A Full Heart

I haven't written a post on my personal blog in a long while, so please bear with me if my prose isn't polished. I also haven't hosted (what used to be) my annual Valentine fondue dinner party since before the Coronavirus pandemic began, so I am way out of practice. 

But the timing seemed right this year as I finally felt confident that I would not be putting myself or others at risk of infection. So on the 18th of February, I welcomed esteemed guests into my home and hoped they would enjoy my hospitality. 

In a rare moment of extroversional courage, this year I invited not seasoned old friends that I felt completely at home with but, save for two of them, complete strangers -- a stretch for my introverted self. On the guest list besides my perennial companion, Jesse? Kim Cross, the founder and publisher of the internationally renowned (and absolutely gorgeous) quarterly print magazine,  Enchanted Living, and Kim's husband, Klaus. Also on the guest list? Steve Parke, the famed in-house art director for Prince who lived and worked for 13 years at Paisley Park in Minnesota, and Steve's bride, Kim Workman Sandberg. Both couples, it turns out, live not far from me. You should see Steve's new book Picturing Prince. It's a phenomenal pictorial of a phenomenal musician.

I have subscribed to Enchanted Living for many years now, and six years ago offered my ancient farmhouse on two acres as a potential site for a photo shoot if the magazine ever needed a rustic venue close by. Kim Cross and her editor-in-chief, Carolyn Turgeon, stopped by to have a look around in 2017. I treated them to homemade Caesar salad for lunch. We hit it off and have stayed in touch ever since.

A few weeks ago, Carolyn was in town for a photo shoot with the magazine's photography editor, Steve Parke. She stopped by my house afterward to introduce me to her friend, Marvin Lynch, a proprietor of Marvin's Confections in North Carolina who makes the most exquisite chocolates. I asked if she and Marvin, and Kim and Klaus, would be my guests at my annual Valentine fondue extravaganza. Alas, Carolyn's jam-packed travel schedule would not allow it, and Valentine season is the busiest time of year for a chocolatier, but Carolyn thought Steve Parke and his bride might like to come in their stead. I reached out to Kim Cross and her husband and Steve Parke and his wife and was thrilled when both couples said yes!

In the weeks leading up to the dinner, I busied myself with preparations. First on my to-do list was to make my guests a magic potion to take home -- a fabulous cold and flu remedy, courtesy of The Wondersmith, a frequent contributor to the magazine whose recipe for the glittery elixir was featured in the Fall 2017 issue. I assembled my ingredients: elderberry juice, bourbon, horehound, mullein, star anise and edible gold luster dust and went to work, setting intentions for the glimmering liquid as it simmered on my stove. I decanted the tincture into pretty bottles, decorated the corks with red satin flowers and stashed them in little gift bags for my dinner guests, in which I'd also stuffed a box of my toasted pumpkin seeds, a copy of the evening's menu, and the recipe for the elixir folded into an origami flower.

Then I got to work on party favors for my guests. I filled cute pierced tins from IKEA with chocolate kisses and deployed the candy-filled tins as placecard holders by tying on a card with each guest's name.

The week of the dinner, I took a couple of days off from work to concentrate on bringing everything together. First on my to-do list was to make a cinnamon simple syrup for a delicious champagne punch that would feature pear liqueur and other exotic ingredients. 

Next, I went to work preparing appetizers, cubing crusty bread and tender steak, halving tiny potatoes and mushrooms, slicing colorful citrus for champagne punch, and segmenting an assortment of fruits into bite-sized pieces for the various courses of my dinner. After that was accomplished, I prepared five of my very favorite dipping sauces for steak: my own sugar-free barbecue sauce, a balsamic blue cheese sauce, a mustard sauce, a garlic-paprika aioli, and a horseradish sauce.

On the day of the party, I started early. Setting the table for my three-course, all-fondue dinner is always a labor of love for me. I took my time (more than three hours) to create a tablescape I hoped would show my guests how much their presence and friendship meant to me. Faux sheepskins I'd purchased at IKEA years ago were spread across each chair. To counter the barren February landscape outside, I fastened a cascade of faux spring flowers to the back of each seat.

Each place setting was adorned with a red napkin expertly folded into a heart shape by Jesse and set upon my grandmother's gold china, which itself was laid upon a gold charger plate. Each course of this lavish meal would be accompanied by a different beverage, so I called all my glassware into play: shot glasses, beer pilsners, stemware for water, Riesling and Cabernet Sauvignon, and tinted cordials for an after-dinner digestif.

Besides utensils for eating, I also needed fondue forks, a different fork for each of the three courses. Fortunately, I have lots of fondue forks! Each place setting was adorned with a metal fondue fork for cheese fondue, a wooden fondue fork for cooking chunks of filet mignon in hot oil for the main course, and another metal fondue fork with which to dip assorted fruit in luscious chocolate fondue for the dessert course.

Once the table was set with the basics we would need for eating, it was time to up the "wow" factor. I sprinkled pale pink and deep red silk rose petals all over the table and scattered pretty glass gems and sparkling hearts all around. I added some votive candles and a few nosegays of fresh flowers -- and voila! My romantic tablescape was complete. Earlier in the week, I'd climbed my six-foot ladder to hang an assortment of Valentine-themed decorations from my dining room ceiling. I'd also decorated my mantel with candles and flowers. Now I stepped back to take it all in. I was pleased with how everything looked.

As the time approached for my guests' arrival, I prepared my special Swiss fondue plates. In the individual wells that circle the perimeter of each plate, I spooned my five dipping sauces. On serving dishes I piled bite-sized chunks of the very best filet mignon, colorful baby potatoes that had been barely blanched, cute baby Bella mushrooms and an assortment of broccoli and cauliflower florets.

I took the concentrated cinnamon simple syrup I'd simmered earlier and added it to an heirloom punch bowl (a wedding gift to my parents in 1953), which I'd lined with colorful slices of blood orange, tangerine, lemon and lime. Into the punch bowl with the cinnamon simple syrup went a heady combination of pear liqueur, cognac, triple sec, lemon juice and lots of ice. I would add a bottle of champagne to complete the concoction once my guests arrived.

Finally, I got busy at my stove. In a ceramic fondue pot, I gently heated two cups of dry Sauvignon Blanc and minced fresh garlic into which, once it reached a rolling boil, I would eventually stir a combination of grated Emmenthaler, Gruyere and Vacherin Friborgeois cheeses seasoned with salt, pepper and nutmeg. In a large saucepan on another burner, I heated 32 ounces of peanut oil to almost 500 degrees Fahrenheit -- extremely hot. This would eventually be transferred to a metal fondue pot set over a Sterno can in the center of my dining room table for the meat course. And in a double boiler on the smallest burner, I slowly melted rich dark chocolate with half & half for the dessert course, into which I would splash 3 tablespoons of Gran Marnier just before bringing the pretty ceramic and copper pot to the table for the dessert course.

In my living room, I set out a variety of appetizers: dolmas, pickled Cipollini onions and Roquefort-stuffed olives, strips of Mozzarella around which thin slices of salami were wrapped, and a round of Camembert wrapped and baked in puff pastry dough formed in the shape of a heart with parsley-infused créme fraîche and crushed walnuts.

I wanted to make the outside of my home especially welcoming since, except for Jesse and Kim Cross, none of my Valentine guests had been to my house before. I lined my front porch railing with dozens of flickering red LED candles, lit candles in hanging lanterns and dressed my perpetual reindeer mascot in a Valentine scarf and a jaunty red beret. Everything was ready!

My guests arrived promptly at seven o'clock. After we'd had our fill of Anjou Champagne punch and appetizers, followed by a quick tour of my humble abode, dinner was served. With cubes of crusty bread on our plates, we took tiny sips of  Kirschwasser, a Swiss cherry liqueur, and chased them with swigs of Belgian pale ale and Riesling as we toasted the beginning of a fun evening together. With candles flickering and a fire crackling in my fireplace, we dipped the sourdough chunks into steaming fondue and enjoyed the subtle flavors in the melty cheese.

Once the cheese and bread course was cleared away, I brought out the boiling oil and replaced the simple candle warmer beneath the cheese fondue with a much hotter Sterno can. We proceeded to pierce chunks of the raw filet mignon, mushrooms, baby potatoes and crudités with our wooden tines and then nestled them into the sizzling oil: 15 seconds for rare meat, 20 seconds for medium, and 30 seconds for well done. As we cooked subsequent chunks of steak, we dipped the already cooked pieces into the sauces on each plate.

Between courses I regaled my guests with trivia questions about the legend of St. Valentine and also about Abraham Lincoln, whose birthday was February 12th. Steve's bride won the women's trivia prize, a chocolatey male figure dubbed the "perfect man" (always sweet with no baggage or agenda). Klaus won the man's trivia prize, a small but very practical flashlight.

We finished our dinner with fruit dipped in chocolate fondue, the rich, sweet liquid kept warm over a simple candle once again. Strawberries, blackberries, watermelon, cantaloupe, honeydew, goldenberries, Maraschino cherries, mandarin oranges, chunks of pineapple and sliced bananas rounded out the fruit choices. I filled tiny glass bowls with crushed nuts in which to roll the chocolate-dipped fruit, one for each dinner guest.

From left to right: Steve Parke, Kim Workman Sandberg, me (standing),
Klaus Cross, Kim Cross and Jesse Turner

It was wonderful to get to know my guests. Steve and his bride were married just last fall at the Maryland Renaissance Festival. He enjoyed looking through a book of black and white photographs that my father had assembled while in photography school in Germany in the early 1930s, just before WWII broke out. Kim Cross still lives in the Baltimore neighborhood where she grew up and is a graduate of Johns Hopkins' famed Peabody Institute in Baltimore.

There is something so sublime about sharing a great meal and stimulating conversation while making new friends in a cozy environment. My rustic little farmhouse certainly fit that description on a cold winter's night. I was delighted to have created a special memory for my guests that I hope they will carry with them for many years. The evening made my heart very full.

Cheers,
Lynell

"But no matter what you do, participate, be there, full force, full heart, full steam ahead." 

~ Barbara Walters

To There and Back Again -- and Over Almost Before It Began

What a beautiful and serene setting!

It was supposed to be so wonderful. 

I had longed for even a short excursion from my humble abode in Maryland into the crisp autumn air on a weekend retreat. I love to travel, but I broke my leg in the summer of 2019, which laid me up clear until January 2020.  I had just started going back to the gym and resuming recreational activities when the global pandemic put a halt to any sort of journey. I hadn't been anywhere interesting or fun in more than a year.

Jesse and I have now been apart longer that we were married, and have been officially divorced since 2016, but we're still best friends who spend every weekend together. So when I spotted an article in Enchanted Living magazine last December featuring an Airbnb locale done up as an authentic Hobbit house built into the side of a hill in neighboring Virginia, I thrust the publication toward the unabashed Tolkien lover, exclaiming that we simply had to stay there.

Jesse took one look at the beautiful photographs and reserved us a Saturday night on the spot. The only problem was that this intriguing destination was already booked every weekend through the following September. No matter. Booking the place so far in advance would give me something wonderful to look forward to -- and all the more time for my broken leg to heal completely. 

When the coronavirus pandemic struck the following spring, causing the entire world to go into lockdown, I still didn't worry. Surely life would be almost back to normal by October and, if not, this cozy dwelling nestled all by itself in a remote part of Appalachia would be plenty isolated. 

In June, Jesse generously offered to lengthen our stay to a second night. I contacted our Airbnb hosts right away, but alas, by this time everyone was clamoring to get away to someplace cozy and isolated. There were no unreserved nights for the rest of the year. I still didn't fret. Even for just a single night, this escape from a world weary of illness and turmoil would be much cherished.

When my petsitter said she'd be out of town that weekend and couldn't look after my cats while I was away, I hesitated only a moment. I would only be gone overnight, after all. A little extra food in their bowls would easily tide them over until my return. Nothing could dampen my excitement about this trip.

And it was, indeed, everything I'd hoped for. 

From the time we arrived at
the security gate, we knew
we'd come to someplace
special

The morning of Saturday, October 3rd, dawned brilliantly. We packed up the car in the crisp morning air, ready to begin our journey south. Smoke from distant wildfires in the west had long since dissipated. We were bathed in a cloudless sky. Autumn foliage was donning its coat of crimson and gold all around us. We'd gotten a late start, as the car had needed some last minute prepping, and I had hurried to get everything packed in good order. I turned on the hose to top off my rain barrels before we left, so there'd be plenty of water when the pump came on that afternoon (and the next) to automatically water my herb garden, my 15 flower-filled window boxes and my eight hanging floral baskets.

The noble guardian of our
hobbit house

We set out on the four-hour drive from Baltimore County, Maryland, to Lexington, Virginia, at about 11:30 a.m. We followed Interstate 81 as it pierced the Shenandoah Valley, with the Blue Ridge mountains to our east and the Alleghany range to our west. The scenery was absolutely gorgeous. There was hardly any traffic. We pulled into a rest stop midway to enjoy a picnic lunch under some trees. Despite being a Saturday, there was hardly anyone at the rest stop. I felt very safe.

The instructions from our hosts were precise and accurate. We entered a code at a security gate and proceeded up a gravel drive amid placid rolling hills. "Turn right at the dragon post", our directions advised. And indeed, there was Smaug himself, perched atop a wooden totem, bearing a lantern in his jagged fangs. I could hardly contain my glee.

As we parked our car before a handmade wooden gate, our host, Randy Holland, emerged from nowhere to bid us a warm welcome. I could feel the enchantment of the place all around me.

The front door of the hobbit house

Randy led us through the hand-hewn gate, past a glittering pond to the front door of a cottage tucked into the side of a hill on the picturesque property he has shared with his wife, Linda, for more than a quarter-century. He showed us the round Hobbit door to our cottage, which he'd crafted himself, and pointed out the symbol for "thief" carved into the wood which had alerted the dwarves to which home in the Shire was Bilbo's. He explained how he had crafted the frame, latch and hinges in his wood and metalsmithing shops. I was completely entranced. Randy opened the door to the Hobbit abode and beckoned us inside.

When their Airbnb logo said
"all the comforts of home",
they weren't kidding!

The inside of Hobbit's Dream, as it is known on Airbnb, was just as enchanting as the outside. A stone fireplace, with electric embers aglow, welcomed us as we took in all the incredible details. Wrought-iron candle sconces, crafted by Randy, adorned each side of the hearth. Comfortable chairs, a spinning wheel, a pot of tea and numerous other accoutrements added to the considerable charm.

Inside the front door to the left was a small writing table. On it was perched a guest book in which we were encouraged to scribe a message about our stay for future guests to peruse.

The bathroom was small
but comfortable

The bedroom was so cozy!

Randy showed us the bedroom and the bathroom which, while small, featured lovingly handcrafted touches. A guest's every need was taken into consideration. He'd handwrought the bathroom sink from a copper pot. The cabinet beneath it was breathtaking in its curved elegance. The toilet paper spindle featured a hand-carved wizard. I couldn't get enough of the thoughtful embellishments. Portraits of characters from Lord of the Rings hung on every wall.

The colors of honey and amber permeated the rooms. As those are the hues most apt to put me into a sublime mood, a wave of contentment and calm swept over me. I found myself immediately at peace with my surroundings. I had arrived at exactly the place I needed to be in this most unsettling of times. 

The kitchen was adorable

We moved to the kitchen -- and I thought I might faint from joy. Could there be a more perfect kitchen for a hobbit? A tiny table, set for two, was adorned with Linda's homemade "seed cakes" wrapped in faux oilcloth and tied with twine, such as Frodo and Sam might have carried on their adventures. A bottle of Virginia-made dessert wine graced the table between two glasses. Randy explained that the old wood-fired kitchen stove was a family heirloom that found a perfect resting spot in their hobbit habitude. Outfitted with a hotplate, the cast iron beauty fit its surroundings perfectly.

The doorways between rooms evoked
a hobbit sensibility

Delightful details surprised us everywhere, like a butter-churn in one corner and a pantry full of faux staples that, as Randy put it, comprised the larder with which Bilbo had planned to sustain himself all winter until the dwarves arrived and helped themselves to everything. I couldn't get enough of what I was seeing. My heart was overflowing with the wonder of it all.

Finally, it was time to move outside. There was so much more Randy wanted to show us before darkness set in. 

By pulling on a rope, we
could propel ourselves 
across the pond on the ferry

A cozy patio featured a small gas firepit. Randy carefully instructed us on its use. We strode along a gravel path to a gate at the back of the hobbit patio. A trail beyond the gate led us past a clothesline where hobbitlike overalls and poet shirts were hung with wooden clothespins. Lanterns filled with twinkling fairy lights greeted us everywhere.

We followed the path around the pond to a dock where Randy had lovingly constructed the "Bucklebury Ferry", a wooden raft outfitted with a table and two chairs. He invited us to board the "ferry" and showed us how to use a rope, tied fast at each end of the pond, to gently pull ourselves across the water and back.

Oh, how I looked forward to enjoying
a glass of wine on this ferry in the
moonlight

We wandered past the home in which Randy and Linda live on the opposite side of the pond from the Hobbit house and into Randy's shop, where guests can avail themselves of several classes Randy offers. I immediately signed up for a broom-making class and Jesse enrolled in a pipe-carving class, both of which we would take the following morning after checking out. I could hardly wait!

Once Randy had shown us everything we needed to see, he bid us a gracious adieu. Jesse and I meandered back along the path to the hobbit house, stopping at the ferry to propel ourselves across the water in the waning afternoon light. It was so peaceful here. No traffic noise, no airplanes, no voices. Only the splashing of the fountain in the middle of the pond, which made a fitting audial backdrop to the bucolic scene all around us.

We were so surprised to find
mail addressed to us!

As we made our way back to the gravel driveway to retrieve our luggage from the car, I spied a post outfitted with a wine-barrel mailbox. Funny I hadn't noticed it before. I don't know what beckoned me to open it. Randy had not mentioned the mailbox at all. But open it I did. Inside, I was amazed to discover a letter addressed to me and another addressed to the both of us! Beside the letters lay a black velvet pouch with two charming runes tucked inside, each adorned with Elvish carvings -- a lovely keepsake of our Hobbit adventure! I opened the first letter carefully, mindful of the magic that seemed to surround us in that moment. It was a birthday greeting! I opened the letter addressed to both of us. It was an anniversary greeting! Apparently in making our reservations, Jesse mentioned that our visit was in celebration of my 64th birthday and (what would have been) our 19th wedding anniversary. What a thoughtful surprise from our hosts!
 

Birthday greetings to me! Anniversary
greetings to us! Carved runes to keep
as mementos of our wonderful stay!

Once back inside our earthen abode, we unpacked our suitcases and settled in. I had tucked in our Renaissance Faire costumes, determined to get some photos of us in full middle-earth attire. But our photo session in full costume would have to wait until the next day when there was more time. For now, we availed ourselves of the capes and cloaks provided by Randy and Linda to dress up and take some pictures.

We donned cloaks and capes that
were thoughtfully provided

First, we sat in the chairs just outside the Hobbit door. Jesse found a hand-carved pipe, one of several we could choose to buy if we didn't have time to take one of Randy's classes. I found a witch hat to wear.

I looked forward to having a glass of
wine by the fire, too 

Next, we moved across the patio to the firepit. The weather was cool but exceedingly pleasant. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. We couldn't have asked for a better weekend for our middle-earth adventure.

What a gorgeous and romantic
 anniversary surprise from Jesse

Soon, it was time to dress for dinner. We'd made reservations at a restaurant called the "Southern Inn" in Lexington, about nine miles south. As I donned some black leggings, a cute top and warm poncho, Jesse surprised me with an "anniversary" gift: an exquisite necklace and earrings from the inventory of our dear friend, Jan, who owns Fire & Ice Jewelry in Baltimore. Set in sterling silver, the beautiful stones of faceted quartz, drusy quartz, smoky quartz and black tourmaline were simply divine. The jewelry went with my outfit beautifully and were a complete surprise. I couldn't have imagined a more romantic getaway.

This great blue heron surprised us

As we made our way to the car at dusk, a sudden swooping of heavy wings filled the sky right over our heads. Had Smaug come to ravage our fairytale? Would he breathe Covid germs down upon us instead of fire? We gawked in awe as what looked like some prehistoric beast suffused the evening air with its magnificent presence. I grabbed my camera and just managed to capture the silhouette of a great blue heron as it ever-so-briefly touched on a branch in a tree beside the pond. What an absolute delight that was!

Dinner at Southern Inn

Once at the restaurant, we settled in for a good meal. The Southern Inn considers itself upscale, and the food was very nice. We started with a garden salad for me and a quinoa-lentil salad for Jesse. For our entrée, Jesse ordered a skillet-fried pork chop with spätzle, cider-braised greens and lemon cream sauce. I had a New York strip steak with roasted Yukon potatoes, garlic-chive butter and grilled scallions, tarragon green beans and a peppercorn demi-glaze. Both dinners were superb. 

Apple strudel with a candle for my
birthday!

We splurged on a bottle of Peter Franus Napa Valley Cabernet, and shared an apple strudel with cream-cheese ice cream for dessert in honor of my birthday.  It was quite a meal, much of which we brought back to the cottage with us.

We returned to the Hobbit house tired but elated, relaxed and happy. We sat up for a while in our pajamas and just took in the Shire atmosphere: the cozy ambience, the warmth of our abode, the thoughtfulness of our hosts, the joy of experiencing something other than the walls of my old farmhouse for the first time in months. 

Eventually, we turned down the covers of the bed and tucked ourselves in for the night. I fell asleep in dreamy anticipation of the day to come, with its broom-making class for me and a pipe-carving class for Jesse. Perhaps we'd have time to take in a hike along a wooded trail suggested to us by our host. It all seemed so completely wonderful. 

And then, suddenly, it wasn't. 

I awoke with at start at 4:30 in the morning. My mind was racing, my stomach churning with raw emotion. Could it be? Had I really done what I thought I'd done? I woke Jesse from his sleep. "I left the hose running back at home," I squeaked in a barely audible voice. I leapt from the bed in anguish. I had turned on the hose to top off the rain barrels just before we left the house. The hose only had to run four minutes. I didn't have any memory of turning the spigot off. There could be no question about what had occurred. I was certain I had left the water running. But what does one do about that at 4:30 in the morning, two hundred miles away?

My rain barrels back at home feature
a complex set of valves and hoses that
keep the water levels balanced in  all
three barrels through positive siphon 

The consequence of my neglectful oversight filled me with dread. My three rain barrels sat right beside the house. Once they overflowed, that water would run directly into my foundation and, from there, into my unfinished basement where the cats had their food and their litter boxes. I had installed a sump pump a few years ago, thank goodness, once global warming shifted the amount of rain pummeling the mid-Atlantic each year to amounts the ground around my property just couldn't handle. But would that little pump in its little, three-gallon sump pit be able to handle the sheer volume of a hose spewing water under pressure at 12 gallons per minute for hours and hours on end? I was distraught.

There are five valves here! Only my
petsitter, who was out of town, would
have known which one to turn.

My petsitter, Jackie, the one person who knew the intricacies of all the various valves on my rain barrels, was out of town. I texted my next door neighbor, hoping he would see my frantic message and not be upset by the ungodly hour of its delivery. No reply. I texted a firefighter friend of mine, hoping he would be on duty and awake. No reply. I called them both and left messages. No reply.

By now I was pacing the floor, increasingly frantic, realizing that our lovely weekend in this peaceful, bucolic Shire had just come to an abrupt end. "We have to leave", I said as Jesse rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "We have to drive all the way home right now".

This "Conditions of
Engagement" scroll was
just one of so many
amazing touches at
Hobbit's Dream

We quickly and quietly packed up our suitcases and the costumes we never got to wear. We loaded the ice chest with our leftovers from dinner and the fresh blueberries and toast I'd brought for our Sunday morning breakfast. We straightened the cottage as best we could to the way it looked when we arrived, even setting a scroll of Bilbo's "Conditions of Engagement" back on one of the armchairs just as we had found it. We loaded up the car in the dark and quiet, careful not to slam the car doors and needlessly wake our hosts across the pond. We cautiously made our way back down the long gravel road, through the security gate, and out onto the lonely highway for the journey home.

Although we made good time, the four-hour drive north was angst-filled for me. My stomach churned as I imagined my basement flooding, my well-pump overheating and breaking down, the humongous plumbing bill I would undoubtedly face to get the water system in my 1862 farmhouse back up and running properly, the prospect of having no running water for what might be weeks.

This was our view across the pond
of  the Hucklebury Ferry and our
hosts' home at Hobbit's Dream

When we were about 40 miles from home, my cell phone rang. It was my neighbor, Mike. He and his family were hundreds of miles away, up in Pennsylvania, hunting, he said. There would be no neighbor to come to my rescue this day. When we were within ten miles of the house, the firefighter called. Josh had been sleeping and not on duty, but he was ready to jump in his truck if I needed him to. I thanked him profusely, but explained that I was now within ten minutes of the house myself.

I pulled into my own gravel driveway at 9:30 a.m., almost exactly 22 hours after turning on my hose before leaving home the previous day. I dashed out of the car toward the rain barrels beside the back patio while Jesse turned the key to the house and took our luggage inside. The water was still running, which I took as a good sign. At least my well pump was still working.

This adorable clothesline was hung
with hobbit attire and fairy lights

I switched off the water valve and dashed into the house, my heart pounding out of my chest. I was almost too frightened to descend my basement stairs, so fearful of what I would find. And, indeed, there was some water on the concrete floor, but not nearly as much as I had imagined. My sump pump was pumping its little heart out, sucking water up and out of the basement as fast as it could. Fortunately, the water drawn up by the pump was delivered to my sewer line and carried out to the leach field for my septic system, so at least it wasn't pouring back into my basement.

Jesse used a shop vac to suck up the water on the basement floor. Upstairs, I turned on the kitchen faucet briefly to see what would come out. The water was clear, but very salty. My softener system had come on in the middle of the night to replenish the softening from the use of so much water, and with the water continuing to run during the softener's backwash, it filled my household pipes with salty brine. I immediately stilled my icemaker.

At every turn we found thoughtful
vignettes of Shire life, like this
supposed barrel of moonshine with
mugs at the reedy

I called my plumber and left a message. I wasn't sure I actually needed a plumber yet, but I had a lot of questions. When my plumber did not immediately call back (it was a Sunday, after all), I began to analyze the situation on my own.

Although I had not run out of water, I must have come close to the bottom of the well. I certainly had churned up a lot of sludge, as evidenced by the brown residue at the top of my middle rain barrel, the one the hose had been endlessly filling. There would be no running of faucets or showers in the house, as I didn't want my indoor plumbing to fill with sludge. And I would have to shut off the timer to my drip system, too. If the pump at the bottom of one of my rain barrels came on, the drippers to all my window boxes and hanging baskets would immediately become clogged with silt.

This vignette featured beehives,
honeypots and all the
accoutrements for making mead

So what to do about water for drinking and flushing? Well, with three 60-gallon rain barrels standing right in front of me, I had lots of gray water at my disposal. Jesse retrieved two large, plastic garbage cans from the stone cellar beneath my guest cottage (that ancient cellar had flooded, too, which Jesse took care of with the shop-vac). We began to siphon water from the rain barrels into the garbage cans. Jesse drove to the hardware store and returned with ten 5-gallon buckets to supplement the ten I already had on hand. With the muddy sludge fairly well settled at the bottom of the rain barrels, we were able to harvest about 120 gallons of fairly clean gray water. 

This hay wagon looks just like what
Gandalf  might have ridden in on!

I set up a wash station on the patio with a bucket and soap for washing, a watering can for rinsing, and a towel for drying. Jesse went to the store again and returned with ten gallons of fresh water for drinking and cooking. He turned off the toilets and showed me how to instigate a manual flush by dumping a gallon of gray water into the bowl. My living situation, while not dire by any means, nonetheless now seemed so dramatically diminished from the bucolic fantasy world I'd been enjoying just a few hours earlier.

At about 5:00 p.m. my plumber called. His calming voice assured me everything would be all right. He told me to run my kitchen faucet for five minutes once an hour until the salt was flushed out of my water system, and to let the well replenish for several days before showering, washing clothes or running the dishwasher. I breathed a hopeful sigh. But the second time I ran water at the kitchen faucet, I lost all my water pressure. My faucet slowed to a trickle. Perhaps I hadn't avoided the slings and arrows of my outrageous blunder after all.

Beautiful flowers lined every path at
Hobbit's Dream.

I called the plumber back. He said a crew would be at my house first thing Monday morning. Jesse and I examined my basement walls, which are made of dirt. A large chunk of earth and rock had come loose from the foundation and fallen forward toward the sump pump, stopped only by a vertical line of PVC which was no longer in use. Had the dirt fallen all the way forward, it would have filled my small sump pit and clogged the pump. I was very lucky.

I donned gloves and used a trowel to carefully move the loose earth from around the sump pit to a bucket and hauled it up the basement steps. The remaining foundation seemed solid, just a bit moist. We set up box fans in the basement and in my stone cellar to start drying everything out.

The kitchen at Hobbit's Dream was
well outfitted and comfy

I was physically and emotionally spent, with every last nerve seemingly jangled. Still, I put together a simple stew of chopped artichoke hearts and chickpeas for dinner because I find cooking such a comfort. Jesse did some math. At 12 gallons per minute over the course of 22 hours, I had inadvertently pumped 15,400 gallons of water into the yard at my foundation. That was the equivalent of 80 percent of my entire swimming pool. I shuddered at the thought. Nevertheless, Jesse and I toasted our good fortune at dinner. It could have been a lot worse.

The plumbers came in the morning and flushed out the spin-down filter to my water system, which was clogged with sediment. They drained and flushed my well tank. Remarkably, they said, my well pump was strong and healthy and I hadn't ruined anything, thank goodness. I was cautioned, however, that it could be weeks before the sediment stirred up at the bottom of my 200-foot deep well would settle back down. Until then, there could be no showers taken at all. After one week, I could run the dishwasher (which would use far less water than washing dishes by hand) and a small load of laundry. After two weeks, I could take military-style showers. It seemed a small price to pay for such a huge gaffe on my part.

Homemade seed cakes wrapped in
faux oilcloth and tied with twine 
awaited us upon our arrival at
Hobbit's Dream

Jesse was able to return to the home he shares with his roommate in Baltimore City during the week. I showered at a girlfriend's home a few blocks away for the next couple of weeks.

Randy Holland carved this exquisite
dragon into the concrete floor
at Hobbit's Dream

It's been almost three weeks now since my fabulous hobbit adventure was aborted by the harrowing plumbing misadventure that followed. I've turned my toilets back on and I've taken quick showers, done small loads of laundry and run the dishwasher, all without consequence.

I do seem to have, thankfully, dodged what could have an arrow's expensive sting, although I am still being mindful of my water usage and probably will be for several months, if not forever. Emotionally, my heart skips a beat every time I turn on the hose to top off my rain barrels which, refilled by rain for the most part, are happily watering my flower boxes and hanging baskets once again. I don't know if that trepidation will ever fully leave me.

Jesse, bless his heart, has already booked us a two-night stay at Hobbit's Dream for October 2021. For my part, I am determined to enjoy the full and fabulous adventure I originally set out to have, even if I have to wait a year to do it. Samwise Gamgee famously said of misfortune that "in the end it's only a passing thing, this shadow; even darkness must pass". And so it has.
Cheers,
Lynell

"It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to." ~ Bilbo Baggins

Holding Close to Friendships in a Time of Social Distancing

I mailed out homemade invitations to a festive St. Patrick's Day dinner to be held at my home in suburban Maryland four weeks before the new coronavirus made "pandemic" a household word. Even the week before my guests arrived for dinner on March 14th, there had been no widespread panic, no hoarding of toilet paper and hand-sanitizer, no school cancellations or public calls for people not to congregate. By the time residents in my area were stripping shelves at every store in the region, I'd already purchased a seven pound beef brisket and all the trimmings for an elegant dinner party I hoped would bring friends together who hadn't seen each other in years.

My front porch mascot
was dressed in his
finest St. Paddy's Day
attire!

With my dinner guests confirmed and looking forward to the get together, we discussed the possibility of a governmental prohibition on hyper-local travel or the quarantining of one of our neighborhoods, and concluded that, although one case of Covid-19 had been confirmed in my county, it didn't seem to be in any town nearby, and no governmental restrictions on private gatherings had been imposed or even suggested.

In the days leading up to Saturday night, I reaffirmed that my visitors were healthy and had traveled nowhere by plane nor cruise ship in the recent past. We agreed that getting together for a small dinner party in a private home did not violate the prohibition against congregating in large numbers. I made sure my guests would have multiple opportunities for robust handwashing and disinfecting throughout the evening. In good faith and hopeful spirits, my dinner party went forward.

Once my dinner guests had RSVP'd, I set about to reward their bravery in venturing out socially amid this climate of uncertainty and germaphobia. After all, save for my ex-husband, Jesse, whose companionship I share most weekends, I had only met the other couples on my guest list once, and that was briefly and long ago. What was most tantalizing to me, and which became the impetus for this particular party's invitees, was that all three of the men who were invited had once been dear friends, yet had not caught up with each other in decades.

The evening's menu

In preparation for my dinner party, I put together "pots o' gold" for each place setting, filling each small green tub with "gold-nugget" Rolo candies. The treasure pots would serve as placecards, but I also wanted my guests to take them home as a memento of what I hoped would be a memorable evening. So I purchased Kraft paper gift bags large enough to hold two pots each and supplemented the bag contents with a copy of the dinner menu printed on heavy cardstock, rolled and tied with ribbon and fastened with a green floral hair clip. I tucked a bottle of homemade mustard vinaigrette into each bag, the stoppers of which were adorned with a sparkling green geode.

When I learned that one couple would be traveling from their new home three hours away, I invited them to bring their dog and spend the night in my guest house so as not to have to drive such a long way home after dinner. I tucked a doggy toy into their guest bag. And then, of course, I did the same for the other couple, as well. After all, my other guests, who only live minutes from my house, also own a dog!

Once the place cards and gift bags were prepared, I moved on to meal prep. Years ago I came across a recipe for "corning" beef, and it was so good that I have corned my own beef ever since. First I assembled a heady rub of salt, pepper, sugar, ground nutmeg, cinnamon, coriander, ginger and clove, minced fresh garlic, crushed bay leaves, cider vinegar and mustard, stirred it into a thick paste, and rubbed it all over a seven-pound brisket. Once the beef was covered and refrigerated for its two-day spice saturation, I turned to slicing and bagging onions and beets to roast with the beef, then asparagus, cabbage and baby carrots for my side dishes, and finally citrus wheels to garnish a delicious champagne punch.

Next, I toasted slivered almonds in a bit of butter, then coated them with brown sugar and cinnamon and turned them out to dry on wax paper. They would add a spicy note to a lovely salad of spring greens, shredded Gruyere, chopped blood oranges and red pears, made all the more intriguing with a dressing of  blood orange juice, lemon juice, a special honey-vinegar, ground cloves and salt.

Every shelf in my fridge
was packed!

After that, I peeled and boiled Yukon gold potatoes, which I put through a ricer and beat with milk and butter for a fancy mashed starch that incorporates heavy cream (beaten into stiff peaks) into the potatoes for extra decadence. I turned the mashed potatoes out into a baking dish, drizzled them with more butter, sprinkled on some shredded Parmesan and stuck them in the fridge for final baking on the day of the party.  My refrigerator was getting full!

I had to act quickly once the pudding
thickened to pour it into small glass
pots before it got too stiff to work 

Then I set about making a batch of mint-infused chocolate pudding, which I poured into individual glass votive holders in the shape of seedling pots. I let the puddings congeal, then sprinkled ground chocolate cookies over the top of each pot to resemble "dirt", into which I would later "plant" sprigs of fresh mint for the dessert course. Yum!

The day before my party I arranged green and white carnations, spider mums, daisies and baby's breath into a low-profile centerpiece for my dinner table. I assembled smaller bouquets for scattering around my house and in my guest cottage. I repeated my winning centerpiece from last year by setting the arrangement into a glittery, overturned top hat and garnished the brim with faux gold coins.

On the morning of my party I engaged in my very favorite pre-party pastime: setting the table! I covered a satiny white tablecloth that I've had for years with an embroidered table runner I purchased at a market stall in Budapest in 2017. On top of that went green felt laser-cut placemats and on top of those I set golden chargers. Then on went my grandmother's 24 karat gold china dinner plates, over which I placed napkins that Jesse had creatively folded into shamrocks. In the center of each napkin, I placed a placecard pot o' gold, and then scattered the rest of the table with tiny silk shamrocks, votive candles, green and gold "coins" and acrylic gems.

Next I adorned my dining room chairs with gold velvet covers and faux-sheepskin throws fastened with sparkly green bows. On the back of each chair I hung a pretty garland of faux spring flowers. Then I decanted condiments: red beet horseradish, white horseradish and four different mustards for the beef, and four different flavors of vinegar for the cabbage. I set out shamrock-molded butter pats into which I had pressed real clover leaves.

In the early afternoon, I took the spiced brisket out of the fridge and treated it to an unusual braising bath of orange juice and beer. I covered the corned beef with parchment-lined tinfoil and stuck it in the oven at precisely 3:00 p.m., followed an hour later by the cabbage and carrots, both similarly bathed and covered.

My oven was working hard!

As the afternoon progressed, I plated appetizers, opened cabernet sauvignon to let it breathe and assembled a festive punch, leaving addition of the final ingredient, champagne, until the moment of my guests' arrival. I lit candles and organized a playlist of my favorite Celtic music CDs.

When I was confident everything was under control, it was time to venture upstairs to dress for my party. I donned a simple pair of black leggings and an asymmetrical Alfani Elements tunic in shades of green from Macy's. I pulled on some kicky black Roper boots trimmed in rhinestones, one of the few pairs of shoes I can wear comfortably since my foot is still a bit swollen from breaking my leg last summer, and returned to the kitchen, this time in an apron to protect my attire from splashes and spills.

Once the corned beef was ready, I removed it from the oven, tented it for twenty minutes and then carved the juicy meat into hearty slices. I returned the brisket to its roasting pan and put it back in the oven with the temperature set to "keep warm" this time.

From left, Mark and Sherry, Rob, Jesse
and me. The guideline to stay 6 feet
 from one another had not yet been
issued.

At 7:00 p.m. my guests arrived. Sherry and Mark are practically neighbors of mine, living only a few blocks away, yet they'd never been to my house for dinner.  Rob arrived a few minutes later, apologizing for the absence of his wife, Brigid, who felt it best to remain home where she was overseeing a vigorous round of hens laying eggs and chicks hatching.

As Jesse hung coats, I added champagne to the punch and doled out flutes of the sparkling goodness. We gathered around my coffee table and dug into simple appetizers: dolmas, pickled Cipollini onions and roquefort-stuffed olives. The conversation was lively as Mark, Rob and Jesse caught up on the events in each others' lives which had transpired during their years-long separation.

In time, I returned to the kitchen to bring all the dishes to completion. I lit a fire in my dining room fireplace and called everyone to the table.

As we toasted the reunion of long lost compatriots, the five of us tore into the corned beef, mashed potatoes, vegetables and salad. We passed au jus, horseradish and mustard for the beef, vinegar for the cabbage, and butter for Irish soda bread. We toasted the importance of friendship in this time of heightened wariness of one's neighbors and countrymen. The old friends reminisced about dearly departed comrades and shared stories from long ago. I queried my guests with St. Patrick's Day trivia questions and handed out small prizes to the winners. We poured more wine.

Eventually, it was time for chocolate pudding. When all was said and done, Mark and Sherry headed for home, their goodie bag in hand, and Rob headed out to my guest cottage for the night.

Breakfast for my guests the next
morning began with fresh blueberries
and ended with a bacon, egg, cheese
and hashbrown casserole

In the morning, Jesse, Rob and I convened for breakfast at 9:00 a.m. I served a scrumptious breakfast casserole, the recipe courtesy of my best friend's mom, Joyce, which was preceded by fresh blueberries and cream. Once Rob had eaten his fill, he, too, headed out, and I began a massive but pleasantly contemplative cleanup effort, marred only by the fact that my 20-year-old dishwasher latch failed, causing Jesse to have to break the handle apart to get the door open and the clean dishes out.

Later in the afternoon,  Jesse conceived a perfect makeshift repair for the dishwasher, utilizing a small door hinge, a piece of cardboard and an old putty knife, which has undoubtedly extended the life of my old dishwasher for another year or so. While Jesse was at the store retrieving parts for the dishwasher repair, I planted a gorgeous and fragrant yellow hyacinth that was a lovely hostess gift from Mark and Sherry the night before.

On the Monday following my party, the American Centers for Disease Control urged citizens not to hold social gatherings of any size nor to stand closer than six feet from one another. Had that prohibition come just a few days earlier, I would have had to cancel my dinner party. And, indeed, the next dinner party I am planning for early May may yet have to be suspended.

But for those of us who gathered Saturday evening in my old farmhouse to celebrate long-lived friendships amid the wearing o' the green, it was a way to hold fast to the importance of human interaction and to cherish the value of social connection in these precarious and frightening times. The significant worth of interpersonal relationships should never be taken for granted. Our humanity is to be treasured -- as much as a pot o' gold!
Cheers,
Lynell

“I find myself unable to let go of the sense that… moment-to-moment human experience contains a certain unquantifiable essence…” ~ Douglas Rushkoff