Moose

Morris stood there swaying on his gangly legs, munching on whatever tasty morsels he could find. Occasionally he would cock his ears and toss a completely uninterested glance in my direction, mostly at my pathetic whistles. Typical male, eh? Well, serves him right to serve him up with chocolate. There ain't no better way to eat moose. Let's be quite frank here, most things do taste better with chocolate. Melt it and then drizzle it lightly or thickly, add cream, because most things taste better with cream too...and yes, of course, it has to be real. Someone really was dreaming when they dreamt up Dream Whip and thought they could pass it off for the real thing. Well everybody, let's hear it for Morris! Mmmmm Mmmmorris.

*Thanks for being such a good sport, fella. You're pretty yummy. Don't worry...if they don't catch on, we'll post the real pictures later.*

Chocolate Mousse

1C Sour Cream
1C Whipping Cream
1 1/2 tsp unflavoured Gelatin
2 Tbsp Water
2 Tbsp Milk
1/4 C Brown Sugar (firmly packed)
1/8 tsp Salt
6 oz of Chocolate Morsels (of course you can estimate...I personally like using a rich dark chocolate)
1 tsp Vanilla extract
2 Egg Whites

• In large bowl, combine sour cream and whipping cream. Refrigerate.
  
• Soften gelatin in water by heating.
  
• Heat milk with half the brown sugar, and salt until the sugar dissolves.
  
• Add chocolate morsels and continue heating until melted (be careful to not overheat...you may want to melt your chocolate first and then add to your milk/sugar mixture).
  
• Beat egg whites. Gradually add remaining sugar. Beat until stiff.
  
• Stir 1/4 of the beaten egg whites into the chocolate mixture until blended.
  
• Fold in remaining egg whites.
  
• Whip cream mixture until stiff.
  
• Add chocolate mixture and fold until well blended.
  
• Spoon into dishes and chill until set.

Summer Harvests

Most of you know that I get busy with things like canning this time of year. I really prefer eating foods that are regional, fresh, and in season. Nothing can beat the intense flavours of vine ripened vegetables or fruits. Summers are plentiful, but, of course, living in a northern climate, there's not much that's regional and fresh in the winter. Essentially, canning or freeing is the only way to capture those fresh flavours and save them for grey, dreary, dark days.

This year, like most, I canned a whole slew of tomatoes, essentially because they are so versatile and go in so many dishes. Some years I think I will eat less tomatoes...they are, after all, from the nightshade family, however, I haven't yet gotten to the point where I feel the necessity to eliminate them.

I also did up apple sauce. We have bumper crops of apples this year the likes of which haven't been seen in years. Old trees in the mountains, which haven't produced much in years, have boughs bending to the point of breaking they are so heavily laden with fruit. Apples are definitely on the menu this fall and some sauce for the winter.

I don't always, but this year I also did up a couple batches of tomato sauce. It's nice to have sauce already prepared and to be able to simply open a jar. I did one batch with a recipe from the Re-Bar cookbook and then made up a batch of my own making. Mine was heavy on the basil, with not quite as much garlic as the first batch.

I still have some more canning / food prep to do if I can find the time, but I essentially feel okay about the colder weather settling in.

Being

At the end of the day, all that matters is who is in your life.

Market Street Fest

Nothing incites the imagination more than one of Nelson's summer street festivals. Hippies descend from the surrounding mountains to dance freely in the streets to local bands. The artistic crowd sets up tents and tables to display their offerings. A large smattering of Nelson's residents and many tourists turn up to enjoy the festivities and breathe it all in. It's a place to run into old friends and meet new, try Little Miss Gelato's new summer flavours or some old Doukhobor specialties. It's a place to be transported to another plane of reality (but we won't go there). Merchants keep their shops open late and there is no better place to sit back and do some serious people watching. If you happen to be passing through Nelson during the summer and you're curious to discover the "true" flavour of this unique little town, find out when their next street festival is and head down to Baker Steet.

Preservation

"How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land? The idea is strange to us. If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them? ...This we know; the earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth. This we know; all things are connected like the blood which unites our family. All things are connected."

~Chief Seattle of the Suquamish tribe states - 1848

Goosey, Goosey, Gander

It's that time of year again. I've been watching the goslings as they scurry along the beach and occasionally dip into the water, bobbing up and down with the goose and gander never far behind. They're much bigger now...in only a weeks time. Took some more photos this morning which I will post when I have a moment. There is actually more than one family, they form quite a posse. Of course they have to be vigilant in their guard. Last year I watched as an eagle took a swooping dive and plucked one of the little ones out of the water. Not anything anyone could have done. It was nature at its finest.

A Sad Tale

Cherries are legend here in these valleys. Back at the turn of the century, and when I say that, I still mean the one before last, the cherries grown here were reported to be as large as plums and equally sweet and juicy. They were famous for being the best in all of North America, even better than the Okanagan which now grows many of our cherries. They were famous right across the country. J.T. Bealby, a Nelson fruit rancher, was quoted as saying:
"One of the most wonderful sights in a British Columbia orchard, and more especially a Kootenay orchard, is the cherry-trees when laden with their snow-white blossoms. Every branch, from its divergence from a large limb or the main trunk, right away to the outermost twig, is thickly feathered with clusters of blossom, and tufts of bloom cling even to the main trunk and large limbs. This is true of every variety of cherry alike, sour as well as sweet. The crops are, as a rule, enormously heavy -- so much so that the trees, and this applies to apples, pears, and plums, as well as to cherries -- have to be well supported with props to prevent them from breaking down under the loads they carry, and even then it is not an unusual thing for one or more branches to split off before the fruit can be gathered."

Indeed that bit about props is true. My parents have two very old apple trees in their yard (well over 100 yrs by now...they were put in shortly after the house was originally built) and last year that is essentially what happened. One of the branches on one of the trees was so heavy with fruit that the branch broke and my father had to prop it up and mend it hoping to save the apples on that particular branch long enough for them to ripen. But it is an old tree, so some years it takes a rest, but then there are years like last where there is a real bumper crop. Not bad for an old tree whose trunk is almost completely hollow that it totally baffles us that there is any fruit at all. But back to the story of the cherries.

Unfortunately, about 1933 a mysterious cherry disease hit destroying the thriving industry. The first symptoms were noticed at Willow Point, just around the bend from where I live. At the time, it was called, "Little Cherry Disease." Most disheartening was that infected trees only became obvious about two weeks before harvest. By this point, the damage was done, the cherries were small, lacked taste and sweetness, and were for the most part wormy. Once a tree was infected, there was nothing to be done but to cut it down, as the cherries from then on would be as such. By about the 50's the disease had decimated the industry and all cherry trees were ordered to be cut down to try to stop the spread which by now was determined to be transmitted by infected insects.


At the time, the source of the outbreak was not known, but it has since been determined that Japanese Ornamental cherries were carrying the disease in symptomless form. There were three specimens of these trees growing not far from the original outbreak on the property of Selwyn Gwillym Blaylock, the rich vice-president and general manager of a mining smelting company which later became known as Cominco (this property is just a ways down the road in the other direction from me). He had a passion for gardening and had beautiful grounds surrounding his estate. The grounds purportedly featured one of every species of tree native to Canada as well as many other ornamental trees and flowering shrubs. Blaylock encouraged frequent guests, including foreign dignitaries to bring gifts of trees and shrubs from their native land to add to his collection. But this was not how he had acquired the particular trees in question. They had been imported by Blaylock himself. He had officially inquired about the importation of Japanese Ornamental Cherries and had been told that the trees were diseased and not to be imported. He decided to smuggle them in anyways.

So thus is the story of cherries in the Kootenays. Infected trees were to be removed, but it was tough as there were and still are so many wild cherries growing out in the woods which of course, by this point has probably also been diseased. Cherry orchards have since been re-established around Creston, the far end of Kootenay lake, and indeed the cherries are good. But the industry has never gone back to what it once was.

The Visitor

This cute, thieving little bandit decimated my tulips a couple weeks ago. I apologize for the photo...but dusk had already fallen when I took the snap, so I had to lighten it, giving it a rather grainy texture. Animals are quite abundant at this time of year. As soon as spring hits, they make their way down the mountain side looking for some tasty morsels after the bland winter fare. One evening I came home to find three in my yard, or rather on the outskirts. This one was a loner who was quite startled when I opened the door to try to get a shot...shot with my camera that is. He immediately took off at a trot, but not before he had bitten off almost all of my tulip heads. Tulips are apparently quite sweet. Ironically, they never touch the daffodils. I have a ton of them. Deer aren't the only beasts lurking about in the spring. Last week a bear took apart my compost box trying to find a good feed. I didn't actually see the spectacle as occurred, but witnessed the mess later. Luckily a kind neighbour put the box back together for me. There was a Grizzly just this past week who was wandering about a neighbourhood just a few miles out the lake. A conservation officer had to be called in as apparently nothing was scaring this fellow off. These aren't overly common occurrences, but do occur regularly in the spring.

Period of Grace

I apologize to all for my silence. It's been a rather busy month. Busy and then company. But the worst was when my internet connection went down. I am still waiting for the technical issue to be resolved...hopefully this week. Shaw has promised to send an IT technician on Wednesday. In any case, I haven't abandoned you, nor jumped on the Facebook bandwagon. I have posts started, even if they're not completed, and I look forward to getting back online soon and catching up on all your stories.

Merry Christmas

Wishing you and your loved ones the happiest of holidays and a new year full of peace and love. Merry Christmas.


These pictures are from Christmas on Baker Street earlier in December. The tradition is to have part of the main street shut down. One of the local supermarkets provides food and hot chocolate. Various groups perform carols and other Christmas music. Animals are brought in from a local farm...I'm not sure whether all the animals are babies or just miniatures, in any case, they delight the children almost more than anything else, especially those who get to ride the donkey.

Winter...the Best Time of Year

This video clip captures the mountain culture in which I grew up absolutely perfectly. It somehow conjures up all kinds of bits and pieces of memory and feelings from my childhood. Perhaps it's because for years I skied at WH2O...spent many hours on her powdery slopes watching some of the best skiers in the world hotdogging down her cliffs. Perhaps we weren't quite as hippie as those portrayed in this film, but there certainly were a good deal of VW vans. And all of us experienced fishtailing on icy roads. It was all part of the thrill. And those straight skis! When's the last time you've seen those? We all learned on them.



Bill Heath, a local film maker, spent a good deal of his career learning from the father of ski filmmaking, Warren Miller. Last year I had the honour of viewing his newest film "Nine Winters Old," the stories of random snow lovers and their mountain experiences. The cinematography is stunning and you will see some of the best scenery this area has to offer. See trailer below.

Sacred Waters

A certain magic always hung in the air as we drove past the spotted lake in the South Okanagan. We would hang from the windows of the car with our eyes glued to the side of the road looking beyond, just a ways down the hillside…watching … watching for that magical lake with spots…the Spotted Lake. And the first to see it would cry out, “There it is! The Spotted Lake!” It held us captivated as I’m sure it has many others throughout the years.

The native people in these parts consider the lake sacred and the therapeutic quality of the waters have apparently been known throughout time as far back as their history goes. In fact legend tells that warring tribes once declared a truce in the middle of a battle so that both sides could tend to their wounded in the lake. Throughout history, tribes from all around came for the “medicine” the lake contains. Stories told by these peoples’ ancestors tell of the cures the lake has provided, both physically and spiritually through its medicine powers.

“Its medicinal powers are not to be taken lightly. This Lake is a Chief among lakes, its powers are above the purely physical. It contains 365 circles in various shapes, sizes and depths. Each particular day of the year, anyone who goes to this lake will find the right circle if he seeks.”

I have never confirmed the statement regarding the circles, however, I can say that the lake has drawn me. I feel its pull, the magnetism of its call. Even now, many years later, whenever I drive by, I cannot pass without looking.

Last Tastes of Summer

The last taste of summer has now come and gone. Just a couple weeks ago I was still collecting these wild blackberries that lovingly transplanted themselves in my yard.

Everyone said, "Pull them out! They are a wild plant and hard to control. They will take over." But these blackberries knew exactly what they were doing. They were on the edge of my yard and gracefully hung themselves over the rock wall there. They basked all summer in the heat radiating off the rocks and have produced the sweetest most succulent crop of blackberries that I have ever tasted. I can't say that I got a ton. Just three large freezer bags. But of course that doesn't take into account all that I ate in between and for the first year, that's not bad. And they have since enjoyed being in salads, yogurt, and smoothies. I've thought about making jam, but the truth is that I don't use jam all that often and made a batch of apricot earlier in the year. Besides, I enjoy the tart explosion of flavour that these offer on their own. Now all that's really left are the elderberries, rose hips and a few wild apples.

The Beast

In a time just a few years before my own, rumours circulated that strange beasts roamed through the dense shadows of these woods: tall, hairy beasts with a foul stench trailing behind them. It was in these times during one cold, dark autumn night in the tiny village of Kaslo that an incident occurred that would snowball into mythic proportions.

A group of teenagers had met together at the house of one of the locals. This said local, Mr B, was a bit of a strange man with straggly unkempt hair. But this was not in the least unusual for a small village full of solitary woodsmen.

The kids were getting ready to leave when one was sure he saw a shadow move in the bushes near the edge of the yard. Mr B said he would go out to investigate. Bears are known to occasionally wander into the city boundaries, especially at this time of year with the trees full of pears and apples. This was always a bit of a concern and no one thought it would be anything but. A few of the teenagers watched at the window, but the murky night obscured all but the pale movement of shadows. They waited as the icy air wafted in through the cracks of the old cabin.

Suddenly Mr B flew through the door all wild eyed with hair flying in every direction. “It’s a SASQUATCH!” he rasped as he raced to the kitchen and wrenched open a drawer, utensils flying everywhere. He grabbed the biggest knife to be seen and said, “I’m going after it!” Out he flew into the dark night with all the kids watching wide eyed in hushed whispers. They could just barely make out two shadows seemingly wrestling in the dark of the night. They waited on edge as the minutes passed.

After what seemed like an eternity, a dishevelled Mr. B. returned. “He’s gone! He got away, but I got him good. I don’t think he’ll be back.” The jittery group eventually made their way from the house and plodded towards their own. The groups broke off and became smaller as they fanned outward throughout the town. One of these groups met up with another group of teenagers also on their way back home. The excited kids exchanged stories with the other group and so the tale spread.

By later in the evening, the story had reached the police who wanted to investigate. And their story was later overheard on their radios by the police in the neighbouring town of Nelson. And then later by reporters in Vancouver. Within a week, the story covered the front pages of the Province, and this was before the Province had become such a rag.

So what really happened on that cold dark night? Search parties scoured the woods. They weren’t going to see any sasquatches. But I say nothing.

Winter Pear Jam with Honey

This past weekend found me foraging in the forest stealing pears away from the bears. Not to worry, the bears have had a good summer and for the most part have their tummies full and are getting a little sleepy with the imminent approach of winter.

Yes, I know, you probably didn't want to hear it. Winter is on its way. In fact, the past two days have seen the peaks of the mountains glistening with that white stuff.

But back to those well-fed bears, they are drawn by the sweet smell of ripening fruit, but then usually after one or two bites leave the fruit to rot on the ground. I was simply rescuing what was left before the bears spoil any more.

I got the fruit from the back yard of a friend who's property backs up against what was once one of many orchards in this region. This region at one time boasted some of the best fruit in the province and probably the country. The cherries here were particularly prized until the trees were hit with a blight that devastated the industry. But that is another story entirely.

In any case, this old overgrown orchard backs up against the mountain and the forest providing easy access not just to the bears, but also deer. There aren't many trees left and they are old, but the fruit is still fabulously sweet. With much of it turning quickly...pears don't last for long once they start to ripen, I made pear winter jam. It's actually more like a pear butter. The warmth of the ginger does one good in the winter. The concoction is actually really good completely raw, but of course would not last for long, so most of it got cooked up and sealed in jars.

Pear Jam
Ripe pears - 3 pounds, peeled and cored
Medium orange - 1 seeded
Medium lemon - 1 seeded
Crushed pineapple - 1 cup (canned in own juice)
Honey - 3/4 cup
Fresh ginger root - 1 inch, peeled and grated
Whole cloves - 6
Cinnamon sticks - 2, broken into 3 pieces
Salt - dash (optional)

Process fruit in food processor or blender. Place in a large pot, adding pineapple and juice. Add remaining ingredients and simmer until fruit is tender and mixture thick, stirring often. Skim and pour into hot, sterile pint jars, leaving 1/2 inch at top. Cap with hot, sterile lids. Process in boiling-water bath for 5 minutes after water returns to boil. If any jars fail to seal, refrigerate and use within ten days or freeze for later use.

When Inuit Move South

Nuff said.

There's No Place Like Home

Many a voyage has carried me far from home and I have seen numerous interesting sights. The whispers of adventure secretly seduce me at my every turn. They continually pull at my heartstrings drawing me on. But in truth, adventure and excitement never lurk far from the streets of Nelson. Summer is a special time here. Festivals and celebrations abound and bring out the masses. This past Friday was no exception, in fact, it was double the pleasure with the launch of Art Walk and one of numerous Market Street Fests in full swing.

Every summer Nelson's Art Walk invites locals and visitors alike to take a stroll downtown and view the very best work of local artists and craftspeople. Local businesses host the artists and shops and boutiques become instant galleries. They put on splendid receptions, wine, cheese and other appies. Everyone mulls about, snacking while chatting with the best artistic talent in the area.

Meandering back out onto the main street, I am confronted with the city's undeniable bohemian undercurrent. It's impossible not to be drawn in. The crowds, the music, the food, the entertainment...it's all there. I happened upon a troop of belly dancers with the emphasis on belly, at least for the woman who was eight months pregnant. I half expected her water to break during the course of the performance.

And then the motley of a band...an odder collection of musicians thrown together one just couldn't find, I'm quite sure. There was the yahoo cowboy, hat and all, the two who looked like they had just stepped out of Barvaria, the one with the punkish style hair, another who was a frat boy I'm sure. How they found each other must be a story within itself. But boy could they play music. It made us all want to dance right along. For your viewing pleasure, the following video snippets will almost transport you there. Now close your eyes and click the heels of those ruby slippers together. There truly is no place like home, at least not if your home is Nelson.

Fireworks

The day before last, nature gave us her own personal rendition of a symphony of fire. It had been a hot day with the mugginess mounting and reaching its peak by late afternoon. Then warm winds started rolling through the valleys with dark, ominous clouds dominating the skies, a sure sign that convection currents were at play.

Not long after, with darkened skies, the thunder started rolling and rumbling its way through the valley. It didn't take long for the storm to follow. I caught a couple pictures of the lightning striking the top of the mountain and in two instances flames and smoke roared up immediately. Luckily the rain seemed to be enough to quench the fires.

The choppers were flying about the next day scoping the area for any flames that still might be quietly smoldering, but we seem to be okay. It's still early in the season and we've had a cool and wet spring. Still, it all made for a good show and cooled off everything nicely.