A gift of figs

A fresh fig is a soft fruit about the size of a small plum that, depending on variety, is either round or shaped like a teardrop

Simply Living
July 2, 2012

"There are 74 figs in the fridge," read the note my son left on the kitchen table.

It was almost midnight and Ralph and I had just arrived home after a week away. Although drenched in fatigue, we dragged our belongings inside, adjusted the thermostat and went to work. Ralph was in the kitchen putting away our travel food while I headed to the bedroom with the suitcases.

I had just begun unpacking when I heard my husband's voice calling from the kitchen, "Come see all the figs!"

In the time it took me to toss a few dirty clothes in the laundry, Ralph had already begun sorting the unexpected bounty into trays.

"I can't believe how many figs there are," he said, separating eat-now from the not-quite-ripe fruit. "None of the figs were ripe when we left and look how many there are now."

Our son Tim monitored the garden and fruit tree production while we were away. Knowing how much his father loves figs, he collected the ripening bounty during our absence.

"I wonder how many are on the tree," Ralph said as he searched for a flashlight. He found a light but it was too dark outside to see much of anything.

"In the morning," I mumbled while popping another fig into my mouth, "you'll be able to tell better then."

Sure enough, morning offered a dazzling sight. The LSU purple fig tree outside our west door was — and still is — covered with fruit.

"This is the best year yet!" Ralph exclaimed in delight. "Look how many unripe ones are coming along."

Ed O'Rourke, professor of horticulture at Louisiana State University, developed the nematode-resistant LSU purple fig after 16 years of research and testing. He introduced it to the public in 1991 and a few years later we purchased our first plant.

In the years since, Ralph has propagated more figs from cuttings of the original plant. About a dozen trees are now scattered around our property, but the one growing next to our garden on the west side of the house produces the most fruit. That's probably because it is planted in good rich soil, receives regular watering, fertilizing and — most importantly — it is located right outside our door guaranteeing it plenty of personal attention.

My husband grew up eating fresh figs, but I didn't. The only figs I knew as a kid were in Fig Newton bars or as the hard, dried variety that my mother bought for holidays. I was well into adulthood before discovering what a real fig tastes like.

A fresh fig is a soft fruit about the size of a small plum that, depending on variety, is either round or shaped like a teardrop. All parts of the fruit are edible including its extremely thin skin and pudding-like flesh, which contains bunches of tiny seeds. Some figs are brown, black, purple or amber-colored but all varieties grow on compact deciduous trees that like a warm Mediterranean-like climate. Too much rain causes ripening fruit to split open, while too much cold kills the plant entirely.

Nematodes are a major problem affecting fig production but certain varieties (including LSU purple fig) are bred to resist nematode invasions. We don't spray our fig trees with herbicides or use any chemical solutions. Instead, we try to provide our plants with the best growing conditions possible. We use a rich but light loam, mulch heavily to preserve moisture and fertilize occasionally.

The result of those efforts is trees brimming with tasty morsels.

"I love fig season!" Ralph said a few days later while we were outside gathering several dozen more fruit to eat.

 Since fig production continues into the early fall it's a season he'll be enjoying for many months to come.

Yummy!  Fresh picked figs!

A pure and simple loaf

Loaves of hearty, healthy, reasonably priced whole wheat bread is available at many Publix Bakeries.

Simply Living
June 18, 2012

A hearty, healthy loaf of whole wheat bread is not easy to find.

I don’t consume much bread but when I do, I want it to be as good for me as possible.  I’m not concerned with a gluten-free diet and while I’m allergic to many things, wheat isn’t among them.  I simply prefer my choice of sandwich breads to be of the one-hundred-percent whole grain variety.  I have no desire to ingest white flour misleadingly labeled ‘wheat flour’ nor do I want to eat preservatives, dough stabilizers, hydrogenated oil, additives with long, unpronounceable names, excessive salt or artificially added vitamins and minerals. 

Pure and simple loaves are what I'm after. I also want the slabs of chewy goodness to be readily available and competitively prices with other store-bought loaves.

Until recently, unless I baked it myself, purchased a frozen product or placed an order online, the type of whole-wheat bread I was looking for was practically impossible to find locally.

That isn't true in other parts of the country. When we used to visit Ralph's mother in Seattle, we frequented a Great Harvest Bread Company store where we were constantly awed by their wonderful selection of freshly-baked whole grain loaves. Great Harvest Bread is a franchise with locations across the country. Unfortunately, their sole Florida location is 147 miles away in Amelia Island. Too far to go when I crave a sandwich.

When we lived on Cape Cod in the 1970s and 1980s, Ralph and I owned a natural-food store in which we devoted a substantial amount of shelf space to whole-wheat loaves. One of our favorites was a round sourdough loaf made by a central Massachusetts company called Baldwin Hill Bakery. My husband's broccoli-cheese sandwiches never tasted as good as they did when wedged between two slices of that hearty bread.

But like many of our once-favorite products, Baldwin Hill is no longer available. Production of their signature round brick oven loaves ended when Vermont Bread Company bought the bakery. Ralph and I still reminisce about those Baldwin Hill loaves, especially when we are reading labels on commercially available breads.

"Look at this," Ralph said one day while we were checking out the fresh bread selection at the Whole Food Market in Orlando. "Hardly any are 100 percent whole wheat. They've either got 'wheat flour' in them — another word for white flour — or they're gluten-free, made from millet or some other grain. Why aren't there whole-wheat breads like there used to be?"

Why, indeed?

As it turns out, the very bread we've searched for so fruitlessly is now right there at our local grocery. I recently discovered that Publix Bakery makes three affordably priced loaves — Seeded Whole Wheat Bread from 100 percent whole-grain wheat as well as a Honey Whole Wheat and Cinnamon Whole Wheat. One-pound loaves sell for $3.19, while their 2-pound, 3-ounce counterparts are priced from $4.99 to $5.99 depending on variety.

The ingredient list for all three breads is just the way I like them to be — short and uncomplicated. The basic ingredients include whole-wheat flour, water, honey, vital wheat gluten, yeast and salt. The cinnamon loaf has the added ingredient of cinnamon while our favorite, Seeded Whole Wheat Bread, contains the same ingredients plus sunflower, sesame and poppy seeds.

That's hardly the case with most other commercially produced loaves, even other Publix Bakery loaves. The ingredients listed in those products is similar to the one found in Wonder Bread's 100 percent soft whole wheat: Whole wheat flour, water, wheat gluten, high fructose corn syrup, contains 2% of less of: soybean oil, salt, molasses, yeast, mono and diglycerides, exthoxylated mono and diglycerides, dough conditioners (sodium stearoyl lactylate, calcium iodate, calcium dioxide), datem, calcium sulfate, vinegar, yeast nutrient (ammonium sulfate), extracts of malted barley and corn, dicalcium phosphate, diammonium phosphate, calcium propionate (to retain freshness).

Why consume chemical additives, preservatives and questionable sweeteners like high-fructose corn syrup if you don't need to? I want the foods I feed to my family to be as high quality as possible. Fortunately, thanks to Publix Bakery, at least a couple affordable, good tasting alternative whole-wheat breads are now available at most Publix groceries.

"Ralph," I asked politely, "do you think you could make broccoli-cheese sandwiches for dinner tonight? I got a loaf of the Seeded Whole Wheat Bread at the store today and there are some side shoots of broccoli that need picking in the garden."

He said he would and I was delighted. Not only were we going to eat a meal I knew was healthy and fresh, it would be one I didn't have to prepare.

Many people have asked for Ralph's broccoli-cheese sandwich recipe so I've included it below.  If you try it, please let me know what you think:

Recipe for Ralph’s Broccoli-Cheese Sandwich

Ingredients:  ½ cup cooked broccoli, 2 slices of 100% whole wheat bread, 2-4 slices of cheese (we like Cabot 50% Reduced Fat Jalapeno Cheddar Cheese but you can use any cheese you enjoy), olive oil, garlic oil (homemade from extra virgin olive oil and crushed garlic).  Optional additions:  slices of mushrooms and/or tomato

Assemble ingredients including a spatula and a lid for the frying pan.  Spread a light coating of olive oil on the frying pan (we use cast iron pans) and turn the heat to medium. 

Spread garlic oil on one side of each of the two slices of bread and set one slice aside.  Take the 1^st slice of bread and place it on the pan with the garlic oil side down.  On top of the bread, place a slice or two of cheese, the broccoli (and mushrooms and/or tomato slices, if desired) and top with more cheese.  Place the 2^nd piece of bread on top of the cheese with the garlic oil side facing up and press down on the sandwich with the spatula before putting on the lid. 

Check frequently and adjust the heat accordingly.  If the heat is too high, the bread will burn, if it is too low, it will take too long to cook. 

After about 5 minutes, flip the sandwich over – you might need to use two hands to do this - press down on it again with the spatula then continue cooking with the lid on.  Again, check frequently and as soon as it looks like the cheese has started to melt, turn off the heat.  Use the spatula to remove the sandwich from the pan.   

Cut it in half and enjoy!

It's not easy being a bird

Mama wren sits on her eggs

Baby birds have it tough. Raccoons, snakes, squirrels, opossums, dogs, cats and even other birds are among the many predators eager to devour tiny hatchlings.

Humans are also drawn to these dainty dollops of feather and flesh but for a different reason. People simply find baby birds adorable. Anybody who has watched bird eggs develop into fluffy fledglings can't help but feel a sense of delighted attachment to the tiny chirpers.

That's how Ralph and I felt about the Carolina wren babies that nested in our garage this spring. Their woven cave of bamboo leaves and small twigs was wedged in between a messy scattering of boxes and other detritus that should have been tidied away well before bird-nesting season.

Carolina wrens have a propensity to build nests in close proximity to their human neighbors. The small cinnamon-colored birds with a white stripe above their eyes are quick workers. Both partners can build a nest in about the same time it takes two people to, say…pick up supplies at Home Depot, stop at the grocery store, go to the bank and enjoy a leisurely lunch out. In other words, the wily birds took advantage of the one time we forgot to close the garage doors when out running errands.

When we came back from town, we were too preoccupied to notice the nest. By the time we did, it was too late.

"There are eggs in it!" Ralph reported after illuminating the cavernous clutch with a flashlight.

"We can't get rid of the nest now," I proclaimed, despite knowing the consequences their feathery presence would bring.

The two reasons we don't want birds nesting in the garage involve messes and wasps.

A family of birds may be adorable but they can also be quite untidy. We learned that the hard way the year a pair of mourning doves built their nest atop the garage-door opener. As it turns out, dove droppings are far from inconsequential, especially when multiplied by a family of five.

The doves also taught us how readily mud daubers take advantage of a sheltered area with easy access. When garage doors remain open so nesting birds can fly in and out, wasps zoom inside as well. The resulting dried-mud structures dot the garage ceiling and walls. Although we have rarely been stung, it's unsettling to have so many wasps living in a space we frequent on a daily basis.

Thanks to the industrious wrens, however, thwarting wasps and avoiding messes became a non-issue. Captivated by feathery cuteness, we refocused our attention on the baby birds' development and welfare.
From eggs to hatchlings, Ralph and I checked their progress daily.

"Come look!" became our morning mantra followed by such statemens as, "They're getting so fluffy" and "Watch how they open their beaks when I make a kissy sound."

Day-old wrens open wide in anticipation of food

As the babies grew bigger, so did our attachment. For about two weeks, I snapped photos while Ralph peered more frequently into the nest of the almost-ready-to-fledge birds. Then one day, as we drove into the garage after another trip to town, we found mama and papa wren in a frenzy.

"Maybe I parked the car too close to the shelf," I suggested, backing out. "I bet the babies left the nest while we were in town and are somewhere in the garage or the shed."

While we searched the garage and connecting shed for the fledglings, the parents continued to flit about and scold incessantly.

"Something's wrong," I said. "I can't find the babies anywhere."

I was right. Something was wrong but we didn't find out exactly how bad things were until the next day when Ralph called, "Come quick!"

There behind the nest — the empty nest — wedged between the wall and the back of the boxes was one sluggish rat snake with a telling bulge in its midsection.

A thin rat snake with a telltale bulge

 
"Oh no!" I exclaimed. "A snake got them! All of them! No wonder the parents were frantic. That's so sad."

"But it's good for the snake," Ralph reminded.

I know he's right.

In order to survive, wild animals must find food and that means one critter's meal is another's loss. Baby birds have it tough, but so do rat snakes and every other creature whose next meal depends upon what they catch today.

Losing the baby wrens was upsetting, but life goes on. The parent birds will try again in another location and perhaps this time their babies will survive. As for us, we've added one more reason to keep the garage doors closed: Prevent messes, thwart mud daubers and avoid the sadness that comes with watching baby birds die to nourish another animal's life.

Unpopular birds do important work

A wake of vultures make fast work of an unfortunate raccoon

Vultures have many names. When flying, they are a kettle. When perched, a venue, a committee or a volt. But the label I find most fitting is when a group of these large, black-feathered, bald-headed scavengers are standing around the carcass of a recently killed animal. Then they become a wake.

I chanced upon a wake of vultures as I was heading out the driveway. Although on my way to town, I put my mission on hold to investigate theirs. What I observed piqued my curiosity about these seldom-appreciated birds.

Two species of vultures live in Florida — the turkey vulture and the black vulture. Both are carrion eaters that make fast work of recently killed or decaying carcasses. The four birds I saw were all black vultures (Coragyps atratus). Each of the 2-foot tall, 4- to 6-pound creatures was fixated on the dead body of a mature raccoon. So intent were the birds on their impending feast they barely budged when I pulled up alongside and parked the car.

Vultures have bodies well suited to their role as the animal kingdom's cleanup crew. Their sharp, slightly hooked bills can tear through tough skin and fur while their featherless heads make venturing after internal organs a less sticky, messy affair. The bald heads of turkey vultures are red while the bumpy-skinned tops of black vultures are black or gray.

In addition to having different head colors, black vultures are smaller than turkey vultures and only the tips of their wings are white while the entire underside edge of turkey vulture wings is a grayish-white color. Black vultures also have white legs, a feature turkey vultures lack.

The two species have other differences as well. Turkey vultures tend to be solitary animals that use their strong sense of smell — a rare characteristic in birds — to pick up the odor of ethyl mercaptan, a gas released just after an animal dies. Once a turkey vulture picks up the scent of decay, it settles in for a prolonged feast.

Unless it is chased away by a kettle of black vultures.

Black vultures don't share their cousin's strong sense of smell or their desire for solitude. They are pack animals, traveling, feeding and roosting in groups. The food they eat is also different from what turkey vultures consume.

While turkey vultures only eat carrion, black vultures will occasionally attack vulnerable live animals like newborn calves. They are also not above frequenting landfills, gleaning road kill and stealing food away from their turkey vulture relatives.

I don't know how the raccoon in my yard died or what killed it but as I watched, its lost life provided others with a substantial meal. Rather than rush in, the black vultures stood patiently around the ill-fated mammal until one bird stepped forward to make the first move. After that, much ripping and tearing ensued as the scavengers competed with one another for prime pieces of meat.

It took about three days for the vultures (with help from ants, flies, beetles and a neighbor's stray dog) to convert the raccoon's fur-covered flesh into a scattering of bones and teeth. By then, the vultures were gone, probably neck-deep in other decaying matter.

Despite their diligent efforts to keep the planet free of decaying bodies, we humans don't think much of vultures. If we give them any thought at all, it is a dismissive disparaging one. They're ugly. They're vulgar. They are harbingers of doom. But distasteful as it may be to watch one animal plunge headfirst into another critter's carcass, these solemn stalkers of the dead and dying play a vital role in the circle of life.

No matter what they are called — a kettle, committee, venue, volt or a wake — vultures do the dirty work of keeping the world clean and for that, we should be grateful.

Are there alligators in that lake?

In Florida, where there's water, there are gators

Simply Living
May 28, 2012

Alligators are scary.

The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission estimates the state's population of the large-jawed reptiles to be 1.3 million. The fact that alligators occupy just about any soggy scrap of marshland, pond or river doesn't help their reputation as objects of fear. Ask any newcomer to the Sunshine State what they worry about most and, along with concerns over bugs and hurricanes, their answer will undoubtedly include alligator attacks.

I've always felt differently.

While acknowledging the power and predatory nature of these sharp-toothed animals, I've made it a point to educate myself about their habits, diet and — most importantly — the real (as opposed to perceived) threat alligators present to their human neighbors.

Because like it or not, we're neighbors.

People who choose to reside in a semi-tropical climate aren't just opting to enjoy warm-weather activities and sweet-smelling flowers. They are also choosing to live alongside the area's wildlife including scary-looking ones like gators.

Because I live next to a lake in which I take frequent dips, learning about alligators is especially relevant to me. But residing near water isn't a prerequisite to becoming educated about reptiles. Learning and living go hand-in-hand. The more you know about your surroundings and its inhabitants, the better able you are to enjoy and respect them.

Although Florida is home to many gators, only 22 people died from alligator attack between 1948 and 2010. During the same period, 333 people received unprovoked bites and another 184 people were bitten because they did something to taunt or provoke an attack.

These statistics gain even greater significance when you consider that more than 19 million people live in Florida year round and another 75 million visit the state annually. With such a large number of people and alligators sharing the same turf (and water), you'd expect the number of encounters to be much larger.

The fact is that the vast majority of alligators stay away from people.

Unless people feed them (which it is illegal as well as dangerous and foolish), alligators tend to retreat from humans instead of aggressively moving toward them. That has certainly been our experience over years of watching alligators in our own lake. During the past two decades, we've seen dozens of gators but we seldom have had cause to worry. On the rare occasions when a rogue reptile defies the norm by coming toward us when we're in the water, we report the animal to the Fish and Wildlife nuisance alligator hotline. After taking information by phone, the agency sends a trapper to capture and remove the potentially dangerous animal.

That's exactly what happened this month.

Ralph and I had been keeping our eyes on a relatively young gator that had been hanging around our swimming beach. Although the reptile was too little to pose a threat to an adult, our 2-year-old grandson seemed about the right size for a gator snack — not something any parent or grandparent wants to imagine. 
When our attempts to chase away the gator failed to frighten it, we turned to the Fish and Wildlife hotline.

Even small gators that act aggressively can pose a threat to little children

 
"A trapper will contact you within 24 hours," we were told and, sure enough, one did.

Jimmy Douglas Jr,. an alligator control agent out of Sumterville, arrived the next day to set a baited hook for the offending animal.

"Check the line first thing in the morning," he instructed us, "and call me if the bait is gone."

The bait — a smelly piece of meat suspended over the water from a large hook — did the trick.

"The bait's gone," we dutifully reported the next morning.

Unfortunately, the captured animal was too small to be the one we had been observing.

"This one's too little," we told Douglas when he came to take it away.

When we asked what he would do with the 3 1/2 -foot long critter, Douglas told us he'd let it go in a canal near his property.

"Florida law requires any alligator under 4 feet to be released," he said.

We were glad that it wouldn't be killed and that its release would be far away. Douglas set a second baited hook as we watched with mounting curiosity. Just how many gators lived in our lake, we wondered.

As it turns out, the answer is at least two.

By the following morning, a second gator — a 5-footer — had swallowed the bait. When Douglas came to remove it, the animal looked like the one that had acted aggressively.

Licensed trapper Jimmy Douglas removes a rogue alligator

Learning about the things that frighten us is one of the best ways to overcome fears. Alligators might be scary-looking animals, but they rarely pose a serious threat to people. When they do, it's good to know there's a government agency ready to step in and fix the problem. If a gator seems threatening to you, don't hesitate to call 1-866-FWC-GATOR. If the gator is deemed to be a threat to the public, a licensed trapper will be sent to remove it.

A surprising bobcat encounter

A bobcat pauses in its pursuit of dinner to observe two humans

Simply Living
May 21, 2012

I never know what I’ll encounter when I take a walk around the lake but I know enough to bring a camera along in case I happen to be in the right place at the right time to catch sight of something spectacular. 

It’s a good thing I do because something spectacular happened the other day.

Ralph and I were chatting away as we walked along a well-worn path. Suddenly in front of us a rabbit dashed across the path into a dense hedge of bamboo. Rabbits are plentiful on our property so seeing one was no surprise, but the sighting triggered a thought I've had many times before.

"I wonder if one of these days I'm going to see a coyote or a bobcat chasing a rabbit."

No sooner did that thought enter my mind than a bobcat popped out of the scrub. Ralph and I saw it and immediately froze.

"My gosh!" I exclaimed while fumbling inside my fanny pack to extract my camera. "It's so close!"

The bobcat, immediately aware of our presence, paused in its pursuit of dinner to evaluate the situation.

We knew it was trying to determine its safety and to appear unthreatening we needed to keep our movements to a minimum. However, I desperately wanted to capture the moment on film. Doing so required two things: 1) Getting my camera out of the bag into which I had foolishly stowed it and 2) Unhooking the bifocals from my shirt collar and putting them on my eyes so I could see what I was doing.

My nearsighted husband has worn glasses since childhood but my farsightedness is a result of aging. Although I've had progressive lenses for almost two decades, I don't like wearing them. I take my eyeglasses off whenever I have the chance, including the other day as we took our evening stroll.

While my mind considered the situation's logistics, the bobcat must have been doing some mental calculating of his own because he sat down in the middle of the path and proceeded to give us a good long stare.

By then — much to my relief — I retrieved my camera. My glasses, however, proved too tricky to unhook so I left them in place, squinted into the viewfinder and let my fingers feel their way to the shutter.

I have no idea what the bobcat was thinking as it silently watched the two silly humans who had interrupted its hunt, but it graciously stayed put long enough to allow me to snap several shots. Then, as quickly and silently as it had appeared, the tawny predator dashed into the bamboo hedge and disappeared. Ralph and I tried to follow, but even though we were only seconds behind, we were unable to see any sign of the wildcat at all.

"That was incredible," I said as we re-entered the path brushing twigs and spiders from our hair. "I can't believe we saw a bobcat and that it actually sat down and watched us watch him. I hope my pictures come out."

As it turns out, most of them did.

In addition to photographs, the experience also yielded the following useful lessons:

1) When taking a camera expressly to capture images of surprise encounters with wildlife, do not bury said camera in the bottom of an overly stuffed fanny pack.

2) If the intention is to take pictures, it's a good idea to actually wear the lenses designed specifically to improve eyesight even if doing so is a reminder that aging eyes can no longer see clearly.

3) Bobcats are much more adept than humans at navigating dense underbrush and bamboo thickets.

I may not be adept at following bobcats through thickets of bamboo, but I'm a skilled practitioner at following my heart when it comes to observing wildlife in my surroundings. On our property, nature encounters seem to happen with a predictable irregularity. If I expect the unexpected and prepare accordingly, there's a good chance memorable experiences will follow.

A berry good time

Octogenarian "Danny" Daniels prepares to weigh the blueberries Ralph and Timmy picked at Lake Catherine Blueberries in Groveland

Simply Living
May 14, 2012

Call me a blueberry magician.  Place a bowl of the marble-sized fruit before me and I make them disappear.

In Central Florida, May is prime picking season and I practice my magic skills daily by devouring one handful after another of luscious ripe berries.

My appetite for eating quantities of blueberries is nothing new.  Some people go crazy over bakery items, burgers or beer.  My passion is whatever produce is in season.  It doesn't matter if it grows on a vine, tree or bush. When it's ready to pick, I'll grab my bucket and be right there.

This year I didn't have to go far.

In 2010, a u-pick blueberry farm opened four miles from our house. Lake Catherine Blueberries is located on State Road 19 just north of State Road 50 in Groveland. During their first two seasons, the bushes were small but this year the plants matured. Not only were they taller and fuller than in previous seasons, as the weather warmed, clusters of tasty morsels covered the head-high bushes. The 5-acre u-pick field yielded enough blueberries to fill a one-gallon container in about 30 minutes.

Ralph and I took advantage of the prolific plants by filling our buckets several times a week during the relatively short season. This year, the mild winter and warm spring caused Florida blueberries to ripen early. Picking for the commercial market began during the last week of March while the u-pick field season at Lake Catherine, which only grows two varieties of blueberries (Emerald and Jewel), started mid-April and ended last week.

Blueberry farms with late-season berries have longer u-pick seasons and now that the u-pick season is over at Lake Catherine, we'll be turning our attention to them. One of our favorite spots has always been Mark's Blueberries in Clermont. With 20 different varieties of fruit, Mark's provides u-pick opportunities at two separate u-pick fields three days a week through mid-July.

I've always appreciated people who open their farming operation to the public and while Mark's has been welcoming customers for more than two decades, Lake Catherine Blueberries, run by the Lowe family, is one of several new u-pick blueberry farms in the area. The Lowes may be new to blueberries but they're not new to agriculture. Their family has a long history of growing citrus in Lake County.

"Our children will be the fifth generation to farm the land," said Jamie Godfrey Lowe, who lives on the premises with her husband, Dustin Lowe, and their two children, 6-year-old DJ and 2-year-old Ava Grace.

Dustin Lowe's parents, Clinton and Ann Lowe, live next door and are actively involved in the business as is Jamie Lowe's grandfather, "Danny" Daniels, who often acts as greeter, handing out buckets and explaining u-pick how-to's to new customers.

"Eat as many as you want," Daniels tells a first time visitor. "Don't worry. We won't weigh you when you come back, just the berries."

It's a good thing customers aren't required to stand on a scale before and after spending time in the field because part of the fun of going to a u-pick operation is sampling the fare. Some farms, like Mark's, charge a "grazing" fee of $1 per person but most allow pickers to eat their fill as they gather fruit.

I'm not sure which I enjoy more — munching on berries while I pick or spending time outdoors chatting with my picking partners.

Conversations during berry picking are always special. It might be because we're in the fresh air away from attention-demanding computer screens. Without devices, fingers pluck fruit, leaving minds and mouths free to ease into thought-provoking exchanges. We pick, we talk, we explore topics that might otherwise go without discussion.

Picking fruit is such a positive activity I'm surprised how few people take advantage of it. It's not as if there's a dearth of u-pick operations in the area. The website pickyourown.org lists seven u-pick blueberry farms in Lake County in addition to many others in neighboring counties.

Our family has picked fruit all across the country. To us, traveling is not about choosing the fastest route from Point A to Point B. It's about which roads will take us past the most u-pick farms along the way.

Maybe making a bowlful of blueberries disappear doesn't qualify me to be a real magician, but it does prove my passion for these small orbs of goodness. The real trick is making time to take advantage of this fun-for-all-ages activity. Try it and you'll not only wind up with a fruitful outing, you and your picking partners will have a berry good time.

Find a blueberry farm
pickyourown.org/FL.htm
marksblueberries.com
bluebayoufarms.com
floridablueberrygrowers.com/blueberry-fans/u-pick-farms.html
lakecountyfl.gov/enjoying_lake_county/listings/U-pick
Lake Catherine Blueberries,  352 551-4110
Green Acres Fernry and Citrus (and Blueberries!) 352 360-5445. Alternate Phone: 352 406-9724

Mother's Day reflections

Messages of love

Simply Living
May 7, 2012

Although I've been a mother for 33 years, my parenting role isn't the same as it used to be.

When my kids were little, one of my main jobs was to sooth bumps and bruises. Tender kisses, comforting words and well-placed Band-Aids did wonders to alleviate life's owies and make everything better.

These days, the hurts I address tend to be more fiscal than physical.

Loving hugs and supportive comments still work magic but as my offspring navigate the turbulent waters of modern-day adulthood dealing with mortgage payments and insurance issues, daily living expenses, taxes and child-care concerns, I find myself reaching into my wallet more often than the medicine cabinet.

I don't mind the change and I'm glad to be able to help. At this stage of parenthood, instead of being a fixer of strife, my job is to be a fixture of life. I strive to be a stable reminder of what parenting is all about: unconditional love and support.

I'm more an observer these days than an active participant. Both of our daughters are married with children of their own. One son is in his last year of college while his older brother has taken over the day-to-day operations at our bamboo nursery. I try to be there for my children without being too involved in their everyday lives. I want to help without hampering their burgeoning efforts at adulthood and parenting.

As Mother's Day approaches, I find myself reflecting on the different stages of parenting.

I made it through the early days of seemingly endless sleepless nights, dealt successfully with medical emergencies, conquered challenging social and educational hurdles and managed to usher my children through their individual periods of romantic angst with everyone's hearts still intact.

If you had asked me what I wanted for Mother's Day 10 years ago when my youngest child was still living at home, I would have answered the same way I did every previous year: "I want four hours — that's all — just four hours, in the house ALL BY MYSELF."

When children are little, alone time is a precious commodity. The two things I couldn't get enough of when our kids were small were a good night's sleep and time in the house by myself. These days, both are non-issues.

I have plenty of alone time in a house no longer filled with other people's strewn-about clothing, partially filled glasses, broken toys and sandy-soled shoes. I enjoy my newfound independence as well as the chance to spend uninterrupted time with my husband. I also sleep better now than I have in decades although I still toss and turn when one of the kids is having problems that I can't get off my mind.

If you ask me now what I want for Mother's Day, I'd say, "I want to see my children happy. I want to know they are managing even though they've outgrown the magic of Band-Aids and a mother's kiss to make everything better."

There's no getting around life's bumps and bruises. Maternal roles may change as children age but a mother's desire to ease hurts remains constant.

My Mother's Day wish is intangible, but that doesn't make it less desirable or important. It also doesn't matter if the currency I dole out takes the form of dollar bills or common sense. My job as a mom is to do what I can to help my children live happy, healthy lives.

When my kids were little and they misbehaved, I used to give me them a piece of my mind. These days, peace of mind is the gift I'm after.

Sweet! An unexpected treat!

Surinam cherries turn from a bright red to a deep maroon when ripe.

Simply Living
April 30, 2012

I may be beginning my sixth decade but I felt the giddy excitement of a 6-year-old the other day when I made a foraged food discovery along a rural stretch of a west Orange County road.

I was driving along through the small town of Oakland on my way home from the Winter Garden Farmer's Market. That particular stretch of two-lane is especially scenic. Interesting looking older homes line the street flanked by mature landscapes and huge shade trees.

As usual when traveling this road, my eyes scanned the yards in search of foliage. Over the years, I've found that older neighborhoods are the best places to find uncommon plants, especially those with edible fruit. I've discovered a wide array of edible and floral displays by driving slowly through lesser-traveled neighborhoods. I've also learned that when politely asked, homeowners are usually kind enough to let me pick my fill of fresh-off-the-tree-or-bush treats.

Although I've taken the route from my south Lake home to Winter Garden almost weekly for several years now, I had yet to discover any fruit-laden gems.

That changed one recent day.

I was moseying along at a sedate 35 mph when a shock of yellow Mexican sunflowers caught my eye.

"Darn," I thought to myself, "My Mexican sunflowers got completely killed back by last winter's cold snap while this plant was untouched."

The farther I drove, the more I noticed plants that had made it through last winter unscathed. Hibiscus, shell gingers and loquat trees stood flush with flower, fruit and greenery. I wondered how a mere 20 miles could make such a difference. At home, frost damage had stunted growth on those plants and others.

As I approached a stop sign, I glanced to my right and caught a glimpse of what I thought might be a fruit-covered Surinam cherry bush. Surinam cherries were on my mind because the previous day — for the first time since 2008 — I noticed a handful of unripe berries on the one remaining bush in my yard. Of my half-dozen original plants, only one made it through the past few winter freezes.

Surinam cherry (Eugenia uniflora) is a South American native also known as Brazilian cherry, cayenne cherry, Florida cherry or by the exotic moniker, pitanga. The Florida Exotic Pest Plant Council considers Eugenia uniflora a Category I invasive species because it has spread out of control in South Florida. However, in the central and northern parts of the state it doesn't exhibit the same kind of invasive behavior because of its sensitivity to cold temperatures. When the thermometer dips below 30 degrees (as it does most winters), Surinam cherry bushes either suffer or, like the ones in my yard, give up the fight and die.

Since I wasn't sure if the plant I passed was a Surinam cherry or not, I decided to loop around the block to check it out again. As I returned to the spot where the bush stood, I slowed down to a crawl. Sure enough, it was a pitanga — a big sprawling bush filled with ripe fruit!

While I like the taste of Surinam cherries, the fruit of this shrub are not on everyone's favorite food list. The somewhat acidic, tart taste of these marble-sized maroon-colored berries is subtle at best. While I can honestly say Surinam cherries are neither particularly flavorful nor sweet, they are undeniably juicy. Yet, despite its lack of culinary distinctiveness, something about these small blood-red orbs appeals to my taste buds.

Although called a cherry, Eugenia uniflora is actually in the Myrtle family and is more closely related to guavas, cloves, allspice, feijoa and eucalyptus plants than it is to the familiar Bing cherry, which is in the Rose family. However, it is similar in size and color to cherries and like them, its soft flesh does surround a large pit (or occasionally two pits). It also shares a cherry's round shape except it has a flat base and ribbed sides.
Since the bush I discovered was alongside the road in a commercial location, permission to pick seemed unnecessary. Searching through the car, I uncovered a relatively clean pint-size container and proceeded to fill it with fruit. In less than 10 minutes, I was back on the road, the juicy, sweet-tart tang of foraged fruit flavoring my ride home.

I went to the Winter Garden Farmer's Market to stock up for the week on fresh produce but returned home with more than I purchased. I left with the realization that there's no age restriction on experiencing unexpected pleasure nor is there a limit to the amount of joy gleaned from discovering roadside treats. I also came back with the reaffirmation that one person's exotic plant pest is another's foraged delight.

That's what I call a successful outing.

Celebrating poems

Simply Living
April 23, 2012

Poems were the storybooks of my childhood. They have always meant so much to me. Growing up, my two favorite collections were a 1936 edition of "The Best Loved Poems of the American People" and Robert Louis Stevenson's classic "A Child's Garden of Verses." The former — its cover long gone — still sits on a shelf in my bedroom. I always open it carefully so as not to disturb any of the pressed flowers and four-leaf-clovers placed years ago to mark special pages.

Sometime during high school and college, I discovered Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, Ogden Nash, Tennyson and Wordsworth. The verses of A.A. Milne, Shel Silverstein and Bill Peet took on special meaning once I started having children of my own.

I don't have many lines memorized, but a few select verses have taken root in my mind. The familiarity of the words, the sentiments, the rhymes and rhythms are balm to my spirit. Like the old friends they are, I revisit them frequently for comfort and joy.

Unlike me, my father-in-law, Ralph P. Boas, knew many poems by heart. His capacity for remembering words of whimsy, story poems and limericks was truly remarkable. His splendidly executed recitations never failed to amaze and entertain. I've always felt fortunate to have married into a family with such a gifted patriarch.

My father-in-law and I not only shared an appreciation for all things poetic, we shared a passion for composing our own poetry, too.

I wrote my first poem when I was 9 and have since filled many an old napkin, scrap of paper and computer file with my introspective meanderings. Poetry was the outlet for my teenage angst and helped me over the hurdles of young parenthood. I've written rhymes to commemorate special occasions and others that simply satisfied my need to express the moment.

On Thursday, in honor of National Poetry Month and Poem in Your Pocket Day, I invite anyone who shares my passion for poetry to join me at 7 p.m. at Yada Yada Pottery & Indie Coffee House located in WindHorse Wellness Center in Eustis. I'll be there with a few favorite verses to read aloud and I hope you will bring along a special poem or two, too. All types of poems are welcome.

In a world in which woeful and frightening events often take center stage, we can all use a dose of soothing contemplation. I invite anyone to come to this free event with or without a poem in his or her pocket. Come to listen. Come to share. Come to celebrate the power and beauty of the written word.

For more information about Poem in Your Pocket Day as well as links to thousands of poems visit poets.org.

Poem in Your Pocket Day
What: Informal gathering of people who enjoy poetry, their own or others.
When: 7 to 9 p.m. Thursday.
Where: Yada Yada Pottery & Indie Coffee House located in WindHorse Wellness Center, 351 Plaza Drive, Eustis.
Details: 352-735-1328, windhorseworld.com or yadayadapottery.com.
Cost: Free.

A pretty but prickly Florida wildflower

"It's tricky picking pretty prickly poppy plants." Try saying that five times fast.

Argemone albiflora

If you're having difficulty twisting your tongue around the words, it's a lot easier than wrapping your hand around the bristly stems and thistly leaves of this Florida wildflower. Safer, too.

Look but don't touch the white prickly poppy, a roadside wildflower that appears in well-drained, dry sandy locations March through mid-summer.

White prickly poppy (Argemone albiflora) is a Florida native that appears along roadsides when the weather begins to warm in March and continues flouting its showy blooms throughout the early summer months.

Several white prickly poppies growing alongside the highway in Minneola

Rather than growing in sprawling clusters like blanketflower, black-eyed Susan, tickseed or phlox, individual plants have a tendency to pop up in random locations. Along a short stretch of U.S. Highway 27 north of Minneola I've noticed several spots where single prickly poppy plants are growing in the disturbed area between pavement and tree line.

The plants, which stand about 3 feet tall and half as broad, have milky blue stems with sharp needle-like spikes that are responsible for one of its common names, Bluestem prickly poppy. Other nicknames include the equally apt thistle poppy and crested prickly poppy.

Prickly leaves and bristly stems do an excellent job of protecting this pretty wildflower

Regardless of what name it goes by, one thing is certain — ignore prickly poppy and it's happy. Pamper this white-flowered beauty and watch it waste away.

Prickly poppy won't thrive if placed in a garden-like setting with rich, organic matter where it is watered frequently, fertilized and mulched. The environment it needs has dry, well-drained sandy soil in a sunny to partially sunny location.

I find it interesting that such a well-armored, leave-me-alone plant has such pretty, delicate blossoms. The white nearly flat cup-shaped blooms are 2 to 3 inches wide with bright yellow centers. They are easy to notice when driving down the road because they provide a sharp contrast to the green landscape.

Travelers aren't the only ones to notice these warm-weather bloomers. The pollen-rich flowers attract bees and butterflies, but deer and livestock know better than to approach these prickly bloomers because, like other members of the poppy family (Papaveraceae), all parts of white prickly poppy contain highly toxic components.

Break the stem and a white latex sap leaks out.

The ancient Romans, Native Americans and traditional healers in many cultures have used the alkaline liquid, which turns yellow as it dries, to relieve skin ailments like cold sores and warts. However, the sap can also cause irritation and even glaucoma if it gets into the eyes. Similar risks are associated with the plant's seeds, roots and leaves. The seeds have a sedative effect but can also cause vomiting. The flowers and roots have usefulness in treating congestion but only if administered in proper proportions. The entire plant contains too much risk of toxicity for anyone but a trained herbalist to use.

"It's tricky picking pretty prickly poppy plants" is more than a tongue twister — it's a good thing to remember when approaching this roadside beauty.

An island rises

In 2012, three turtles consider the emerging island of peat to be an excellent place to catch some rays on an April afternoon

Simply Living
April 9, 2012

An island is being born. I can see it from my kitchen window.

Beneath the shimmering surface of our 12-acre lake lie scattered mounds of peat left over from a mining process that ended a few years before we purchased the property. Some mounds are small. Others are big.

One of the broadest swaths of submerged soil sits smack in the center of the lake, only it isn't underwater anymore.

Day-by-rainless-day, the lake level gets lower and the island of peat becomes more and more visible. Last week I couldn't see the island at all. A mere seven days later it was large enough to support three turtles soaking up the midday rays. If the drought continues, it soon will be to the point it was 11 years ago when a pair of sandhill cranes chose the peat island for a nest site.

In 2001, water levels dropped so drastically it exposed a huge mid-lake island of peat. Although by then we had been living on the property for nine years, it was the first time we saw the peaty mass. Before, it had always been underwater.

We weren't the only ones to notice the change. The black mucky refuge attracted all kind of birds along with a variety of turtles, alligators and otters. Some came to perch, to hunt or to sun, but a pair of cranes staked a claim. They set about building a scrappy nest out of sticks and reeds and promptly filled it with two large brown speckled eggs. Predators arrived to case the situation but mama and papa crane were protective parents. They scared off or kept at bay any animal intent on devouring their offspring.

A family of sandhill cranes, one crow, an otter and a turtle took advantage of an exposed peat island in 2001.

As much as I worried about the low water level that year, I enjoyed the daily antics of the cranes and other critters. On one memorable day, I woke up to see not only the crane family (by then two babies had hatched) but also a crow, an otter and a turtle on the island.

It has been over a decade since the water level was that low but it seems to be happening all over again. I wake up in the morning and the first thing I do is look out the window. How big is the island today? What animals are on it? Will the cranes nest there again? If they do, will summer rains come and wash it away?

I have mixed feelings when I look out at the island.

On one hand, I want the rains to come. The drought is severe. Plants are suffering. Water levels have receded. We need rain to replenish our own supply as well as to satisfy the thirst of plants and animals.

On the other hand, wildlife is adapting. I see more turtles now than during wet periods and that means the otters probably will return to snatch easy meals. Previously submerged landmasses like our peat islands now provide safe harbor for birds. Plants are springing up in the recently exposed soil and more ospreys than usual have been hovering overhead in search of crowded fish in a decreasingly smaller pond.

Change is one of life's few givens. It happens whether we want it to or not. Rather than fret over possibilities beyond our control, it's sometimes best to accept the inevitable while focusing on the positives that accompany all situations.

It's not every day one is privy to the birth of an island. I'm excited to see what happens next.

Rope swing and boulders influence homesite selections

A large live oak growing alongside the lake makes the perfect rope swing tree.

Simply Living
April 2, 2012

My husband and I have designed and built several houses over the past four decades but only two have been on large undeveloped parcels where we intended to live for a long time. Both times, before putting pencil to paper or picking up a hammer, we spent hours walking the land surveying our surroundings.

Our objective was always to find the perfect site. What kind of exposure to sunlight did it have? What would the view be like? Were there any interesting natural fixtures in place that we could enjoy?

On Cape Cod, where we built our first home, we found ourselves drawn to a hilltop where two large boulders overlooked a salt marsh. The boulders — vast mounds of granite poking out of the earth — looked alive. Their distinctive shapes — one resembling a giant's head with wide mouth agape, the other with a flat top that begged climbing — were so alluring. We didn't have children in those days but we had a small herd of goats. Knowing how much our Nubians loved to clamber up objects, Ralph and I pictured them atop the rocks.

We decided to place our house between the two boulders so they'd always be within sight.

We spent 17 years in that hand-built house and although we stopped having livestock before we started building the house, we never tired of the views. West-facing windows looked out over the marsh while our south-facing panes framed the larger of the two boulders. The other rock was next to our entry, visible whenever we passed. In my memories of those Cape Cod days, boulders figure prominently.

Five years after we moved to Florida we were ready to build our second home, but the site for that hand-built house relied more on botany than geology.

A large live oak — one of only six large trees growing on the entire acreage — stood next to the lake. Its long, broad limbs stretched toward the water. Ralph and I looked at that tree, looked at each other and shared the same thought: Rope swing tree!

By then we had a family or four young children who shared our passion for outdoor activities. How fun it would be, we thought, to hang a thick, knotted braid of fibers from one of those limbs, swing out over the water and let go!

One of our favorite spots in Massachusetts had been a Cape Cod National Seashore pond in Wellfleet where a rope swing enabled us to splash into the cold water as soon as the weather warmed enough to dare. Before we had children, Ralph and I had enjoyed many afternoons at Spectacle Pond. In Florida, we looked forward to introducing our kids to the same type of experience but in a warmer climate.

We decided to place our house near the water, close to the oak tree.

Twenty-one years have passed since the day Ralph and I first surveyed our surroundings. Ralph did hang a rope from one of the oak's thick limbs and it remains in place today. Over the years, our kids probably played on it more than we did and I expect our grandchildren will do the same.

The older I get, the less likely it is I'll take the plunge, but that doesn't stop me from reaping pleasure. I like the idea of a rope swing tree. Just having it there makes me smile. I don't need to wrap my arms and legs around the cord to remember the feel of wind through my hair or the adrenaline rush before I release my grip to drop down into the water. I can do that through memories and vicariously through my offspring's antics.

There are countless reasons why people choose home sites. Ours just happened to center around nature and outdoor fun. Whether it involves a splash, a climb or some other activity, it's never dull living where playful adventures are close at hand.