Regal feline


Home to roost


Together v 1.0




Dumpling gang


‘Twas the night before college




Championship match


Poster Children at Pygmalion






Kanken stash at Fjallraven, St. Paul






Studio space at Same Street Textiles & Scrap Yard


Fireplace upgrade at 909




Love is all around


Together v 2.0


My sentiments exactly (photo source unknown)


Currently: Knitting a rectangle and patiently waiting for this year to come to a close. I’ve got a list of possessions and behaviors to jettison, and others to reclaim.  I’m also wondering, as we hurtle into a new calendar year: What does complacency mean to you? Is it something to be aspired toward? Or challenged?


LOTSA (Lisa’s Open Tabs, Saved Aggressively):

Wondering how Perry Possum would respond to such overtures

How huge is your mammoth? Mine is enormous. And loud

Buying this shirt, brb

Carrie Fisher’s unofficial doctoring made the ESB script better. Way better

Discovering Donella Meadows

Wish I’d thought of this name

Always reading the comments at Archdruid Report

Granola Shotgun providing inspiration for the coming year(s)

I keep coming back to Nance Klehm

My friend Lisa writes AMAZING stuff

The sun rises and sets on Urbana, IL

Butter Can Make Your Life Better



We were still in Ireland when the Time magazine article entitled “Ending the War on Fat” (only a partial article – ya gotta subscribe for the rest) was published.

Butter was the sexy cover star, though it looked a bit like a piece of pasta to me:


The story coincided with my desire, on this trip, to demonstrate to my daughter and nieces that everyday dairy products in Ireland – the stuff you could buy at a supermarket or even the Irish equivalent of a convenience store – were way tastier than the products we could get at home in the same types of places. Backing up a bit:

Back in April, as I lay on the grass on some soccer fields in Rochester, IL watching my husband and the younger nieces fly kites, I asked the two older girls (they’re both 15) what they wanted to do while we were in Ireland. We talked about the ghost estates and some shopping, but then my niece Annie piped up: “Remember how you told us the chocolate tastes different over there? I want to find some chocolate.”

Right, I had mentioned that. On my first trip there in 1997, the dairy products had been a total revelation to my very inexperienced, Midwestern, nothing-weird-please palate. Everything, including the mass-produced chocolate, tasted richer, deeper, and farmier than anything I’d had at home. I noticed milk trucks everywhere – they were driving from farm to farm, picking up milk. Aw! So quaint! But it also seemed to explain, in some way, what I was tasting. My biggest regret at the end of that trip was not bringing enough chocolate home with me. Something a former Irish boyfriend had said to me years before, when he’d turned up his nose at Hershey bars, rang in my ears: “This isn’t chocolate. This is… CANDY.”

We ended up buying some chocolate when we stopped for gas on our first day in the country – several Cadbury bars (my favorite and best: Fruit and Nut). I didn’t want to make a big deal about it to the girls. I didn’t want to hover expectantly over them as they tried it, saying, “WELL? WHAT DO YOU THINK? IT’S AWESOME, AMIRITE?” I just sat in my seat in the van and watched them on the sly and enjoyed my Fruit and Nut. I could tell they were pleased.

Within a day of our arrival in Killarney, we discovered the Lir Café and their chocolates. Then Cody mentioned a friend of his told him some of the best ice cream she’d ever had was at Murphy’s in Killarney. The milk they use for their ice cream is specific to the Dingle Peninsula. Their tag line: Ice cream that knows where it’s coming from. Say no more! Off we went.


It went over well, though, man, do I wish I could have done a blind taste test with some family members who deemed it “good, but not as good as (insert name of ice cream shop at home)”. Really? Hm. I thought it was damned delicious, especially the Dingle Sea Salt vanilla. 10/10, would eat again.

But… butter. Ice cream and chocolate were great, obviously, but butter was the delicate, delicious glue holding mealtimes together. The entire time we were in Ireland we bought huge hunks of Irish butter for cooking and for slathering on bread. It is insanely good, and you can buy it anywhere. Even the butter pats at the visitor center cafés, like at Newgrange and the Cliffs of Moher, are excellent. That’s just how it is. Good butter forever and ever, amen. It makes sense – wherever you look or listen, there are cows. Cows everywhere. And they’re on this gorgeously lush and green Irish grass, eating the food they’re meant to eat, over 90% of the time. For example, here I am with a cow, who really wasn’t having it because she was too busy eating grass to make milk for our butter.


I thanked her, of course.

I’m not saying that American dairy products suck across the board. They don’t! What I am saying is that good dairy products are a lot harder to find in the US, and they’re quite expensive when you do find them, depending on where you live. Most dairy cattle in the US don’t live on grass; Irish cattle graze outdoors almost year-round. The milk we find at the grocery store is often ultrapasteurized; milk there isn’t. There are no growth hormones in Ireland’s milk. It’s just… milk. And since dairy cows are omnipresent in Ireland and the Irish dairy industry is committed to raising them this way, the end product isn’t as expensive as it is here.

I have a lot of thoughts about the cost of good, clean food in the US, who can afford it and who can’t and why, the psychology around food in the US and what we think we deserve (this includes labeling), US foods and habits making their way into and through other countries , etc. This trip wasn’t about food tourism, so I was mostly observing and thinking and comparing and contrasting and eating whatever I ran across. I wish I’d asked more questions of our driver, Austin, who told me on the last day of his trip that his wife grew vegetables and kept chickens, something I didn’t notice a lot of on our drives through the country. Maybe next time.

At the end of the trip Annie spent her last Euros on several bars of chocolate and I bought some cookies. I smuggled my airline-issued Irish butter pat off the plane. But when we got home, Jim reminded me that he’d packed this:


Time for toast.

Wool Gathering

It’s finally here – the latest BYI video! My deepest thanks go to Cathe Capel, Harold Davis, Roxanne Sawhill and all the others for their time, Jack Brighton and Tim Meyers for their work on this video, Automatic Empire for the music, and our friends at Illinois Public MediaPBS, PBS Digital Studios, and PBS Food for their support. Now go watch it! I’d love to know what you think.

Not only that, there’s new audio available that happens to be completely unrelated to “Wool Gathering”. It’s an ode to urban wildlife that’s very influenced by Lyanda Lynn Haupt‘s Urban Bestiary and a field trip I took with Environmental Almanac‘s Rob Kanter. In a perfect world, they wouldn’t have been released at exactly the same time, but hey. Feast or famine. When it rains, it pours. That.

More soon.


Shorn Off, Pt. 2

But first, a central Illinois sunset.

Much has happened since I was in Sidney, IL at 7 Sisters Farm, but recent footage review brought it all back. Most alarming: Spring has been so slow in arriving – we shot over a month ago and the landscape is only now starting to noticeably change. I wonder when the trees will fully leaf out; we’re a couple weeks away, still, from flowering trees.

Anyway. While my philosophy with BYI has always been to participate as much as possible in whatever’s going on, I was feeling a little weird about attempting to shear a sheep.

[When my son was little, I used to shave his head using electric clippers, and the shearing tool we were going to be using was basically a (much) larger version of those, but the clippers were heavy, and sheep’s wool, I discovered when I met “my” sheep, Dawn, is super-thick and springy. Shaving a head is pretty basic – it’s nice and round. Sheep’s bodies are not one shape – they’re many shapes. There are bony parts sticking out as well as super-smooth round parts. There are folds of skin and there are places where you have to be really careful. Also? Dawn was pregnant. I worried about her lamb in there.]

When Dick, one of the instructors, presented Dawn, waiting gamely on her stand, to me and my shearing partner Roxanne, I almost – ALMOST – asked Roxanne to do the job herself. Roxanne (you’ll meet her in the video) is young, interested in farming and livestock, and seemed quite fearless. She would have been great on her own. However, I a) did not want to disappoint Dick and the other instructor, Harold, by crapping out and b) did not want to disappoint myself by passing up a chance to learn something awesome from these amazing gentlemen. So when Dick told me it was my turn after Roxanne had hers, I grasped the (huge) clippers and gingerly had a go at Dawn’s wool along her flank. I won’t give anything else away, but the story ends with Dawn being safely shorn and Roxanne and I both feeling exhilarated, almost, that we had shorn (most of) a sheep and had not injured it or ourselves, plus… we had contributed, in some small way, to the gathering of the wool for the season.


Work has begun on putting this episode (BYI2) together for a release date in early May. We just pre-interviewed the subject of BYI3 and will shoot this week for a release date TBD, and BYIr83 will air this week. Here’s a clue as to its subject matter:


More soon!

Shorn Off, Pt. 1


The weather here in the Midwest, which I’m certain most people are sick of talking/hearing/reading about, has finally taken a turn for the better. (Midwest is best!) Those chickens up there were complretely stoked to be outside in 40-degree (or so) sunshine. The BYI crew was out at my friend Cathe Capel’s place –  Seven Sisters Farm, in Sidney, Illinois – to watch (and film) the annual shearing of her small flock of very woolly (and in some cases, very pregnant) sheep.

First we had a freaking awesome meal around the dining room table in Cathe’s gorgeous 19th century abode. She dished up chili, cornbread, pie, strong coffee, and a most convivial table. I wish I could adequately explain how I feel about settings like this. I wanted to hug everyone while we were eating.


We also ate some tea eggs that Emma from Lucky Duck Farm brought to share. They were exquisitely dessert-like. I love eggs anyway, but these were… sublime.


After we ate, we went into the barn, where Tigger lives. She has three legs, amazing green eyes, and is a total badass.

IMG_6980We got a look at some vintage shearing equipment – this clipper hand crank (not sure what the actual nomenclature is) dates to 1910.


The sheep were like, we know something is going on but cannot quite remember what it is. Hmm.


Harold Davis, a sheep-shearing legend in Illinois, showed the group how to get to it, New Zealand style. Harold has shorn 900,000 sheep in his day and knows what he’s doing. Needless to say, the rest of us were not interested in giving this particular method a go.


Part Two: I meet a ewe named Dawn, I come to grips with the clippers, and I feel sad when leaving Sidney. I’ll post that this week.

In the meantime, enjoy this radio piece I did two years ago (you can tell it was two years ago because I talk about how winter never came) about the same class, led that time by another Illinois shearing rockstar, Dick Cobb. He’ll also feature in Part Two.

OK. Time to jet. Cosmos is on.



Hey! New logo up there! What do you think?

We’re all friends here, so I’m not sure why I continue to bore you by talking about the weather, but… dang. This winter. It’s been 20 years since we’ve had consistent, Midwest winter. Twenty years! My kids have never experienced this, the kind of winter where I make all kinds of references to Laura Ingalls Wilder’s The Long Winter even though this winter is nothing like that winter; as far as I know, the trains are still getting through.

At any rate, I’d think the ten-day forecast was actually funny if it weren’t for the GDMF potholes in our fair cities. I wish I was kidding. Instead, I’m mad that it continues to be cold and I’m mad that there might be more snow and I’m mad that my car is suffering because of the roads. MAD. Last week we saw several inches of snow, slush raining out of the sky, a really nice warm-up that helped melt the foot of snow on the ground, a tornado watch, and an inch of rain in 30 minutes on top of all the snow. Tonight’s low temperature: Two degrees. Barf. Jim called this month “Apruary”, and I think it works for me.

There were a couple BYI radio segments in February. I talked about food in bowls here and I blabbed about making your own yogurt here. I have something else in the hopper for that first week in March (also known as next week). BYI video #1 is being edited right now; we have music thanks to my friends at Automatic Empire (thankyouthankyouthankyou). BYI #2 is scheduled to be shot next week, if it’s NOT TOO COLD. Here’s a hint as to its subject matter:


I have lots of other ideas, too… but first I need the weather to improve so we can GET OUTSIDE.