A real vacation, we said, and this time last week, we were hiking through rainforest on a small Caribbean island.

The forest floor was mossy, that greenest of green,

strewn with leaves as big as both our hands, as if the trees were operating on another scale as they grew from the volcanic rock,

and small white flowers, fallen from mountain cabbage plants (that lean on the sides of trees) dotted the path.

We were quiet, using sticks to guard against mudslide areas, and a little talked out – as happens when you have whole days to dream aloud together.

Suddenly, up ahead a goat appeared, as if to guide us through,

leading us into the sun,

to a good vantage point on the island’s runway, the shortest in the world.

Back in the rainforest, we felt as though we might never emerge, the way true vacations transport you from the life you know.

Soon after, we would glimpse translucent fish, pearlescent coral, and a sea turtle in a protected marine park dive in blue, blue water, and eat local Wahoo and Red Snapper our guide had caught.

Just then, though, was all green,

and we found spider webs. You know how I feel about spider webs…

If you do visit tiny Saba, the Queen’s Gardens Resort is the place to stay. We were well looked after; the property managers’ competence is unparalleled. The entire island is an excellent example of ecotourism. Thanks to K for a beautiful week.

Related posts:

1. the fastening points
2. silvery spinnings
3. b is for bokeh

The road to Maine started in Atlanta, with my sister Kassandra and her husband Sean’s garden spilling over the fence, as the spinach grew thickly near the peppers and watermelons behind their new house.

I drove down to Atlanta after Annie and Andrew’s wedding, and then back up to New York the following day, pulling off the road for this eatery’s encouraging sign:

And then it was off to Maine, and to an island, passing the Coast Guard,

as well as bobbing boats in the harbor as I chatted with Keryn about ferries in the afternoon sun.

Keryn’s friends keep chickens, they couldn’t say exactly how many,

near beautiful male goats that perk up their ears in unison and wander toward you, bells swinging.

On Saturday afternoon, we gathered with their friends on an island beach,

and I learned how to pour coals into the rocks and set the grill cover over, and patiently wait.

As usual, it’s the guys hanging around the grill.

More friends joined us as the sun began to drop…

and there were crazy discoveries to be made in tidal pools (“Look, Mom!”)

and friendships renewed.

My friend Keryn sat serenely as the children ran about, with her usual calm that belies spontaneous dance moves that occur with some regularity while in her orbit.

I had a hard time leaving the beach, watching as we heaped the grill with seaweed, and looking back over my shoulder again at the sunset on the quiet beach.

At the farm Keryn’s friends caretake for, the sunflowers are at their height,

the garlic is drying,

and they sent us back with piles of springy rainbow chard, cucumbers, and tomatoes,

that made beautiful cucumber sandwiches and colorful couscous across the water, back on the Maine mainland, this dreamy area of the country I love to visit…

Related posts:

1. green on and off the island
2. an island of chapels near cannes
3. a return to charming maine

On Sunday morning, a few Sundays ago, Keryn and Mike were the perfects hosts, indulging us with Mike’s wonderful pancakes and letting us sleep very late (that’s Kate’s butter, of course).

Note: This is the third in a series of three posts about Maine. You might start with the first or second post.

Keryn likes her pancakes with blueberries throughout and on top (and with these native wild blueberries, I heartily agree with her preference),

and Fil and I smiled at all the fun of the day before.

Late that afternoon, Keryn arranged the perfect spread of charcuterie and cheese, and a little while later, we were off to the ever-crowded Primo for their oyster night.

On Monday, I went foraging with my friend Evan on an island, gathering berries,

happening upon chanterelles,

and some of the rose hips that grow all over the area.

Monday night, Keryn (who even manages to rock rain boots) drove us to Ladleah and Shane’s,

where Ladleah’s gardening skills were in abundant evidence.

Ladleah had made a lovely blueberry buckle for the next morning’s sailing outing,

in a spare moment after making her famous salsa,

and then she showed us her gardens (Ladleah gardens for others as well, so these are her personal gardens that she works on in her free time).

I haven’t seen tomatillos on the vine before,

and Ladleah introduced us to an heirloom cucumber she adores.

We glimpsed the dramatic hanging purple beans,

and the first apples on the tree in the future orchard.

Before we left for dinner, we all smelled the mint on her porch, a scent I now associate with Maine, and its crisp air, and the beautiful people I am lucky to know there.

On our way back to Brooklyn on Tuesday, Fil and I drove through the Berkshires to visit Ethan and Rachel and meet Drew (Ethan drew us a map for the way back and recommended his favorite series of highways).

In their unique and incredible house, we marveled at the view that goes on and on, appropriate for a couple that is wise and witty in equal measure (and one I am excited to return to visit for longer).

Just as Ethan had said, we passed sculptures too intriguing not to stop for,

and we made a note that more exploration is necessary of this place,

and perhaps also of the miniature golf at the Red Rooster Drive-In next time the drive includes these roads…

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1. kthread cooks: pancakes
2. sunday supper at salt water farm
3. festive puffed pancakes for shrove tuesday

Last Sunday I returned to Brooklyn after a few months in Santa Cruz, and I traveled back in my favorite mode: a circuitous roadtrip. (This is the first post of eight, one for each day of the trip.)

Leaving San Jose on August 1st in the quiet of 5 a.m., I took my friend Matt’s advice and stopped at Ikeda’s in Auburn, California a few hours later, looking at the morning sky and leaving the market with granola, homemade fig bars, a bagful of peaches, and a razzleberry cobbler of raspberries and marionberries.

On into Nevada, I passed Reno and went on to Winnemucca, smiling at the retro lettering on the Sundance Casino,

and then the rows of classic cars at their Sunday afternoon town festival (sadly, Chico’s Formal Attire shop behind this car wasn’t open).

I found Nevada full of strangenesses—faded painted letters in Elko advertised “neon,”

while a nearby cleaners I would happily patronize had letters that seemed more likely to light up.

I crossed the border into Utah and a lighter brightness as the roadside began to shimmer at the Bonneville salt flats. One of the most beautiful drives I’ve ever taken, the afternoon light and the whiteness of the salt flats drew me down the highway,

and toward the great Salt Lake as I raced to pick my friend Karen up from the Salt Lake City airport on time—in an amazing gift of time and trust, Karen had only booked her flight two days before as I finalized the first day of the route.

Into hilly Salt Lake City we drove, staying at a historic b&b and sampling mole at the excellent Red Iguana. I sipped Devastator Double Bock Wasatch beer (seemed appropriate) and we caught up, talking about the days ahead,

and driving out early on Monday morning, we passed the Temple spires on our way to Colorado where we would end up staying in a castle…

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1. Flickring like that, wrinkly and clear red
2. ease on down, down the road
3. bright side of the road

I am surrounded by tall trees I can see from windows all around the cabin in Santa Cruz, but early in the morning, birds tap at the windows, urging me out into the day and toward even larger trees—

butterflies flutter about too, landing where I can watch them slowly open their wings slightly, drawing me outside to watch them alight on branches and plantings,

and then I do wander into the woods, passing fruited trees,

pausing for church flea markets like this one in Felton, California,

with homemade candles,

all manner of miscellany,

and aqua wine glasses that I felt the cabin needed in her kitchen cabinets (quite worth the expenditure).

And then I pass into Henry Cowell State Park to visit a spell with old-growth redwoods, stately in their bark of many colors,

fielding avian interruptions as I walk and birds hop on close posts, anxious to talk (my friend Karen, who knows this area of California well and cultivates a bird following, would enjoy these discussions).

The Zayante Indians once lived in the area, and the trees are between 1400 and 1800 years old; their majesty defies capture, as the trees twist away from the camera,

and I cannot show you the bits of softly falling leaves in the light,

I can only suggest the way a stand of trees seem to bend into each other, conspiratorially.

When I have looked up for a long while, I go to find spongy moss growing on logs,

the plants growing at the base of trees, spotlighted as sun filters in through serious branches,

and, my mind quieted, I look back over my shoulder as I leave these trees that will stand resolute, grandly implacable, the same way they will stand when I inevitably return, again and again…

Related posts:

1. where the wild trees are
2. of leaves and light
3. examining life

On Saturday morning, we drove onto the ferry toward North Haven, an island just across from Rockland,

and Keryn pointed out the other islands as we passed them on our ferry hour.

Once on North Haven, she introduced me to Little Lad’s, the herbal popcorn produced locally that is difficult to stop eating,

and slipped the new album from local band the Toughcats in for our island tour.

We did see traps in driveways,

but more interesting, we read the signs on this community billboard that everyone driving the island passes (the one-way street makes it so), and I noted the invitation at the bottom of the farmers’ market sign, welcoming everyone to buy or sell.

Keryn deftly steered us out to Turner Farm, where farmer Jen Porter (who we saw on the ferry returning from “cow shopping”) moves the greenhouses on skids (the Eliot Coleman way) and we sleuthed which of the greenhouses had been moved that week.

Inside, the greenhouses were warm with the future plantings,

herbs and lettuces small and fragrant (Keryn leaned in to smell the basil),

and sunflower seeds were dark against the leaves.

We found the inspiring garden plans and neatly organized charts with dates and locations,

and I looked again at the green sprouts destined for great things,

learned that even leeks flower.

We walked up the hill to the beautiful posts and beams in the barn being built by John Libby,

and then, strutting among the chickens,

I found Lady Gaga Chicken, holding her own with an impressive head pouf,

while her fellow chickens had beautiful feather patterns (but no feather headdress pouf).

And on we drove to Doreen’s,

where little lambs ran up to meet us,

and one insisted upon being photographed alone (maybe she knew we had just met Gaga Chicken?)

Doreen, who tends her many animals with great affection, took us to her pasture tucked away in the back of the property,

where her goats and kids roam, occasionally corralled by Flossy.

Crunching over green that the goats will eat later this season,

I paused at the deep green moss on overlapping roots,

and Keryn and I were both quiet and thoughtful as we wandered back to the beach crusted with purple shells by Turner Farm.

Back on the mainland that night, Keryn made a lovely risotto with local smoked shrimp and greenhouse pea shoots,

sprinkled salt on top,

and with her husband Mike, we talked of arancini, ferry travel, island exploration, and the greenness of spring in their house.

Related posts:

1. an island beach in maine
2. an island of chapels near cannes
3. sunday supper at salt water farm

and reviving plants I watched wilting earlier in the week.

Here’s to a few days framed with sun, as we turn toward restorative summer—

Related posts:

1. examining life
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We started talking about the coconuts that he harvests from the street, and that led to a machete and a handmade, welded striking implement cracking open coconuts on the porch, draining the milk, admiring the meat (which you score and then scoop out), and an explanation of how to make coconut milk—blend quite a bit of coconut water, a little coconut meat, a date and a dash of cinnamon for sweetness.

As a storm rages outside, intermittently lighting up the cottage, I am drinking it all up and in, sipping the milk (fresh coconut water tastes infinitely better than the packaged product, as you can imagine) and shaking my head at all the years I let a terrible cake experience with sweetened, shredded kind of coconut hold me back.

I prescribe fresh coconut.

If we can imagine meat—the word itself, without its weighty moral baggage and simply referring to these hairy things that hang from tropical trees—as a delightfully firm, silky white layer hidden inside a shell, perhaps spritzed with a little lime, we may all feel a little better…

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2. you put the (preserved) lime in the quinoa
3. all for a local butcher shop

Outside, I look up–how many mangoes do you count here? (Hint: there are more than five. Click on the picture to see the bigger version.)

Some of them are in clusters, like this small bundle the homeowners are up on ladders twisting off the branches as I write this.

And it’s also the season for meeting friends for dinner on patios–I had a wonderful time last night with Jean Marc, Jay, and Daniel at Bueno Vista Bistro a little past the Design District (Jay’s a great date, and Jean Marc simply glows with cleansed energy and dinner prep ideas),

oh, and for red cars and accelerated driving (adore the way Jay narrated the story behind reclaiming his car here):

Nearby on the warm Miami night, I met Jess for a moment at Sweat Records where the air conditioning was out, but enthused local musicians and artists were in and around—one comparing my dress to a Stereolab album;

for a certain set, Sweat Records is a community space model unique in Miami that connects through poetry readings, music, ironic shirts, shared pie, and Peeps on the craft table for peeps of all sorts—

Note: that’s Sweat Records owner Lolo smiling at the end of the above video.

Related posts:

1. kthread cooks: scallops and mangoes
2. cupcake goodness and butter
3. you put the lime in the coconut

This morning, I woke hoping to find the purple, diaphanous dress of my dreams (where is that sewing machine?) in the closet to match these Janus-like water hyacinths that bloom in the ponds around the magic cottage in April and August.

Last year, I compared these to a data visualization using the Many Eyes tool; this year, upon closer examination, even the stems seem to sparkle—stunning the closer you lean in (see the larger version here).

From one stem, the petals face in many directions (Janus was the god of doors and beginnings) like the stance scholar Kwame Anthony Appiah takes in the film and his work that the cosmopolitan citizen understands multiple ideologies and ways of sorting the world as equally valid.

And in our continuing coverage of spider web season, here’s a new web for your Saturday—

Related posts:

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2. after the morning rain
3. of leaves and light

The sun lit the strands stretching to anchor the webs—I have begun looking for the fastening points, the fancy work at the edges,

the taut lines apart from a web proper.

Against the deep blue, the whole web starts to shimmer and tries on one color after another,

and small, new points dot the inner, the outer, and above on this day celebrating the Earth…

Related posts:

1. b is for bokeh
2. examining life
3. silvery spinnings

Running through the woods, finding significance in the small collection of things on a leaf, knowing that your costume will protect you and that imagination makes you invincible—

these freedoms I remember as I watch a tropical forest grow around and into my mischievous magic cottage at night.

This afternoon, I took a walk in my neighborhood to meet the trees and leaves,

who seemed as friendly as the bees nipping at the kalanchoe,

and then I heard silvery leaves rustling in the wind.

found strange fruit,

distracting flowering plant sirens,

and flowers hidden in the trees.

Bands around some trees shone as if you could twist them,

and reveal another tree beneath.

I raced to swing on the Banyan tree vines,

(note: Banyan trees begin as figs)

and with their aerial prop roots

leading up into the sky,

it was instead a blue-freckled trunk

that fronted adventures if I stepped beyond—

as it happened, I wandered back to the cottage, past a sidewalk that reminded me to dream,

and when I returned, supper ideas were still warm…

Related posts:

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2. a miami year
3. examining life

Saturday morning I was similarly surprised at the last Coral Gables market; a new favorite orchid with markings like a tally sheet on some petals, scatterplots on others,

I wondered at the line of classic cars,

animals,

and this duck I applauded for owning the exaggerated tuft—that might, as a friend suggested, look slightly like the height of my hair in this picture.

Children cartwheeled to the steel drums,

samples from area restaurants waited at tables,

and I visited my favorite farmer (two bunches of rainbow chard, one bunch of purple haze carrots—and cauliflower greens and a tomato at his insistence) before picking up this week’s CSA farm box from Bee Heaven Farms. Watch for the extraordinary daikon radish greens:

In the afternoon, I went over to Mayur’s lovely new apartment building to puzzle through simple furniture instructions along with Kevin and Jess. They explain our success:

that we toasted to on the roof with a blue, blue pool that matched the cream cheese icing of Jess’s wonderful cupcakes with chocolate chips and blue sugar sprinkles that looked like stained glass.

And I looked into the pools of water around the Magic Cottage this afternoon as the branches dipped in the rainstorms, leaving water plants shiny and happy, the way I felt all this weekend,

and little lily pads, garnished with drops, floated gently near each other and into the week…

More images and videos in the Flickr set.

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1. a miami year
2. come follow the spam (allstars)
3. I recognize that smile

And I woke up this morning thinking about what I might be at 88; likely, I will still attend morning yoga class, sport millinery and other headgear, and, I hope, keep company with shimmering, silly friends like the ones I joined today at a tea room.

You might think a visit to a tea room a bit staid, boring even; not the case when dissecting cake varieties with Jenne, Jess, and Al.

Presenting today’s cakes at the “Famous Tea Room” of Cauley Square in South Florida:

And here is our esteemed panel’s reaction to the lemon cake’s decoration:

On a serious sugar crescendo, we exited the tea room to admire the tall topiaries of ladies with parasols,

and swan topiaries that seemed to need a bit more attention.

Feeling as though we were wandering a movie lot, we found fountains,

that Jenne performed a shawl dance near,

and music from hidden speakers that sent Jess and Jenne spinning.

I learned that honey is an always food (it never expires);

Jess found stars,

that upon closer inspection look like webs,

and then we were off to nearby Redland Market—the flea market with food vendors:

sacks of beans and spices,

unknown fruits.

Jess buried her face in cilantro,

and laughed with Jenne at our sugarcoaster of a day, loud laughter that I hope will continue at least until we are all octogenarians…

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On my way to the University of Virginia this morning, I paused at a small outgrowth that held up a canopy of interlaced threads, much like I was about to do for a small audience of colleagues in the faculty lounge of the English department.

For my dissertation presentation, I talked about food interactions and shifting patterns of consumption in online networks.

These are the slides from today’s talk,

and I’ve posted the working draft from the presentation on a new blog where I will, from time to time, post new working drafts and ideas.

The title of my project is Culture Modding: How We Play With Our Food, Money, and Beds in the Twenty-First Century and the blog is culturemodding.com.

After the talk, Dana and Will whisked me away to lunch (how I adore these two beautiful people), and then I walked back past the dewy webs to Ben’s, where the debris of a long night spent discussing theory, interventions, and counterpublics spread over the coffee table, my sense of gratitude renewed for this network of startlingly smart friends.

Here’s to a weekend of old friends, new areas of critical inquiry, and intriguing, flexible networks—

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2. miami rain is a drama queen
3. community is the new gold