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.

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The spider webs on the porch glinted from every angle last night as I considered the squat little squash that make me smile when they appear at farmers’ markets.

I’ll concede it’s precious, but stuffing is the best use of this squash shape, and the little green vessels sit regally on top of a bed of corn and new potatoes—potatoes to match the quinoa, an Incan grain, that is one of the smallest whole grains (amaranth works well here too), a complete protein, and one that cooks quickly.

To make this, heat oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit, and prepare half a cup of dry quinoa in a separate pan while making the filling.

Filling: use two or three round squash (per person, this recipe is for one) and cut the top off about half an inch from the stem, scooping out the inside (leave a quarter of an inch of squash flesh inside).

In a tablespoon of oil, sauté half an onion until translucent, add the diced squash insides, a pinch of crushed red pepper, salt, and cook 4-5 min on medium.

Stir the onions and squash into the finished quinoa, add a diced tomato and its juice (this keeps it moist inside the squash), half a diced avocado, a clove of minced garlic, and a few chiffonaded squash blossoms, if possible. Stir.

Spoon into squash, recap squash, place in small baking dish with a quarter of an inch of water in the bottom to steam the squash while they roast. Cook 45 min, serve, roasting the corn and potatoes in a separate dish alongside the squash or in a pan on top of the stove.

While many vegetables work well in this stuffing, I like what is at market nearest the squash best. It seems wrong to me to stuff these with meat, as some recipes call for, as the squash are so good filled with the tiny popping quinoa and, ah, squash that then tastes of the tomatoes, garlic, warmed avocado, and hot summer nights…

This recipe is dedicated to my good friend Ben, who has been cooking without dairy lately, and the talented (and hilarious) writers of Vegansaurus.

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1. pppsst: spsp (summer pesto squash pasta)
2. kthread cooks: tortilla soup
3. a bowl of jambalaya risotto

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—

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3. canopies of suspended rain drops and culture modding

This is how my day begins—with morning webs draped across cacti like necklaces tossed off by flappers, the many strands tangled after a night’s revelry (certainly explains the dew),

or hovering like white noise,

catching stray new light as though a cornet,

and often working from underneath, the spiders tool coded strands,

attentive only to the attached lines, while I am easily distracted by the circular and hexagonal bokeh that imprint the air like softened measures from celestas…

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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—

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

peering closer in at the yellow markings on the spinner, who looks to be starting with a single circular area, I wondered if all webs begin as circles…

Nearby, another elegant spinner flashed with silver precision in the sun, and I blinked, trying to decipher what was spun and what was spinning, a point of reflection for the weekend ahead and the patterns I hope to weave…

p.s. these are even better in larger detail; click the image to go to the Flickr page for each—

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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…

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Tiers of webs foretold the net phases of a day that began as I imagined what an egg tasting would look like, and decided on goat cheese, tomatoes, and fresh mayonnaise for the local eggs,

and I finished packing, sat in my favorite chair, closed my eyes, and knew that this tropical fruit (from Redland Organics—I think this is annona, the sugar apple), tasted exactly like its color with a texture like a sherbet at room temperature.

I fly often enough to appreciate literary seatmates, and I smiled when the person next to me closed his book’s cover (Oblivion) as we landed in New York, revealing a DFW kindred spirit.

Jonathan flipped a coin and we shared a taxi into Brooklyn,

where we walked Brooklyn Heights until we found the cheese shop Stinky Bklyn,

and sat outside eating Manchego, salami, and crusty bread in the sun as the strollers passed. Jonathan teaches a group of very lucky first graders, is about to begin an insect unit (we are obviously into spiders here on kthread), and I’m happy to think a chance seat placement began a friendship (I think sharing cheese adds to this, as you’ll see).

Later that night, Solana and I supported Brooklyn Restaurant Week at Pó, and I marveled at the perfect white bean bruschetta,

and wondered why I’ve never thought to make a ragù with duck (this was topped with Asiago). We talked about men, and women, and patterns, and serendipity, and how Solana has created a life that is never the same. She is right now in Taiwan, part of her frequent travels as Managing Editor of Global Voices.

The next morning, the buzz of the small screens flickering in the New York Times lobby stopped me,

and after spending time with gadgets and immersive environments at the NYT’s R&D Lab with Nick Bilton, I headed toward the Union Square Greenmarket on a quest for ramps and other vegetables.

Orange tulips made me happy,

and branches of Spring piled up on tables and in containers.

Just past the honey,

I found raw milk cheese and roasted garlic/duck fat ciabatta that I brought to the Jelly co-working event in Brooklyn later that afternoon (a second instance of sharing cheese).

A few hours later, I left the DUMBO area to watch a sculpture installation inflate into a Friday afternoon,

inverting and changing shape in the wind as observers paused to watch what would happen.

As the thin membrane of the plastic installation deflated, Amanda (who I happened to meet, and yet am connected to as she is a previous Knight News Challenge winner) gave me a dinner recommendation for the Badlands.

The Dakotas were a little far out for dinner, though, so after watching a Greek Easter procession on the street,

I ate beautiful raw corn tamales with a raw cacao mole and a little beet-chèvre ravioli on a wonderful patio with interesting friends of friends and heady sangria at Pure Food and Drink,

which also has a solid dessert menu, as Saskia illustrates.

Even better was the second dessert of the night, my first Gem Spa egg cream; I watched the seltzer being stirred into the syrup and understood.

The following afternoon, I turned to spot desserts painted on buildings,

and then industrial piscine signage,

a sidewalk tag sale,

the Memorial Doughboy (you’ll have to visit to see him in his full glory),

and Lady Liberty—who I have never seen before—wandering through the Red Hook area of Brooklyn.

As part of the Brooklyn Key Lime Expeditionary Force (BKLEF), I ventured with Cap’n Key Lime toward an undisclosed (to me) pie destination;

with the citrus loot procured, he looked out, enigmatically,

past the daffodils,

and the buses that no longer run,

to the water reflected in windows,

and the water taxi that ferries across the blue (you never know how or when the BKLEF will arrive or depart).

And later that night, the BKLEF delivered said pie to Sunny Bates’ fabulous apartment,

watching as the sun set over the New York skyline with wine, caper salad, asparagus from the Union Square Greenmarket spun into soup, local beef, broccoli raab with ramps, and my favorite part, a melty rhubarb gelato that was, like the rest of the weekend, simply perfect…

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Joined by Stuart and Christian, we headed over to Hoy Como Ayer to hear the rollicking local Latin jam band the Spam Allstars:

Much later, after dancing with the swaying crowd, Laura was finally able to unpack before we headed to Key West on Friday morning to blue, blue water and white sand.

If you’re into that sort of thing, here it is, your moment of Zen:

Before the beach, though, we started at B.O.’s Fish Wagon,

with sandwiches of grilled shrimp and fried softshell crab,

conch fritters, fries, and Landshark beer.

We walked past paint that crackled on doors,

banyan trees spotted with sunlight,

to Ernest Hemingway’s house and its webs,

famous felines,

and infamous pool.

Walking down the adjoining street past neighborhood roosters,

and a mannequin standing watch,

I knew I would return to see more of this place that deserves a longer turn than a few hours in a Friday day trip. We laughed all the way back, as Laura interspersed cat poetry between our stories from the past few months (this poem is our favorite):

On Saturday morning, back in Miami, there were radishes and turnips in the CSA farm box,

and flowers to enthrall at the Coral Gables Farmers’ Market,

along with stone crabs cooked and waiting to be packed in ice and served with a melted butter sauce at the magic cottage…

Some South Beach wanders later, we headed for the Pinecrest market Sunday morning, to fresh herbs from Redland Organics,

and, in the opposite direction, shapes being twisted in North Beach into fanciful shapes (Laura took a beautiful shot of the work),

before wandering the Miami Festival of the Arts and smiling when we discovered the Spam Allstars playing the festival, this time in the company of a couple wearing unusual footwear.

The North Beach community was dancing together as we left to pick up Jessica for a Little Havana adventure–we walked into a shop on Calle Ocho, ordered coffee, and suddenly, everyone was on their feet.

And that is the one thing I hope Laura will remember South Florida for—above all else, this city surprises with pockets of dancing…

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Thank you for this incredible year of gifts–your comments, your support of the kthread cooks show (on Miro), and your openness to food adventures during my 2008 travels made for a spectacular ride.

Like the title of the soundtrack song by Bag Raiders in the video below, you are all shooting stars. We begin with Sir Tim Berners-Lee using a Flip cam for the first time–

In order of first appearance (you are quite the cast of characters in my life): Holmes Wilson, Nicholas Reville, Ben Bateman, Keicy Tolbert, George Kelly, John Havard, Jeremy Grimm, Laura Hertzfeld, Chris Messina, Susan Mernit, Katrina Taylor, Jeannine Harvey, Brian Oberkirch, Brian Boyer, Rosental Alves, Stewart Pillow, Pilar Guzman, Andrew Pratt (hand), Margaret Rosas, Mascot of NextSpace, Jessica Goldfin, City of Chicago with John Havard’s voice, Andrew Hyde, Helen Dunn, Amber Tatum, Kassandra Taylor, Jenne Hebert, the Michelin Man, Nina Walia, Austin Bike Zoo at Maker Faire, Morgan Weiland, DC Freshly Squeezed skater, Reid Leslie, David Sasaki, Jordan Taylor, Dana Wheeles, Cameron Nordholm, Amit Gupta, Michael J. Fox, Conch Lady, Old Couple in Cambridge, Matching Sock Trio, Downtown Miami Street Artists Jess and Jenne.

VIP commenters making their debut in next year’s video: Amanda Hirsch, John Jackson, Jessica Smith

I’m in love with us. What shall we do more of this coming year on kthread? Favorite happenings from this year? Onward!

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UM looks slightly different from the environs of the University of Virginia, especially at this time of year, and I found myself thinking how nice it must be to hold classes outside under trees and surrounded by flowers hidden under archways.

That night, my fabulous friend Jenne and I were ushered into Tap Tap in South Beach by a nice man in a grey hat, who turns out to be the owner of this vivacious Haitian restaurant (that’s 2/2 weekends meeting the restaurant owner if you’re keeping count) with bright paint on the walls, the tables, and the food.

We’ll return with Jess (she was dancing at talented local musician Rachel Goodrich‘s concert and then a performance that involved glow sticks) to explore the menu further; this time we liked the fried malanka, pork chunks, and their famous mojitos.

The next morning, I found a yellow canistel in the CSA farm box; the fruit splits when ripe and has the texture of a boiled egg yolk (it’s also called eggfruit)—and was hidden beneath lettuces, tomatoes, and zucchini. How strange and wonderful to open the box each week and find a fruit I’ve never heard of.

This morning, Jenne, Jess, and I explored the Pinecrest market that has just opened for the season; Redland Organics (they are part of the farm collective that make up the CSA farm boxes) displayed more canistel along with black sapote and starfruit.

And one of the enthused crowd from Redland explained how to use black sapote (making “chocolate pudding”) as I panned the small, but important farmers’ market:

Heirloom beans like these ‘rattlesnake pole’ beans are in season,

along with watermelon radishes,

and I want to scribe the cycles of the Miami market season with a pen whittled from a garlic chive—

Knobby carrots were shockingly orange,

fresh epazote (the herb that gives Mexican cuisine its distinctive flavor—there’s really no substitute) disappeared quickly,

and local plants glowed in the sun.

Spices and tea spread across nearby tables and drew shoppers toward one bowl, then another;

all the while, dozens of avocados were being mashed into guacamole.

From the market, Jess led the way to the Muffin Tin, where we started with toasted corn muffins and proceeded to make our way through half of today’s specials:

Then we walked under those new flowers around the magic cottage,

and we settled into making our baking pick for January: the scone. Jess explains:

After she brushed the cherry scone batter with an egg wash, we let the large scones brown in the oven,

to emerge moist and shiny, an excellent first attempt—and notes were taken while we analyzed the crumb, the crust, and the concept.

In between taste tests, we sampled local strawberries that need no alteration,

and as these two friends went off into their days, Jess called to say there was a spider web out in front of the cottage, waiting for me.

So many things ahead for all of us in 2009…here’s to your week—

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A Kristen Taylor is included, and her poem on page 104 is titled “Coats made without courage”.

I find the project amusing and imagine the editors rounded out the collection by scraping the interwebs for those of us who occasionally put up poems or are linked to poets with an online presence.

As for consuming this voluminous mass of words, editor Stephen McLaughlin recommends; “If you’re up to it, I’d suggest gulping the magazine whole, for 83 straight hours of transcendent poetic revelry reflecting the whole panoply of human achievement, emotion, wistfulness, and athletic achievement.”

If you’d like to read poems I have written, I post them here (scroll down).

For example, I did attempt a triolet (ABaAabAB) a few years back:

a pretty hewn town

and someone laughed, and someone paid
and some one cleaned the mess we made
we knew the chef and so we stayed
and someone laughed, and someone paid
and someone struck, and someone played
and someone slept and someone strayed
and someone laughed, and someone paid
and some one cleaned the mess we made

And, anyway, a poem I wrote about coats would do more to allude to Yeats’s “A Coat”–I am happy for the editors to have caught my name, but as for the poem, they wrought it. And let them take it, for there’s more enterprise in browsing the real work of the included poets.

If I were you, I’d start with one of my favorite poets, Alan Michael Parker and his “Love Song with Motor Vehicles” (this is the title piece of a wonderful collection)…

p.s. His purported poem is on page 2635 of the anthology.

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3. all the flowers are forms of water

Salmon, wildebeest, locusts. Storks, swifts, snow geese. What if the torrents of animals migrating past us every year left behind traces of their routes? What if Arctic terns sketched lines through the sky as they poured out of Antarctica and back; what if steelhead trout left thin, colourful filaments behind as they muscled up our rivers? The skies above our fields would become a loom; the continents would be bundled in thread.

Bracing and speculative, this is network theory.

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I wiped the sleep out of my eyes, blinked until the bright spots focused

into lace–the moisture highlighting the web’s edgework.

And straight above me, I watched a snail wend its way on a path edged in light.

With similar determination, here we all go on lighted paths into our weeks…

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