Each Little World

Queen Anne’s Lace

The wild tangles along the roadsides outside town offer one more sign that summer’s on the wane. Suddenly the Staghorn Sumacs are coloring up where only days ago everything was a sea of white Queen Anne’s Lace.

Ubiquitous though the plant is, Queen Anne’s Lace is not native to the U.S. but comes from Southern Europe and Asia, according to an article I clipped from Horticulture magazine back in 1985. (It’s one of the few magazines that prints the name and date on every page which is very helpful all these years later).

Known as Daucus carota, Queen Anne’s Lace is actually a wild carrot; a quick glance shows the similarity in the ferny foliage. Dig one up and crush the root and you’ll also smell the similarity. Until the 14th century it was mainly valued for its medicinal qualities. It acts as a diuretic, soothes the digestive tract, stimulates the uterus and can, in fact, cause uterine contractions so should be used medicinally with great caution.

In the 15th century, Dutch horticulturalists developed a thicker, sweeter root and exported the carrot to England where it became a popular vegetable. Today it’s known as Daucus carota var. sativus to distinguish it from its wild relative. John Parkinson’s famed “Paradisus Terrestris,” published in 1629, says the roots boiled in salted beef broth “are eaten with great pleasure because of the sweetness of them.” Sounds like the beginnings of beef stew to me! (Attention carrot lovers, there is a World Carrot Museum!).

Parkinson goes on to talk about the fashion of wearing the foliage of Daucus carota in place of feathers on sleeves and hats. Since Parkinson was herbalist to Queen Anne’s husband, James I, the link between the plant and the Queen seems clear. And paintings of the era show Anne wearing lace as exquisite as the flowers that bear her name.

The plant came to the New World with the Puritans. Today Queen Anne's Lace is viewed as a nuisance by farmers as much as the rest of us love it for its ethereal beauty. Carrots — wild and cultivated — belong to the Umbelliferae family, one of 2,500 species all having flat-topped flower clusters or umbels. The flower head or inflorescence of Queen Anne’s lace is “a compound umbel from two to three inches in diameter made up of 75 umbels of minute, perfect florets, each supported on a separate stem,” according to Horticulture.

Scientists have counted as many as 2,500 florets in a single flowerhead and usually plants have three to five of these! In the center is a dark purple dot whose purpose is not clearly understood — and which I always mistake for a bug! Queen Anne’s lace, unlike some flowers, pollinates numerous species. And a single plant may release more than 4,000 seeds which clearly shows why farmers dislike them.

Queen Anne’s Lace has a cousin worth knowing if you are a gardener. Ammi Majus looks almost identical if more delicate and less weedy. Though the flowers lack the dark central dot, it’s easier to grow and fits more easily into a cultivated garden border.

Both images are Daucus carota. Note the dark spot in the center of the flower. Queen Anne of Denmark
by Marcus Gheeraerts the Younger (1605-1610). 
Image via Wiki.

Reading watermelons

Yes, there are watermelon poems and stories. Perhaps not as many as there are recipes, but quite as tasty.

Watermelons

Green Buddhas
On the fruit stand.
We eat the smile
And spit out the teeth.

— Charles Simic

Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle
Received from a Friend Called Felicity

During that summer
When unicorns were still possible;
When the purpose of knees
Was to be skinned;
When shiny horse chestnuts
(Hollowed out
fitted with straws
crammed with tobacco
stolen from butts
In family ashtrays)
Were puffed in green lizard silence
While straddling thick branches
Far above and away
From the softening effects
of civilization;

During that summer —
Which may never have been at all;
But which has become more real
Than the one that was —
Watermelons ruled.

Thick pink imperial slices
Melting frigidly on sun-parched tongues
Dribbling from chin;
leaving the best part,
The black bullet seeds,
To be spit out in rapid fire
Against the wall
Against the wind
Against each other;

And when the ammunition was spent,
There was always another bite;
It was a summer of limitless bites,
Of hungers quickly felt
And quickly forgotten
With the next careless gorging.

The bites are fewer now.
Each one is savored lingeringly,
Swallowed reluctantly.

But in a jar put up by Felicity,
The summer which maybe never was
Has been captured and preserved.
And when we unscrew the lid
And slice off a piece
And let it linger on our tongue;
Unicorns become possible again.

— John Tobias

And for those who want to travel back to the 60s, there is Richard Brautigan's fanciful novel, "In Watermelon Sugar." Like all of Brautigan's work, a unique voice speaking in a unique time: "In watermelon sugar the deeds were done and done again as my life is done in watermelon sugar."

Copyrights on these works are held by the authors.

In watermelon sugar

I grew up learning about the Three Sisters of the Iroquois: corn, beans and squash. Interplanted and intertwined, they sustained the people physically as well as spiritually.

Corn, tomatoes and watermelon are my contemporary triumvirate: the Three Sisters of Summer. For days they’ve dominated my menu. Ironically all three reach their peak of perfection just as summer slips out of our grasp — officially, this very weekend.

I have an insatiable sweet tooth which means I should love watermelon, but I’ve always found it cloyingly — gaggingly — sweet and sugary. If you’ve got a serious sweet tooth, it doesn’t seem possible that anything could be too sweet, but there you have it.

When I was growing up my mother made watermelon pickles and I couldn’t get enough of those. I would sit and eat a jarful if she wasn’t watching. The sweet sour combination of flavors made watermelon palatable — though, of course, pickling destroyed the ruby color.

Watermelon is so gorgeous that I’ve tried over and over to develop a taste for it. Finally I had my breakthrough when DWR featured watermelon — as the basis for salads — in their August 2006 on-line newsletter. The author of the piece talked about these salads opening his eyes to the possibilities of watermelon the way “a unique lamp like Castiglioni's Arco opened my eyes to the possibilities of a chunk of marble for lighting.”

The newletter went on to offer two recipes for watermelon salads: “Watermelon, Arugula, Red Onion and Feta Salad with Citrus Vinaigrette” by John McReynolds, co-owner and chef of Café La Haye in Sonoma, California and “Watermelon and Goat Cheese Salad” from John Clark of Foreign Cinema, San Francisco. The recipes turn watermelon into a food for grownups. The addition of spices and savory flavors cuts the sweetness and turned me into a watermelon fan. You can still find the recipes at DWR but the photos of the two dishes are long gone.

And now Saveur magazine offers even more imaginative ways to think about the fruit in their September 2008 issue. “Why We Love Watermelon” offers 15 recipes from around the world and a guide to the different varieties. The very first recipe takes John McReynolds salad ingredients and adds mint, parsley, kalamata olives, and jalapeno pepper to the mix. Now we’re cookin’!

Well, actually, that’s the beauty of dishes using watermelon: cooking is rarely required.

Both views are my versions of John Clark's watermelon salad. The title of this post is taken from Richard Brautigan's fanciful 1968 novel of the same name.

Sweden: Living Design

For those of you enamored of all things Swedish, the distinctive eye (and lens) of The Sartorialist has been trained on the streets of Stockholm these last days of August.

This is my particular favorite : so Scandinavian, so traditional, so timeless.

Skip on over. You won't be disappointed ... because The Sartorialist never disappoints. He only discovers.

Photo: The Sartorialist / 8.21.08

Not just Swedes

Joni at Cote De Texas continues to amaze and inspire with her long posts devoted to one topic. The most recent, “A Swede Designs,” considers Lars Bolander, a Swede living and working in the U.S. who designs with a distinctly Gustavian attitude. The post is long and luscious with depictions of Gustavian style, both by Bolander and others.

But ultimately it sent me to my bookshelf to ferret out my favorite tomes on all things Swedish — actually, on all things Scandinavian. Up here, where we speak Minnesotan and Wisconsin, we find inspiration equally in Denmark, Finland, Norway and, yes, even Iceland.

Among many images, Cote de Texas showcased Bolander’s stunning new house on Oland Island. And for those who had their magnifiers out, you may have noticed the article about this new home was written by Elizabeth Gaynor, author of two superb books that are definitely worth owning. The following titles offer Scandinavian fare that may be unfamiliar as they are not recent publications, but all are worth searching out if you want to learn about the full spectrum of Scandinavian design.

``Scandinavia: Living Design'' (Stewart, Tabori and Chang, 1987) and ``Finland: Living Design,'' (Rizzoli, 1984) are at the top of my list. Both are written by Elizabeth Gaynor and stuffed with intriguing images snapped by Kari Haavisto.

They are arranged by broad themes and include a variety of eras and styles. So you’ll find Gustavian as well as many of the designers we think of as mid-century modern: Poul Henningsen, Alvar Aalto, Arne Jakobsen, Finn Juhl, Vernor Panton — and my personal favorite, Hans Wegner. You’ll also find the country home of Armi Ratia, the Finish woman who created Marimekko, and the sophisticated urban flat of her son, Ristomatti.

“Swedish Interiors,” by Rhonda Eleish and Edie Van Breems (Gibbs Smith, 2007) looks at Swedish design in the U.S. I can’t ignore the two Midwestern homes detailed in the book since both are here in Wisconsin: Ten Chimneys, the fabled home of the theatrical team of Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne in Genesee Depot; and New Sundborn, the Loran Nordgren ranch in Coon Valley.

Nordgren's home pays homage to artists Carl and Karin Larson, and like Ten Chimneys, is bright and lively. The two are in stark contrast to almost all the other houses where the more typical Swedish blues, grays and Gustavian furniture predominate.

Carl and Karin Larsson decorated and embellished the interior of their home in colors and a style that were innovations for the era, the late 1880s. Today the couple and their home are widely known and loved (see “Carl Larsson’s Home;” Addison-Wesley, 1978) as are Carl’s charming paintings that showed the family going about their daily lives in the highly personal home (see “Carl Larsson: A Home;” G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1974).

Lest you think Scandinavian design is all pale gray and blue, I leave you with this image of my favorite sweater (and matching mitts) from the glorious house of Oleana, whose designs are based on Norwegian folk costumes.

Uff da!

Home thoughts

Yes, yes; I know, I know. Never begin a post with a poem. Certainly not the very first ever post …

But what’s a girl to do who was raised on rote memorization of poetry in elementary school? It may be fatal for some kids but it turned me into a lifelong poetry nerd. I love it, buy it, read it. And still memorize it — a much more difficult task once one leaves school days behind.

More difficult because one’s brain is now perpetually filled with furniture designs, fabric patterns, flower names, foodstuffs. All of them floating around inside me, slithering and sliding against each other until they finally emerge — not in so many words — but on the walls, on the dinner table, in the garden. The poetics of everyday life.

Note to self-admitted nerds: "Home: A Collection of Poetry and Art," edited by Stan Tymorek, offers a wide selection of takes on the subject. (For reasons that I can’t quite discern, copies of the book range from one cent to about $20. Something in everyone’s budget, I guess). Here’s a little tease:

Hold on, dear house,

‘gainst the long hours
of emptiness, against
the wind’s tearing force.

You are my mind
made particular,
my heart in its place.

— from Robert Creeley’s “This House”

August

For the mind, by nature stagey, welds its frame Tomb-like around each little world of a day; We jump from picture to picture and cannot follow The living curve that is breathlessly the same.

— Louis Mac Neice / 1907-1963

What little world?

EACH LITTLE WORLD that collides with mine:

The world of interiors and exteriors; bibliophiles; china and dishing; Domino theory; feasts and fests; food; flowers and gardens; material possessions and textile obsessions; worldly goods and bads.

Your worlds and mine.

Let the collision begin.

The above quoted text is the 2nd stanza of Louis Mac Neice's poem, "August," as it appears in A Little Treasury of Modern Poetry.