It Was A Glorious Summer

It's official, summer is over. Next week, our little town will be overrun by apple mad people, flooding Rittenhouse Avenue in the name of Applefest. When we were tourists and lived on our boat, Applefest weekend was always bittersweet— it signaled the official end to our Bayfield summers and the re-entry to city life without a big lake to frame our days. Now that we live here, Applefest still marks the end of summer but now we re-enter days with a slower cadence, longer, quieter nights, wood fires in the stove and those first, thrilling snowflakes. I have to admit, fall is my favorite time of year but summer sure is glorious. Thank God, she'll be back next year.

We had a picnic on Stockton Island— swimming, floating, jumping off the rocks, bratwurst and beer. Classic Wisconsin day.

Two boys, one dog and a bag of chips— it doesn't get much better than this.

Sadie is a champion tube rider and if you look closely, you'll see a grin the size of Texas on her face. I bet she'd hold her own in a rodeo— she knows how to hold on for dear life.

Seagulls and dogs are a mutually exclusive deal— Zeus arrived and the gulls departed.

Searching for beach glass.

Long Island Corn Dogs

What's better than a hot dog from the O'Dovero's? An O'Dovero hot dog dipped in batter, fried in a cast iron skillet and eaten on Long Island.  I'm a picky corn dog connoisseur (if there is such a designation) and the only corn dog worth eating is hand dipped in batter— trust me, I've done a fair amount of market research. I grew up in a family of devout Minnesota fair-goers and I earned my carnival food chops through good old-fashioned trial and error.

I fried the corn dogs at home, placed them in a foil and paper towel lined cooler and boarded the Karl for a boat ride to Long Island for cocktails and dinner on the beach. The corn dogs weren't quite as crispy as I would have liked but I have my limitations and frying corn dogs on a beach is one of them. They were gobbled up without complaint.

A little tree love on the beach.

My photo safari sidekick— I couldn't have asked for a better partner.

The back side of Long Island, facing Chequamegon Bay, bathed in evening sunlight.

Corn Dogs

(adapted from the Pioneer Woman)

6 cups Krusteaz pancake mix
2 cups yellow corn meal
2 whole eggs, slightly beaten
2 cups buttermilk 2 cups water, more if needed to thin batter
All beef, natural casing hot dogs ( I made 24 corn dogs and had plenty of batter left over) Chopsticks Canola Oil, For Frying

Preparation

In a large bowl, combine pancake mix and cornmeal. Stir to combine. Add eggs, buttermilk and water, adding more water as needed for the batter to become slightly thick (but not overly gloopy.) Start out by adding 2 cups, then work your way up to 4 cups or more.

Heat canola oil over medium-high heat. Drop in a bit of batter to see if it's ready: the batter should immediately start to sizzle but should not immediately brown/burn.

Insert sticks into hot dogs so that they're 2/3 of the way through.

Dip the hot dogs into the batter and allow excess to drip off for a couple of seconds. Carefully drop into the oil (stick and all) and use tongs or a spoon to make sure it doesn't hit the bottom of the pan and stick. Flip it here and there to ensure even browning, and remove it from the oil when the outside is deep golden brown, about 2 to 3 minutes.

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Walking The Siskiwit River

Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.  The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time.  On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.

Norman McLean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories

There is nothing like following a river on foot. The sound of the water, the light dancing on the surface, the tree-lined bank and glimpses of the riverbed through the moving water are my touchstones.

A benevolent cedar keeping watch on the river bank.

An embrace in cedar.

Our version of a water park, lined with trees and rocks 'from the basement of time'.

Stones covered with water and sunlight.

Water moving over rock shaped by moving water.

The many faces of riverbed and water.

One of Ted's favorite movies is A River Runs Through It and we've watched it more times than I can count. Since I rarely sit through an entire movie, I've never seen the end, until a few weeks ago (see the clip here). McLean was right— eventually everything does merge into one and a river runs through it. I am blessed to have found my river.

A Riff On Gyros

I owe it all to Julie. She made these flavor packed lamb burgers (according to Saveur, they were supposed to be kebabs but there were major implementation problems) earlier in the summer and I was blown away— it was as close as I've been to a gryo-esque dinner for years. I realize my tendency to use superlatives might make you a little suspect (I mean, how can everything be fantastic) but seriously, these burgers are out of this world. If you make a little naan (recipe here), a bowl of tzatziki (recipe here) and sauté some red onions with sumac— you'll have a dinner you won't soon forget. Opa!

Ground Lamb, Bulgur & Pistachio Burgers(Adapted from Saveur Magazine, June 2013)

1/2 cup pistachios, shelled
1/4 cup water
1/4 cup oregano, roughly chopped
1/4 cup mint, roughly chopped
1 teaspoon red chile flakes
1/2 teaspoon allspice
6 cloves garlic, peeled
2 green onions, roughly chopped
1/2 small yellow onion, roughly chopped
1 jalapeño, stemmed, seeded and roughly chopped
1 pound ground lamb
1/4 cup finely ground bulgur, soaked in warm water for 10 minutes and then drained
1 red onion, sliced
2 teaspoons sumac
2 tablespoons olive oil
Salt and pepper, to taste

Preparation
Puree the pistachios and 1/4 cup of water in a food processor until very smooth. Add the oregano, mint, chile flakes, allspice, garlic, green onions, onion and jalapeño and pulse until smooth. Transfer to a bowl. Add lamb, bulgur, salt and pepper and, using your hands, mix until combined. Form into patties, cover and place in refrigerator for about an hour to set up.

Heat a sauté pan, over medium heat, and add the olive oil, red onion and sumac. Sauté until the onion is softened, about 10 minutes. Set aside.

Light a charcoal or gas grill and grill the burgers, flipping once or twice, until they are thoroughly cooked— about 12 - 15 minutes. Serve on the naan with sautéed onions and tzatziki.

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A Long Island Farewell

It's not every day Jack moves to Madison to start his next chapter as a freshman Badger and such a momentous occasion begged for a stellar party. Shrimp boils are a Dougherty family favorite and have enough 'wow' factor to send Jack off to Madison with a little Bayfield flair. We loaded up the Karl with shrimp, green beans, a bucket of spices, potatoes and beer and headed to Long Island on a perfect August afternoon to celebrate the kid who, for nineteen years, has brought so much joy, pride, laughter and love into our lives.

We couldn't have asked for a better afternoon— no bugs, a sun-soaked beach, warm water, dear friends and a boiling kettle of spiced water, shrimp and Corn Man corn. It's hard to put into words what it felt like, knowing that in seven days we would be driving Jack to Madison and leaving him there, in a dorm with 6,000 other freshman. It was the kind of joy with a sharp edge, that made me catch my breath and blink back tears because I understood, for the first time, what bittersweet really meant. Jack was taking his first steps towards independence and away from us but the tapestry we've woven together from nights like these will always be his connection to home and the people who love him.

One of our friends, Teddy, wrote Jack a poem and gave him Edward Abbey's wise words for a happy life. As I watched Jack shake Teddy's hand, I knew everything was exactly as it should be. Jack was ready to move on, I was ready to let him go and we've been blessed with a lifetime of gratitude— for our family, friends, countless memorable dinners and the Lake and beaches that are the backdrop to our story.

'One final paragraph of advice: do not burn yourselves out. Be as I am - a reluctant enthusiast....a part-time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here. So get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, the lovely, mysterious, and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to the body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this much; I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those desk-bound men and women with their hearts in a safe deposit box, and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this; You will outlive the bastards.' Edward Abbey

It is always a thrill when the shrimp boil hits the table— it's sheer abundance of color and texture is amazing. It literally put a smile on everyone's face and it only got better as they ate their way through the pile of corn, shrimp, potatoes and green beans.

As the night wound down and the full moon rose over the South Channel, I took a minute to take it all in. I knew we'd be on this beach again but it would be different next time. I wanted to remember every last moment of it— Charlie's face when the boil hit the table, Jack filling up a Corona bottle with sand to take to Madison, Meghan triumphantly hoisting the paddle over head when she saw me on the beach and Will walking down the beach, camera in hand, to catch the sunset. On that August night, it was about as good as it gets and I couldn't have been happier.

I didn't want the night to end. Like all good parties, time flies when you're having fun and before we knew it, the sun had set, the boats were loaded and we were on our way back to Bayfield. Until Kathy had a brilliant idea— a moonlight swim in the South Channel. We stopped the boats, jumped into the water and spent ten minutes swimming under the luminescent moon. It was the perfect end to a perfect night.

An Abbot's Table & A Dandelion Addiction

I walked in to Bayfield Wine and Spirits to buy a nice bottle of wine to celebrate the end of summer and the beginning of the school year (always a good idea to celebrate anything with wine). The minute my eyeballs spied the Abbot's Table from Owen Roe, I was definitely in a celebratory mood. It's a field blend of Zinfandel, Sangiovese, Blaufrankisch, Merlot and Malbec— medium bodied. lots of berries and a little spice and cedar. It was a lovely wine and perfect for the pizza I planned for dinner.

Pizza is always a good idea at our house— the kids prefer a more traditional approach while I like to shake things up a little. Michael, of Sassy Nanny fame, shares a cheese factory with an equally talented cheese maker, Fred Faye, and the Dandelion Addiction makes me so very happy. Happy Hollow Creamery makes a variety of sheep and cow cheeses and I'm a big fan of all of them. The Dandelion Addiction is a nice, mild brie without a hint of ammonia to be found, anywhere. It's hard to wrong when you take a good brie, sliced pear, caramelized onion and a reduced sherry glaze but it was a seriously good pizza.

Brie, Caramelized Onion & Pear Pizza

Pizza dough, use your own recipe or my recipe, here Crème fraiche, enough to coat the bottom of the pizza dough, about 1/3 cup 1 wheel of Dandelion Addiction brie (or your favorite brie), sliced into wedges 1 garlic clove, minced 1/2 cup caramelized onion 1 pear, sliced thin 2 tablespoons sherry vinegar glaze (available here) Maldon sea salt

Preparation Preheat oven to 500 degrees and place your pizza stone on the middle rack (a pizza stone makes all the difference, trust me). Make the pizza dough and stretch out into a 12 inch round. Sprinkle a pizza peel with flour or cornmeal and place the pizza dough on top. Coat the pizza dough with crème fraiche and sprinkle, evenly, the garlic and Maldon sea salt on top. Evenly place the brie wedges, pear slices and caramelized onions over the pizza round and then drizzle the sherry reduction over the pizza. Place in the oven and bake for 10 minutes. Let the pizza cool slightly and then slice and serve.

Happy Cows In Mellen

'Good farmers, who take seriously their duties as stewards of Creation and of their land's inheritors, contribute to the welfare of society in more ways than society usually acknowledges, or even knows. These farmers produce valuable goods, of course; but they also conserve soil, they conserve water, they conserve wildlife, they conserve open space, they conserve scenery.'

Wendell Berry, Bringing it to the Table: Writings on Farming and Food.

I owe my introduction to the O'Dovero-Flesia farm to my quest for a seriously good hot dog. My preferred hot dog supplier, a meat market in Mellen, exited the sausage business a few years ago and while Hebrew Nationals are a good substitute, they just weren't the same. Everything changed when Pete told me about the O'Dovero's cattle farm and meat market— I was back in all beef, natural casing with a satisfying snap hot dog heaven. And, lucky for me, O'Dovero-Flesia heaven also included dry aged beef, the perfect pork belly for pancetta and a picturesque collection of cows, buildings and pastures.

Five generations of O'Dovero's have called these 1,000 acres at the base of the Penokee Hills home and as I pulled into the driveway, I can understand why— it's beautiful. The undulating pastures are framed by hardwood and pine forest, the Penokee hills rise up in the background and two barns with field stone foundations (built in the late 1920's/early 1930's) wear the weathered patina of 87 years of Wisconsin rain, wind, snow and sun.

The extraordinary (or not, depending on how you look at it) thing is it's still a working farm— raising cattle and supporting a family who are rooted in this place as much as the trees are rooted in the hillside. After nearly 90 years of mindful animal and land stewardship, the farm and family are faced with a nearly incomprehensible challenge— legislation has been purchased by an out of state mining company to allow an open-pit iron ore mine, literally, in their backyard. GTac, a Florida company owned by the 'New King of Coal' Chris Cline, plans to detonate 5.5 million tons of explosives every nine days until the pit measures 4.5 miles long— all within a mile of the O'Dovero's pastures, barns, cattle and home.  It goes without saying, they are in a fight for their lives.

The cows on the farm reminded me of George, inquisitive and friendly. They were well taken care of and it showed in their demeanor and appearance. The best part of the day was speaking to Margaret, a member of the fifth generation and Veterinary student, about her connection to the farm and what's at stake if GTac starts to blow up the hills behind her house. The land, water and animals will be sacrificed, without consideration from a company who used money (and lots of it) to unethically re-write legislation to indemnify themselves from the damages that are inherent with any extraction industry.

Aldo Leopold said, 'There are two spiritual dangers in not owning a farm. One is the danger of supposing that breakfast comes from the grocery, and the other that heat comes from the furnace.' Since I am an enthusiastic meat-eater as well as a passionate animal lover, two seemingly contradictory terms, I spent some time thinking about the sacrifices inherent when we harvest, anything, for our consumption. How should we honor the harvest of any animal, plant or mountaintop for our dinner table, gas tank or warship? Acknowledging that sacrifice starts with mindful consumption, re-using what we can and remembering, always, that the resources we have are not endless.

Incredibly, thanks to our disconnected and pseudo-sanitized food system, we are able to purchase a plastic wrapped package of beef with an expiration date and a price on it and think the only components of the transaction are the exchange of currency at the checkout aisle. We forget, or choose to ignore, the elemental transaction that occurred on the farm, where the cow was raised and harvested. Because of this sense of separateness, we also forget that the knives we purchase, the cars we drive or the railroads used to transport our toilet paper were once deep in the earth, under mountaintops standing sentry over farms and communities. That's why farms like the O'Dovero's are important— they haven't forgotten and they understand the sacrifice they are asking of the animals in their care.

It's easy to pretend the meat we eat came from cows as happy as the O'Dovero cows or the steel in our cars came from a remote mountaintop without ties to a family's stories or traditions if we disregard an elemental truth— everything is connected. Albert Einstein said, 'A human being is a part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feeling as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.' Once we free ourselves from the prison of separateness and we evaluate our consumption in the context of what sacrifices are necessary to fill our bellies, drive our cars or build warships, it's a game changer.

I drive a car, I use appliances and I'm sure there is a steel I-beam somewhere in my house but I can no longer ignore the fact that these conveniences extracted a cost somewhere, to a family or community who sacrificed their mountaintops, forests or clean water. The recognition of the inherent sacrifice in everything we consume begs the question— what do we value as a society? If the only currency that gets any traction is the almighty dollar, how do we begin to assign value to clean water, unmolested forests, healthy communities and happy cows? What is a sustainable and good way of life really worth? I know it feels like cool water rushing over my feet when I'm walking down a river bed. I know it sounds like the waves of  Lake Superior lapping along the shore on Long Island. I know it looks like a group of cows resting in a bucolic meadow of a family farm. Why is it so hard to convince people that it's worth protecting? Is it because we are using the wrong currency?

Is a family farm like the O'Dovero's reason enough to stop a mine? Are the sacrifices GTac is asking of us worth it? On the surface, it seems like a simple proposition— Northern Wisconsin needs jobs and the iron ore in the ground has value, so the sacrifice of one family farm is a fair trade for 'economic prosperity'. But if we dig deeper and look at what's really on the chopping block, it becomes clear that considering only the economic component of the deal is short-sighted. What is the true cost of removing five generations of a family's stories and legacy from the land? What is the inherent value of the Bad River Watershed? How can we quantify what destroying hundreds of acres of trees, ferns, flowers, wild berries and mushrooms will mean to the people and animals who live in the Penokees? Maybe the most precious currencies go beyond empirical value and as a result, require very, very careful consideration when we are asking for their sacrifice. The Penokee hills, the Bad River Watershed, Lake Superior and the O'Dovero-Flesia farm are worth saving— the sacrifices are too great.