From the Pottery Kitchen

“Bread, Butter and Sugar” for the late night firing crew

2011-11-30T19:31:00.001-08:00

Bread, Butter and Sugar

Tonight, November 18, 2011, it will be simply “Bread, Butter & Sugar” tofortify the late night firing crew, for although I am the ace purveyor of theirfood, and always have something homemade ready - as inexcusable as it is - I justneed to employ some shortcuts on what I send out to them tonight.

Their supper was locally grown London Broil which had stewedgently all afternoon, dissolving into a soft medley of sweet potatoes,tomatoes, garlic, red wine and a fistful of pickings from our backyard herbgarden of rosemary, sage, bay, and friends. There were also collards sautéedwith more garlic, and Joan’s fresh-baked sour dough bread from today’s Farmer’sMarket.

But now they need that late night snack. When you are on the midnight to 6amshift, stoking a wood kiln, you need sustenance.

“Bread, Butter, and Sugar.” The truly Wonder snack. Was anyone else raised on thisafter-school staple? The bread back then was, of course - Wonder Bread, whiteas the driven snow. Even my mother, who took great pride in being a Bellevuenurse (the toughest hospital in NYC in the early 1940’s to spend your residencyin, and who was a stickler for good nutrition,) had still fallen for the hypeof Wonder Bread. When five hungrykids hit the kitchen table after school with numerous friends in tow, “BreadButter and Sugar” was her fast, almost instant, energy laden snack. We loved it. I can make them in mysleep.

Joan’s sourdough bread, made from Lindley Mill flour andlocal butter, was warm when I pickedit up at the Pittsboro Farmer’s Market on Thursday. Tonight I lathered it with more Maple View Dairy butter and generouslysprinkled organic sugar on top.

How many years have gone by since I sank my teeth into thisculinary masterpiece? As I took my first bite, the memory of that taste slammedme back to happy days in my childhood home. Back to memories of times at our kitchentable, and of my mother’s smile, and then of her laugh, which matters most.

Wow. I have toadmit, that is delicious.

Maybe it’s ok to step back in time once in a while. And bring back a childhood favorite, anda simple treat from another era.

Bread, butter, and sugar. I suspect it will not be years before I enjoy this simplesnack again…

Epilogue: Aftercareful consideration I have decided to order a few more loaves of Joan's bread and set up a make-your-own “Bread, Butter,and Sugar” station in the workshop on Saturday and Sunday afternoon so you cantry this treat for yourself!

That's after we've finished off the the homemade pumpkin muffins Saturday am!

From the new pottery kitchen

2011-08-31T22:30:00.000-07:00

First the good news. A week ago we moved back into our newly renovated kitchen. It's beautiful, with heart pine cabinets, a two-inch thick walnut counter, and plenty of shelves and drawers for pottery, and provisions. And the not so great news?

An intense thunderstorm accompanied by a twister swept through our property on Monday evening and took down three ancient oak trees.

I wrote a press release and sent it out to the papers. I doubt they'll print it, but here it is.

PITTSBORO, NC -

An earthquake, a hurricane, andnow a tornado, and the largest pots ever made by Mark Hewitt, one of NorthCarolina’s best know artists, are still standing.

On Monday night about 6pm atwister spun through the yard at the Hewitt home and Pottery, taking down threemassive oak trees, and landing one of them on the front half of the Hewitts’late 18^th century farmhouse. Luckily no one was in those rooms at the time.

Miraculously an installation oftwelve large pots, including eight that are tall, life-sized sculptural ceramicsentinels positioned on their lawn, all survived the tornado without sustainingany damage.

Stand of Curvaceous Sentinels

Recent exhibitions of Mark Hewitt’s big pots at the NasherMuseum at Duke and the Ogden Museum in New Orleans were artistic milestones that pushed Hewitt to explore new aesthetic territory. In this recent firingwere the largest pots Hewitt has ever made – not only bigger, but with newshapes and glazes.

This weekend and last the Hewitt Pottery is hosting theirSummer Kiln Opening, showcasing these new massive pots, as well as 1,500smaller functional salt and ash glazed pieces, spanning from bud vases tocereal bowls, mugs, pitchers and lidded jars.

“It’s exhilarating to work on a monumental scale, and expandmy repertoire from functional pots to more sculptural ones,” said Hewitt as heloaded his large wood-burning kiln. “And for the smaller pots there are morecolors, including new blue glazes I'm experimenting with. Another onecreates a lovely streaky black/rust color that I'm very excited about made witha granite dust from Rockingham, NC, dubbed "Rocky X".”

Exquisitely made pottery at such a massive scale is found inonly a few places in the world. Maybe it’s Hewitt’s 30 years of experience making pots, or his earlytraining in England, Africa and Asia that give his work such simple beauty anda sense of timelessness. Either way, it takes more than a tornado to discourageHewitt.

“These are the biggest pots I've ever made, more abstractand animated, they have a power and majesty that commands attention whereverthey are placed,” says Hewitt.

The Hewitt Pottery will be open to the public on Saturday,September 3^rd from 9 am until 5 pm and Sunday, September 4^thfrom noon to 5 pm. Directions canbe found at their website, www.hewittpottery.com.

“We can always rebuild the house,” says Mark’s wife, Carol.“But these big pots are a significant departure for Mark and they each havetheir own personality and presence. I was so surprised and relieved to comeoutside and find all but one standing assertively and safely on theirpedestals!”

- END -

Boy, is that the truth!

I still believe that everything happens for a reason, and everything happens for the best. As we sifted through the debris today we found one special object after another that had somehow survived. There was the antique English Fremington pitcher that our friend Svend had given us as a wedding present and the commemorative umbrella pot that Mark made for my late parents with the date they were married and the date of their 50th wedding anniversary etched along the rim. Both were unbroken.

We did make the front page of the Triangle&Co. section of the News Observer today, and Dave Hart's article was both accurate and generous. "No picking up the pieces for Pittsboro potter - Storm's violence damages his home but not his outsize ceramics" was the headline.

Meanwhile folks have been calling, sending emails and dropping by with food and offers to help. It is both heartening and humbling to be part of such a thoughtful community of friends and neighbors.

Emma (just back from Ithaca, NY) and Meg (now living and working in Arlington, VA) are both planning to be here this weekend to help out as well.

And the "new" pottery kitchen will be put to good use, making coffee cake for Saturday morning, and cookies for Sunday afternoon. We still have loads of Locopops in five different delicious flavors!

Come on by and see the pottery survivors and new colors, check out our post-tornado clean up progress - and enjoy a Locopop or two.

Like the Coconut Lime Basil or the Blueberry Orange....

Slow Money Feeds A Spring Kiln Opening!

2011-05-03T16:15:00.000-07:00

Planning the menu for our Kiln Openings is always fun - ordering homemade cookies from Joan and Betsy, goat cheese from Fleming, and cinnamon buns from Arlo. Each time it varies based on what is in season, and what I’m in the mood to make. Scones? Muffins? Brownies?

"Abi" of Abilicious Bakery

This time I tried something different. At the opening night of our Spring Kiln Opening, on Friday from 4-8pm, along with enjoying about 1500 beautiful new pots, we will be dining on food from the farms, bakeries, restaurants and a cheese shop that are recipients of our local Slow Money NC loans.

Similar to Slow Food, the Slow Money movement is sweeping the country, giving folks that care about building resilience in their local food economy a way to have an impact. By making low interest loans to sustainable farmers, and food enterprises that support them, we bring our money “back to earth” rather than send it off to faraway investments. It’s easy, deeply rewarding, and the results taste great. The returns are much more than just financial.

Right here in the Triangle area, in less than a year, we have helped launch three new bakeries, a cheese shop, expand a restaurant that features local food, and increase production at two small-scale sustainable farms, all for about 25K. And on Friday night we’ll be tasting the results!

Angelina!

There will be platters of local veggies and London Broil sandwiches coming from Angelina’s Kitchen, a cheese platter from The Reliable Cheese Company, sweet treats from Abilicious Bakery, deviled eggs and chicken salad from YNot Farm, and much more.

I recently spoke with a young man who had been at a Slow Money gathering several months ago. He said he had taken away one small but clear message from that conversation: “We vote with every dollar we spend.” That comment had stuck with him. In particular, as it related to his food dollars. As a restaurant chef he has since started sourcing as much as he can from local farmers instead of getting everything from “the truck”, the mega-food distributor of faraway foods and supplies. “That one idea has changed everything,” he said.

I was raised in a rural corner of New England with farms on every road. There were more cows than people in some of the neighboring towns. Feeding ourselves with food from our local farms just makes sense to me. Certainly here in the Piedmont of NC where we can grow food year-round, we could at least try.

Slow Money NC has that as a goal. We will create more local, sustainable farms and the businesses they need to get their production to their eaters. And build a resilient food economy less dependent on shipments of food from across the globe. We get to eat fresh, delicious, healthy food and build a strong, caring community in the process.

So on Friday night, we will celebrate this recent kiln load of lovely pottery and enjoy some fine gypsy jazz. And we will dine on delicious local food thanks to the wonderful folks in our Slow Money NC community.

I think my love of Slow Money might mirror my love of pottery. I like things that take time. Things that travel at a pace I can understand. And things that are valuable in more ways than one.

Thank you Emma!

2010-12-09T00:55:00.000-08:00

Daughter #1 - Emma

The 80th Firing Kiln Opening Festivities last Friday evening were wonderful, and I want to thank Emma for all she did to make that so.

From renting port-a-johns to making me laugh until I cried, I could not have done it, and certainly not have enjoyed it the way I did, without her.
Thank you sweet Emma.

Let's do this again!

Gearing Up

2010-12-01T16:53:00.000-08:00

This has been a unique week in the Pottery Kitchen. After eighty firings of the salt kiln, eight firings of the alkaline kiln, and about thirty Kiln Openings, many things had become routine - meaning easier! Joan and Betsy made delicious cookies, and Simi and I added various local cheeses and dips and vegetable bits. There was coffee and scones, hot cider or lemonade depending on the season, and whatever else I had fun rustling up to serve to our customers. Good food, good friends, and pretty pots as well. It has been a good twenty years or so.

I can’t help it. With Italian heritage, and from generous stock, emotionally and physically (those of you who had the good fortune of knowing my parents will attest to this, I expect) it follows that I like to feed people. And I care about the food I serve, and I care about the people that are indulging in my choices. Delightful conversations, connections with old friends and new, seem to happen again and again around the refreshments table in the pottery workshop.

Which brings me to this event. This is the 80^th firing of our first and only Salt Kiln. I remember, as a young bride, watching it being built, six thousand bricks and several months of Mark’s labor in the midsummer heat. He had left England to try his luck in the US, and together we had chosen this somewhat isolated location. I remember thinking to myself as I watched the bricks being laid, “clearly, I’m not going anywhere, anytime soon.” Raised in New England and having traveled to forty-two states as a young adult (stopping to live in four of them) this was a new paradigm. I loved to travel, and never stayed anywhere for very long. But stay we did. We chose this town, this farm, and we settled in.

It was 1983. Mark dug sixteen post-holes for a kiln shed in the heat of the summer sun. Lucien, eighty year-old neighbor, said it best. "He’s not from ‘round here, but he’s the workin’est young man I ever did see." Luckily Mark only had heat stroke a couple of times that summer. Compliments about newcomers from Lucien, who had lived on this road for decades, didn’t come easily.

Then, with help from his German friend, Stephan, they built the kiln. Meanwhile, I went off and got a real job to pay the bills.

While he turned a chicken house into the workshop.

Today, we are still here. And, thankfully, those bricks have held up for yet another 2400 degree firing. The new pots are lovely.

So we have invited all of you to come and celebrate with us.

Our daughter, Emma, a natural events coordinator, is getting tents set up, and has been invaluable in helping coordinate what has grown into quite an event. We could not have done this without her. (Thank you so much!)

Our daughter Meg will be here, with her friends, to help with the checkout.

And so many others are cooking, cleaning pots, helping park cars, and the like.

Happy Birthday, you champion of cooked chunks of clay. You have done a magnificent job at making soft clay into treasures.

We salute you. And we will eat delicious mostly local foods from farms and friends nearby, we will toast you with local beer and not-so-local-wines, all because of the gifts you have given to us all.

We are gearing up for quite a celebration.

Now all we need is a few folks to come and join us. Please do.

Mom and Dad cleaning planters in the sun, about 1990

In memory...

2010-08-26T22:03:00.000-07:00

Tonight a dear friend stopped by to ooh and aah about the new pots in the barn that I was busy arranging for this weekend’s Kiln Opening.

It’s true. It is a beautiful firing, and once I finished moving things around, attempting to turn this old barn into an adequate retail space, I thought it looked quite nice.

Then we headed into the house for a glass of wine and a conversation that led to the subject of mothers and daughters. I have two daughters and they both have been gracious enough to make time this weekend to work the check-out at the sale.

We talked of difficult mothers…she has one of those…that can make you feel guilty and miserable so easily.

And we talked about tyrants… mothers who rule their households with guilt and fear, fear especially of upsetting them, and incurring their wrath or criticism.

I lost my mother eleven years ago this October. For many years she and my Dad would fly into the local airport on Thursday before the kiln opening - to help out, and to get the first crack at the new batch of pottery. This usually led to squabbling between she and Mark, for although there were almost 1500 pots, Mom would spot something and want it…and it would be a favorite of Mark’s, one he planned to keep for himself, or for an exhibition. I have no idea where she got her eye for good pots, but it was hysterical to listen to them argue amiably over who was going to get the prettiest pieces.

“I’ll pay you for it,” she might try.

“And you’ll be able to come and see it,” might be tactic number two.

I stayed out of these discussions.

On Friday she would make up a great pile of sandwiches for the Saturday checkout crew to have for lunch.

Then, having loaded up on pots, and made themselves wonderfully helpful, they would fly on to Nashville to visit my brother and his wife.

As we were comparing mother/daughter stories, and reminiscing my friend told me this sweet one about Mom.

It seems that many years ago we had all gone out to dinner and Mom made a sweeping gesture with her hand and knocked a glass of red wine across my friend’s brand new white sweater. Laughs and sponges later the stain remained, and though she never wore the sweater again, she held onto it as a souvenir of that wonderful time with my folks.

Often when we open a new kiln load I find myself with an odd feeling.

I run a check… I’m not hungry, nor thirsty, but something’s wrong. And I realize what is missing is Mom. She loved Mark’s pots. When Dad was dying Mark went to him at his bedside and asked, “Is there anything you need me to do for you, after you’re gone?”

And he said, “Yes. Shirley loves your pottery. Can you make sure she has a pot from every firing?”

“Of course.”

Mom only lived two more years, but Mark kept that promise.

Tonight the pottery kitchen is busy. Emma is baking banana bread and I am shelling pecans. If Mom were here, she would be making sandwiches, and maybe spilling red wine.

And I have shopped for her. This time there is a new tumbler shape. She would have liked it. I picked out an amber one.

My friend finally sent that sweater to the Thrift Shop.

Time moves on, but I am thankful for friends that remember Mom and Dad with such fondness.

As do I.

Peaches!

2010-07-21T12:07:00.000-07:00

The other day I picked two buckets of peaches, many still partially green, from our tree.

Now I stand at the kitchen sink, picking out the ripest ones and quartering them. The worms have gotten there first, so by the time I gently scrape out and cut around the brown mush they have created, and peel off the skins, I have only small chunks They are not that big to start with, these white peaches, and so it takes 10 or 12 peaches to get even two cups of small pieces, enough for a snack bag. I dump them in, press it flat, getting out all the air, and slip it into the freezer.

And start again. Because they taste delicious, and they are mine. I know for a fact that they have never been sprayed with a noxious pesticide and their fertilizer is our compost and leaves from the yard. They’re like family.

As I work I try negotiating with the worms. How about next year we work out a deal, I suggest? You guys get all the peaches on the east side of the tree and I’ll take the west (not foolish enough to vie for the south side that gets more sun.) But they’re not very cooperative, nor communicative.

But that’s okay. About ever 7th or 8th peach I get a pleasant surprise. No worms! I got to this one before they did! And the bag fills more quickly.
It takes a while, but in the dead of winter, when there is nothing but fruit from faraway places in the stores, fruit that flew thousand of miles just to get here, I will be able to pop a few chunks of North Carolina peaches into my breakfast cereal. And it will make my day. Hopefully I will also get enough to make some peach muffins for the August Kiln Opening here at the pottery.

I saw a wonderful bumper sticker yesterday. “Local Foods, Thousands of miles fresher.” (from AppalachianGrown.com.) And thousands of miles more sane. Here is Chatham County we can grow food all year long. And with the help of a freezer, or some canning equipment, and our farmer’s markets, we can eat local fruits and vegetables most every day.

Which takes me back to these peaches, and the way they connect me to the land we live on. We planted this tree many years ago and I remember picking peaches with Emma and Meg when they were little, and making peach cobblers at Christmas.
If you don’t have your own tree, treat yourself to a basket of local peaches at the Chatham Marketplace, or your local farmer’s market. You may not find any worms to talk to, but you can skin and slice and find your way into a few bags for the freezer.

Hopefully in a few months you will pull one out and smile. And I’d like to think, those local Carolina peaches will make your day too.

Chasing Fires

2010-03-25T15:29:00.000-07:00

In my little hometown, when we heard the siren blow at the Fire Station we hopped on our bikes and beetled into town to see where the fire was. It was written on a blackboard on the outside of the station so all the volunteer firemen would know where to go. This was, of course, pre-cell phone, and few had CB’s. If the fire was at a house within a few miles, we would bicycle there to watch.

But, we had a dump where they burned the trash and at least 50% of the time the blackboard just said “Dump.” Often we knew this already, because the dump was at the end of our street, so we would have met the fire truck coming our way about the time we made it to town.

Today as I drove back into Pittsboro from the south side of town about 4:40, I saw a huge chimney spewing gray smoke, except this was not a chimney. It was the clock tower of the courthouse, covered in scaffolding and wrapped in thick white insulation. And I thought, "this does not look good." No fire trucks, no sirens, only one police car, and a massive billowing of foreboding smoke. As I came closer people came out of doors and cars to look, cell phones to their ears, and one man came rushing by with a black bag. I’d like to think he had medical supplies in there.

I had the urge to call and tell someone. Who might want to see this, who would not want to miss this tragic show unfold? But I didn't know if I knew any other fire chasers and was afraid the response would be something like..."why on earth would I want to see that?"

So I went about my business, skirted the courthouse, and made it across town to the car wash. As I vacuumed the carpets and hosed the dirt from my car the town filled up with smoke and putrid fumes, and I came home.

A friend called to ask if I knew about the fire. She was watching it on TV and said the courthouse roof was now ablaze.

I guess I was right.

Not good at all.

As I write this I realize the smell has followed me home, but the sky and the air here, three miles from town, are still clear. I have brought this sadness home on my clothes and my hair.

By now the media is covering every detail.

And I can move on to making supper and feeding hungry cats and dog.

No Regrets

2010-03-22T19:55:00.000-07:00

Will this be one of those days that we later ask ourselves…

Where was I when I heard the Health Care Reform bill had passed?

Like the day that JFK was shot, or the Zoe Baird decision ruined the careers of countless brilliant women, or that Harvey Gantt lost the Senate race against Jesse Helms, or that Mom had died of a massive heart attack (or of loneliness)?

Finally, a day when I don’t have to chastise myself for not making 10 more phone calls, for not doing more, for not being enough of the solution to the problem.

There will be setbacks and new challenges, but at least for a moment shall we celebrate this huge, seemingly impossible, wonderful victory?

Before we dig into the problems that still need fixing (not the least of which are the unworkable restrictions on abortion coverage)…

Shall we rejoice?

Yes.

Absolutely. And with no regrets.

Because, dang!

It may have been only by seven votes, but…that was enough.

We made history…the good kind.

Yes, we did!

What ? No Wings??

2010-02-12T06:20:00.000-08:00

How do you do a Super Bowl party of local foods, and no yucky Hot Buffalo Wings? And how can you pack as much fun into one evening as possible?

I think we did it. We started off in the late afternoon with doubles on the ping pong table, two generations of men/boys, one of each on a team and the fun began. I could hear them from the kitchen hooting and calling out the score as I roasted more peanuts from Doug?s farm. The teams were pretty evenly matched, and at least the older fellows are fiercely competitive about this game. Pause for a glass of water? No way.

Earlier that day I had put a beef stew in the oven. Chuck and stew beef from Vaughn and Andy?s cow, the last of the frozen tomatoes from our garden, some onions and lots of Doug?s carrots, and a few of his sweet potatoes. That?s the secret ingredient. After hours of cooking they have disappeared completely and become the thick base for the stew?s sauce. Sweet and good. I poured in almost ½ half bottle of organic (though not local) red wine, several bay leaves from my slow growing bay tree in the planter on the back deck, salt and pepper, and a few tablespoon of late summer pesto. Luckily I am not at the end of that yet. It all cooked for about four hours in a wonderful Guarri casserole that Mark had made when he was at Wenford Bridge with Michael Cardew in 1978. It was Doug?s bounty I tapped once more and sautéed a few bags of winter salad mix. The baby Asian greens and spinach are good raw or lightly cooked. To me they are the best salad winter could offer.

As the crowd grew so did the ping pong tournament, then we moved outside for a pick-up basketball game. We only have one hoop, but that doesn?t diminish the fun. Marcus is dangerous, Jenny and Willette can definitely sink the ball, and Arlo and Zafer are small, but fast! I most enjoy being annoying, blocking and teasing. My biggest challenge was remembering who was on my team. We need to get some shirts made up for next time. But the time of Kick Off was approaching.

We managed to squeeze twelve around our kitchen table and down the stew and greens and Rob?s foccacia just as the Saints and Colts began their duel.

The long commercials left plenty of time for peach and blackberry cobbler. That took the last two bags of the frozen peaches from our tree, and blackberries from the local farmer?s market. The tastes were a delightful reminder of spring, and I am glad to see the freezer nearly empty. March is defrost and begin again month. Alden?s Blackberry and Cookie Dough ice cream and Homeland Creamery whipped cream were devoured as well.

And there was more ping pong to play. During half-time the serious players, Mark, Lyle and Greg, played hard to establish who was the better player, counting off the games, but I dare not reveal the results here.

For some of us less mesmerized by football, it was own turn to get to the ping pong table. I discovered I was about evenly matched with Arlo, but I don?t have a prayer playing chess with him, and Zafer?s game is already much better than mine.

I was relieved to find another more even match in Tami. We actually like to keep the ball bouncing, rather than slam the thing at every chance!

All too soon it was time to see all to the door, do up the last of the dishes and take out the recycling, empty bottles of local beers.

I guess it is a small thing, this re-engineering our foodshed and feeding our bodies and souls with the fruits (or vegetables) of our local labors, but it is satisfying none the less.

And all the playing counts as well. Playing, especially as an adult, is a revolutionary act. We all need to be doing more of it. And laughing a lot more as well. But that is a topic for a future post.

For now, I'm just glad the Saints won. They deserved it, and as Tami said,

"They had the cuter outfits."

Where I Am Today...New Year's thoughts

2010-01-13T23:30:00.001-08:00

For a while in the 1990’s I had a consulting firm I called “Human Connections”. I led diversity trainings, did some related organizational development, and anything else I could think of to try to reduce prejudice. With a cluster of like-minded people I recruited to lead trainings with me, we worked our way through the school system, and many of the non-profits in my county and beyond. It was tricky, frustrating, deeply rewarding work, and maybe we made a small dent. Or at least I’d like to think so.

I dropped the name when it became a popular dating site, and I got busier being a mom of two teen-age daughters. We needed to raise funds for college, and though my personal passion is counseling/connecting/building community and having fun, I put my focus on running our family business. It is this successful art business that pays the bills and it definitely pays off when I put more attention to it.

Now, on the cusp of 2010, the girls are well on their way to college degrees with majors and minors in International Studies, Corporate Communications, Humans Rights, French, and more, and I have time again for community activism. We have a new title: social entrepreneurs and I like it. While the past decade has seen the issues of oppression and ethnic conflict shift and change, they are still screaming for help. And we have other common issues that we are fighting for the forefront. The challenge is to resolve them all as they will impact us all. Across lines of race, gender, class, age, religious background, and more - no one will be immune or left untouched.

Today, for everyone on the planet, we need clean water, clean air, nutritious food, renewable energy, good health, adequate shelter, a just economic system, and each other, just to name a few. I tell young people, when they will tolerate my lecturing….just pick one. Pick the one that sounds most interesting to you and learn everything you can. Become an expert. Throw yourself into solving that one and you will never be bored. Surround yourself with comrades, including some brilliant ones, and dive in. Don’t get discouraged, or if/when you do, don’t stay discouraged. It is not helpful and won’t lead you to the prize. Keep learning, keep thinking and keep moving forward.

My current choice? Working to re-claim our local foodshed by encouraging more sustainable farming, more eating of local foods, while building a stronger, vibrant, more inclusive community.

Reclaiming our foodshed will mean using renewable energy to produce and prepare our food, it will require more organic farming, carbon-free harvesting, lots of sharing food, and when we work hard alongside one another to accomplish these, shoulder to the wind, with a common purpose, we become more just. We make friends, we forge bonds.

Does this mission relate back to social justice? Of course. Our economy may well be unsustainable, climate change may make the planet less inhabitable, and soon it may not matter as much who is who. What will matter is how resourceful we are at coming together to solve the challenges that face us each day.

A key reason, my real mission, is to build my own personal community. I dove into ending racism work to try to understand it better, and to figure out why it seemed impossible to make friends across racial lines. I believed (still do) that when anyone is held down in our society, we are all held back from having the best lives possible. I made close connections with many people and got a glimpse of what it will take to liberate every human from the bonds of oppression. It is a staggering task, but the bit I did made my life bigger as a result. And it was clear that a critical part of the problem was that we were rarely, if ever, “in each other’s kitchens.” That can change.

Reclaiming our foodshed seems like a winnable victory. Once underway, it could serve as a stepping off point for similar ventures all over the world. And we could begin to connect with, and inspire one another. And our differences might seem less, as we depend on one another more. Better health, longer lives, stronger connections among one another, more laughs and good times…that’s what I’m going for.

So that’s my story. And I’m stickin’ to it.

Saving Plastic

2010-01-06T20:04:00.000-08:00

I have a wonderful newspaper carrier. She arrives in the dead of night, reliably, to sling an N&O out her car window and then disappear back into the darkness.

It is a thankless job really. The only time folks think much about their newspaper carriers is when the paper is late, or doesn’t show up at all. Then they get all in a huff and complain and moan. Usually they don’t even know the name of this mystery late night visitor, and couldn’t care less if the slight they feel is due to a death in the family, a car accident, or an alarm that didn’t go off on time.

Years ago we had a friend that delivered the paper and the Sunday edition was huge. It needed to be bagged and that alone took him over an hour. So we would occasionally meet him up behind the post office Saturday at midnight and bagging papers became a social event. It gave me a perspective on the life of the newspaper carrier. Everyone who gets a paper should have to deliver them a few times.

And then there was my brother’s paper route. He did that one on a bike, and occasionally he would have a Boy Scout event, or some such thing, and I would run his route for him. I loved it.

But that is not the topic here. Each day my paper comes in a plastic bag. It used to be that only on wet days the papers were bagged (and that fat Sunday edition with all it’s sections.) But now there is a bag everyday, a bag that would go in the trash, but I can’t bring myself to throw away a plastic bag each and every day. So I save them. I take one and stuff it with all the others until it is stuffed full. Then I hang it on the mailbox in hopes the carrier will take them back.

Eureka! It turns out, not only is she happy to reuse them, she has to buy these wasteful bags with her own money. They are required and they are not provided by the newspaper. So, she is very grateful for my obsessive behavior. It saves her money, and you don’t make a lot of that by delivering newspapers. Most carriers have a second job they go to after they catch a few hours of sleep.

What if we all did this? Can we start a movement of bag savers? It is not really that much trouble and think of the benefits. Happy carrier, less plastic waste, less carbon footprint.

Will you start today?

Peanuts

2009-11-30T23:00:00.000-08:00

They come in jars, roasted. They come in cans, mixed with all sorts of other more important nuts. They fall to the bottom, they are unassuming fillers. The other guys are bigger and cost more, but the peanuts give bulk to the mix and keep the cost down. They disappear into peanut butter, or maybe they get a bit more attention in the crunchy versions. I like them all, well enough, until now.
Yesterday I was given a present of a box of peanuts, or rather peanut plants. I had expressed an interest to our local biofuels emperor in serving more local foods at our upcoming Kiln Opening. As someone who aspires to eat only foods grown within 100 miles, he took me seriously. He procured what was to become several pounds of roasted peanuts from organic farmer and legend, Doug Jones of Piedmont Biofarm, and an afternoon project began. First the peanuts needed to be pulled off the plants. The plant matter went to the compost heap and the peanuts filled a large bowl. The shelling was next. This was time-consuming, but we had help, and as usual, especially with farm work and food preparation, many hands made light work. The roasting began as soon as we had enough shelled peanuts to fill a cookie sheet, Then the experimenting began. We roasted the first batch at 350. Delicious! Doug came by and pointed out that the results were better if they didn’t touch each other. I spread them more thinly. Could we do a low temperature batch and still get good results? I know raw food enthusiasts slow roast nuts at a lower temperatures to achieve certain health benefits, but I also didn’t want to poison any of our guests and apparently raw peanuts are toxic in some way. Some Google searches and several batches later, I settled on 325 to get the color and taste I wanted, but I want to keep researching this bit.
So you’re safe, but here’s the best part. The results were spectacular. These fresh, locally grown, fresh-roasted peanuts are superb. They are not like anything I’ve tasted before. They are lightly salted, by me, crunchy and wonderful.
A couple of years ago Mark finally pulled a huge vase out of the third firing of the massive new alkaline kiln, built exclusively to produce a glaze he had spent years trying to perfect. The pot was exquisite! He named it “Now That’s What I’m Talkin’ About” and we all rejoiced. After years down a difficult, costly road, this stunning result had made the struggle worthwhile. Farming and marketing local produce, reacquainting us all with real food is a winding, tricky path as well. But it’s worth the effort. Food that tastes like food used to taste when I was young, food that is deeply nourishing, food prepared with love and care, food that supports a local economy, now that’s what I’m talkin’ about. Come on down to the preview Friday night and enjoy. We’ll eat peanuts, and talk about whatever you wish.

(“Now That’s What I’m Talkin’ About” is now owned by the High Museum in Atlanta, GA.)

Shopping locally for the Holiday Kiln Opening

2009-11-30T22:39:00.000-08:00

The Kiln Opening is less than a week away and I have lists. The list of helpers who will clean all the pots once they come out of the kiln, and help with the pricing and arranging. The list of my loyal crew who will run the checkouts over the weekend, Donny who parks the cars and Simmie who helps in the kitchen. The longest list by far, is the food list - cookies, muffins, cheese, cider, etc. – who is making what and how many, the supplies I need to make hummus and crudite, things that need picking up, which day, from where. This is fun.

Having sent out postcards and emails to over 6000 people from here, there and everywhere, I never know just how many will stop by. Usually, over the course of two weekends, it is several hundred. It’s my party and I want to serve the best homemade cookies and other goodies that I can make or find. Joan from the Pittsboro Farmer’s Market is making four different kinds of cookies adding up to thirty dozen! The Bread Shop here in town makes wonderful mini-muffins for the hungry Saturday morning crowd. I want the refreshments to nourish the body as much as the pottery nourishes the soul. So while I make my list this year in the back of my mind floats the word “local”. The pottery is formed with local clays and glazes and fired with local yellow pine. Can the refreshments also be local? This is even more fun. Cheese. Yes, we have wonderful local goat cheeses. Crackers? Maybe not, but we have breads made locally from organic flour from Lindley Mill, grown down east on Looking Back Farm, 283 miles away. Sliced thin, that could work. Fruit? There must be some local apples somewhere. Or we skip fruit. Flowers? Yes, again.

The fabulous local lilies at the Chatham Marketplace, the lovely orchids from the Orchid Gallery just down the road from us, and the holly in full bloom in my yard will be plenty to decorate the barn/showroom and refreshment table. It may seem odd at first not to have several traditional poinsettias, shipped in from South America or somewhere, but I’ll adjust. Living in a community with a sizeable number of locally owned and operated small and medium sized farms, many of them organic, means I can keep more of my food dollars in my local economy. I can use our local currency, the Plenty, at most of the grocery stores where I shop. Hummus may have to make way for local salsa, and pickled okra, and I have heard there are peanuts grown right here in Pittsboro at Piedmont Biofarm, for home roasting. Fun again. Crudite can be made from local red peppers, broccoli, cauliflower, and Doug's beautiful carrots. I can replace the hummus with homemade mayonnaise made with duck eggs from the ducks living on our pond, and my own pesto. I certainly have plenty of kale for garnish (and later, supper.) Angelina’s Kitchen makes her spanakopita using local greens. So I find myself formulating a new list in my head: a list of all the local foods we can serve when we want to throw a party. Add local Carolina Brewery beer, and some organic wine from one of the Haw River Wineries, and voila.

And there is another reason I shop local. At the establishments mentioned above I am greeted by name, usually accompanied by a hug. Shopping becomes a visit with dear friends.

Support for my favorite businesses, yes: nourishment for my guests, yes: nourishment for my psyche, absolutely. Win, win, win.

Footnote:
One of my wonderful food helpers, who lives on Nabs and Lunchables, told me the last time she worked with me, "half the time I don't know what you're talking about, but if I wait long enough I usually figure it out. Like crudite. What the heck is that? Turns out it's just a veggie tray!" Now she's hooked on Angelina's spanikopita....I mean spinach and cheese pie.

Thanksgiving in Connecticut

2009-11-29T00:46:00.000-08:00

I harvested a large bag of curly kale, several heads of broccoli, red peppers, beets and arugula to contribute to our Thanksgiving dinner and lunch the day after. Local food, yes, but it would not be eaten at home in North Carolina. Instead it traveled in a large cooler in the back seat to my brother’s home in Northwest CT. Does this count?

I have heard this called the Marco Polo rule of eating local, but my family does not really discriminate in this way anyway. They are not locavores yet, but they know that I have a garden, and that this time of year I still have an abundance of fresh vegetables. And they like that. They get the fresh part, and so I bring whatever I can.

Meg and I packed lightly to accommodate the more important cargo of veggies, a dozen pottery plates (made very locally 30 yards from our house), a bag of local wine and a large pottery jar that is being delivered to Manhattan.

And we gathered, sixteen of us. And ate, lots. And sang, lots. And laughed, often until we cried. I instituted the twelve-second hug which was a big hit.

I am one of the lucky ones who has much, yes, lots, to be thankful for this year.
Amen.

Fall Ritual

2009-11-09T12:46:00.000-08:00

This morning I lit the wood stove for the first time this season.

I went out to the pile by the kiln and picked through the long thin strips of wood used for side-stoking the kiln to find some I could snap into lengths for kindling. Then to the smoke house, where there is still firewood from the trees that came down in the yard over ten years ago during Hurricane Fran. I love the smokehouse. It leans slightly, a rather forlorn small gray shed, but it is what I look at every day from the window above the kitchen sink. I had to fight to keep Mark from tearing it down and it was worth the fight.

I fill the canvas log carrier and walk back to the house. I remember that we had a canvas carrier like this one that Dad used to carry beautiful birch logs from the breezeway to the hearth. Maybe this is that very one. Did I bring this back when we cleaned out the house in Canaan after Mom died? I don’t remember.

Past the asters, bravely surviving the fall frosts, and around to the little used front door, but it is the one closest to the wood stove. I repeat my steps, making a pile on the front porch to last a day or two. I will need to do this often this winter to stay warm.

Opening the stove I find it full of ashes, the remains of last year’s heat. It is a simple job scooping them out into a pan. Ashes to ashes, and then there are chunks. Crematory remains have chunks in them too, but these are more benign. I leave some ash and a few bits of charcoal to make a bed for my fire. Newspaper is next. There is a special way to crumple newspaper to make it light quickly and easily and transfer the heat to the chimney. Dad taught it to me. He was smart. You learn a lot of important things growing up poor. I crumple it just like he showed me. Then I lay in the kindling, crisscrossed, to let the air move around it - each move careful and deliberate. I gently set a couple of smallish dry logs on top of my paper kindling structure. I’ve learned the hard way that they need to go in now, because if I did this right, by the time the paper and kindling are in flames it is too damn hot to open the door and be adding the first few logs. No, they need to be in here now to get their start along with the rest. The match is struck, paper lit, and off she goes. Smoke tries to escape around the door, then around the holes on the top of the stove until, yes…it has found the chimney. I love the smell of a wood stove. I love the way the whole room, the pottery, the furniture, will gradually get warm. You can’t create this feeling with the hot air that blows out of the vents. And where is the ritual in turning up a thermostat? Where is the sweet smell of wood smoke?

The room in the center of this old house is about to be very cozy. The kitchen will get some benefit, and the room behind the parlor, but the rest of the rooms in the periphery of the house will stay chilly. I will adjust my habits to spend more time in the center of the house.

Am I leaving a smaller carbon footprint burning this fallen wood, rather than propane? Is it less polluting to the air we breathe? I have heard arguments on both sides. And that it is really about the rate at which we release carbon. The rotting of these trees in the woods would also release carbon. But I am greedy. I want to speed up the process and heat my home.

Is it better or worse? I am not sure. For now, it seems to be the right thing to do.

Hump Day

2008-12-10T22:11:00.000-08:00

It’s officially winter. I know because the cheeky gray Junko has taken up residence in the nest under the eave outside my office window, vacated by the sweet house wren that has sensibly flown south. Several years ago this nest fell to the ground and he was in a complete tizzy. I tucked it into a small but sturdy cardboard box and nailed it back up and it has been in alternating use ever since by this pair. I am not sure who sublets from whom, but I’m delighted they each approved of my handiwork.

From the window over the kitchen sink I can watch him dart here and there, and sit in the bush so close I could reach out and touch him. I like these sturdy winter birds. They are good company for me.

It’s hump day between the two weekends of our Kiln Opening Sale. Joseph and Alex are cleaning up more pots to refill the shelves. Arranging and rearranging them, I love this chance to handle the pots when I am not in such a hurry. I can finally look them over - picking out my favorites. After 25 years of taking a few pots from each firing I have enough of most all the shapes and sizes Mark makes….so I just pretend to be shopping.

Today is our 26th wedding anniversary. Twenty-six years of being married, running this business together, and raising Emma and Meg. “The way we work together is what sets our love apart, so closely that I can’t tell where I end and where you start…”

It has started to drizzle. Hopefully after the rain tomorrow the weekend will be sunny. The Kiln Openings are so much more pleasant when we have nice weather and the check-out can be outside on the picnic tables. We had a great crowd last weekend. I am always touched by how many people come back again and again, and how the Chatham Studio Tour always brings new folks with their brochures in hand.

Here’s the last few lines of that song by Clint Black and Skip Ewing… sappy, sure, but it’s still a great song.
“Something That We Do”
…I remember well the day we wed, I can see that picture in my head
Love isn’t just the words we said, it’s something that we do…
There’s no request too big or small, we give ourselves we give our all
Love isn’t someplace that we fall, it’s something that we do.

Red lentil soup feeds the pot cleaning crew

2008-12-02T22:38:00.000-08:00

The pots are out of the kiln, from the 75th firing of the original salt kiln Mark built 25 years ago. There are hundreds of them, big and small - three very large vases, two ‘Monsta’ planters, two tall umbrella pots, several 10 gallon vases, and several jars and vases that are a new size Mark calls 6 gallons. The shelves in the workshop are full and all the pots (about 1500 of them) are getting a thorough going over with black emery paper to make sure they are nice and smooth to the touch. It’s hours and hours of work, and we have a great crew. Mark, Joseph, Alex and Eryn who made all the pots are here of course. Terry and Susan come out on the Tuesday after the unpacking three times a year to help out. It wouldn't be the same without them. Chad is here for the first time, so that made eight of us for lunch. I'd made a big pot of red lentil soup with vegetables last night, and a dozen cheese and chutney croissant sandwiches this morning. I’ve planned the menu for the Preview and Kiln Opening, and done most of the shopping. Tomorrow is another day of cleaning pots, then Thursday we price and arrange them all. Thursday night and Friday is food prep. Spinach artichoke dip, brie with pesto and pine nuts, double chocolate scratch brownies, cream cheese, chutney, and toasted almond cheese balls, and crudite and dip. I'm still working on the perfect recipe for chai for the Friday night preview. 120 scones for Saturday morning are done and in the freezer, along with dozens of cookies. Something about the cold weather calls for cookies.

I found poinsettias today, and hope one of my orchids is ready at the Orchid Gallery down the road. It's beginning to feel a lot like....winter!

We’ve sent out over 6000 postcards and about 1300 emails. It’s like throwing a big party. The invitations are out and now we wait and see who comes! Let’s hope we get some of those bright, sunny warm winter days.
I love this time of year!

The first entry

2008-11-19T23:19:00.000-08:00

It’s 1:00am, and I just put a sugar pumpkin in the oven to bake. It will take an hour or more, but that’s fine. Tonight is the night I help pre-fire the kiln, going out every half hour or so to ever so slightly turn up the gas burners. It’s bitter cold tonight, so in addition to my long underwear and jeans, I have a fleece blanket wrapped around my legs. I hope I don’t meet up with the newspaper carrier.

Why a blog? Why not. Maybe it will partially answer the question apprentices sometimes get up the nerve to ask me… What do you do? And it will be there when I can’t remember what went on around here, or aren’t around to ask..
Just back in from the 1:30am stoking and the smell of pumpkin is filling the house. The seeds I toasted with a sprinkle of salt are done and they are yummy.

What do you do?
Well, tonight I wrote a press release about the 75th firing that will go out tomorrow. It’s a new angle. This is the first time I’ve plugged the refreshments. These weird economic times call for weird measures…so here goes. “The festivities will include hot cider, cookies and other delectable treats from the Hewitt kitchen.” Hah! Time to get cracking. Last night I whipped out 120 scones, now in tins in the freezer. The pumpkin will evolve into muffins, then soup for the pre-firing crew. I’ve made 60 peanut butter cookies, and a batch of dense chocolate brownies. Luckily Joan will make a few batches of cookies, and I can ask Angelina to make her little spanakopitas. Mark bought new shelves today so we can spruce up the old wobbly shelves in the outer section of the barn. I need to line up Kiln Opening help and make my lists… These and more are the details I will obsess about for the next couple of weeks.

As I type I can hear Squeak’s soft wheezy snore. She has tucked herself into a ball right up next to the heating vent. Wise cat. She doesn’t buy into being nocturnal, like me. Time for one more trip to the kiln.

Here’s that press release. Now you know everything the media knows.

Master Potter, Mark Hewitt, celebrates 25 years in business and the 75th firing of his wood-burning salt kiln
In 1983 British-born potter, Mark Hewitt, found the setting of his dreams - a ram-shackled farm house with enough out-buildings for a workshop, kiln and sales barn. More importantly it was located in Pittsboro, NC, close enough to the clay deposits he needed to make wonderful pots, a good source of wood to fire his soon-to-be built wood-burning kiln, and plenty of potential customers within a few miles. This month Hewitt will fire that same school bus-sized kiln for the 75th time, filled with over 1500 pots made by himself and three apprentices, Joseph Sand, Alex Matisse, and Eryn Prospero. "North Carolinians have a special affinity for pottery made in the same tradition as that of their parents and grandparents", Hewitt reflected as he carried a board of swirl mugs into the partially packed kiln recently. "We have beautiful clays here and plenty of yellow pine to fire the kiln. I mix ashes from my wood stove and ground up glass for my glazes, and fire the kiln for several days to a temperature of 2300 degrees. Unloading the kiln is more exciting than Christmas morning." And his customers seem to agree. Three times a year he opens a kiln load and they eagerly trek to his pottery a few miles east of Pittsboro to see and buy his wares. Hewitt has written extensively in the ceramic press and exhibited in London, New York, and Tokyo, as well as throughout the US, and is well-represented in museum and private collections.

From the enjoyment of its daily use, or as a pottery collector’s investment, Hewitt’s finely-made pottery has an intrinsic value and appeal. For this 75th firing, in addition to the swirl mugs, Hewitt has made several massive vases and planters, pitchers and jars of all sizes, plates and bowls, and even a tall wig-stand! Pots from this firing will be on display at the pottery during the first two weekends in December. The festivities will include hot cider, cookies and other delectable treats from the Hewitt kitchen. The Kiln Opening starts with a preview Friday evening, December 5th from 4-7pm. Refreshments yes, but there are no sales or reservations made until the next day, Saturday December 6th between 9am and 5pm. New pots are put out on the shelves for Sunday, when the sale resumes at noon. For those that can't make the first weekend, the pottery shelves are replenished for a second weekend, December 13th, 9am-5pm and December 14th, noon-5pm. All the pots are stamped with a 75 to commemorate the 75th anniversary firing, along with each maker’s mark. They range in size from a 54" tall fluted vase, to several hundred lovely 5" bud vases, tumblers, and mugs priced well under $10. Twenty-five years later, Hewitt and his wife, Carol, (who teaches and coaches other artists in the business skills needed to be a successful artist) are still delighted to have found Pittsboro, and the run-down old Johnny Burke farm. In her words, "For twenty-five years we have lived and worked here as a team. Mark makes beautiful pots, I handle the bookkeeping and many of the marketing details, and we share in the important business plans and decisions. It's a good life. I couldn't ask for more." In these uncertain times, that's a lot. Customers are also welcome to visit the pottery between kiln openings by appointment. Visits can be scheduled by calling 919-542-2371 or emailing mark@hewittpottery.com. Directions and more at www.hewittpottery.com.