I started this blog years ago, in response to my son's Declaration of Vegetarianism. It was just to post recipes/essays/music/pictures. In its new incarnation, it will be an odd conglomeration of political recipes, delicious essays, and links to home-cooked music.
I wrote a new song about the issues that are weighing on me, closest to my heart in these dark times: human rights and the environment. It is a song for the midterm elections in November, about voting. Enclosed at the end of this post are two versions, one with just the lyrics on one page, and one with chords over a few pages. It is easy to play on a guitar, please feel free to sing it if you like it when you hear the song. This song is dedicated to a man that I do not know. His name is Cody Hall, and he spoke in a moving youtube video, "Mni Wiconi: The Stand at Standing Rock". He made an eloquent call to action. This song is my answer to his call -- Mr. Hall, thank you, I listened to my heart.
Cody Hall is a warrior and a leader, and he comes from a lineage of great leaders: Chief Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse. He leads by word and the example of his courage. I am a nerd who loves music, who, since Nov. 2016, cries a lot. I am from a lineage of good farmers. My name, Korber, means "weaver", a family name that links me to some long forgotten ancestor who did something useful for work, and I like to imagine, maybe even something beautiful. We sang a lot in my house when I was growing up. Protest songs: Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, Bob Dylan, and Joan Baez. We always cared about justice, both for people and for the Earth. My sister and I were taught to respect people like Cody Hall, people willing to sacrifice so much to try to make our country, our collective home, better and stronger. I personally care a lot about science, and like most scientists in our times, I express myself through slide shows. So I did what I could do, made a song, and a slide show video. Here's to Charts, Graphs, and Rock 'n' Roll. Here's to the brave Cody Hall.
Thanks to the wonderful musicians, friends old and new, who gave life to my tune. I will be posting a recording and a YouTube video to go with it, sung by my amazing friend and musical mentor, Lisa Carman. I'm honored to have had the talented Jono Manson, Satish Pillai, Paul Pearcy, Justin Bransford, Adrienne Bellis, Janice Ritter, and Michael MacDonald in musical collaboration to record the song, as well as Peter Oviatt who brings All Hands On Deck with his banjo for the video credits. And thanks to the all the photographers whose work I weave; your art visually tells the stories of our times. Photo credits are at the end of the video.
Also, I want to explain my motivation for including of one of photos I have in the video. It is there for a complicated reason. It is of sweet little girl who looks so afraid, at the border crossing in Texas with her mother. It is picture by John Moore/Getty. Mr. Moore has shown us with an unflinching clarity the deep human suffering in our borderlands. His work as a photojournalist helped wake up our nation's compassion. His photo of this little girl went viral. Some sources who posted it were confused about her status, and thought she had been separated from her mom, so it was a big story when her father wrote in that she and her mom had not been separated. But because of this confusion, the far right shrilly screamed "FAKE NEWS"; I viewed this as a cynical attempt to drown out the real story, and distract our nation from our newly found resolve to treat asylum seekers better. And distracted we were. Over and over the press coverage was about the many people calling this picture fake, shifting our attention from the families. As a consequence, for precious days, the national debate on the issues was confounded.
Photo by John Moore/Getty; Asylum seekers, June 12, McAllen, Texas
She is in my video because her tears are their own truth. I'm weary of people simply bellowing "FAKE NEWS!", and the news coverage of The Bellow then drowning out the deeper truths we are forgetting as a nation how to recognize. This is just one example of this dangerous pattern. In this particular case, the deeper truth this picture reflects is that asylum seekers have often journeyed far through terrible conditions; many faced this journey because they were fleeing terrors we can only begin to imagine. Once they are at our border, but only at our border or in our lands, they have a right to ask for asylum and to have their case considered. This is under international law for refugees, human rights laws that America helped craft and has historically supported. This little one's face was a real refection of a real moment on her and her mom's journey to seek asylum. She was afraid. There is power and truth in this photo. As this photo came out, our government was beginning to report that many many other children, at just such a moment, were taken away from their parents and put into child detention centers, through the "Zero Tolerance Policy" imposed by Attorney General Jeff Sessions, Trump administration policy. Alex Azar, secretary of Health and Human Services acknowledged 3,000 children had been taken by July 5th, 2018. The kids are so vulnerable, and so are their parents. What lifetime scars has Mr. Session's brutality left them with? These people deserve respect and consideration of their case. We should greet them with compassion, not fear. Could you have taken your child through such a journey, risking all to seek safety, and survived?
Fact checking and truth is important. Corrections when mistakes are
made are valuable and good. When this picture was so much in the news, it was right for the press to be very clear that she and here mom were not separated. But what should our response be, as human beings, to learning
our small friend was not taken from her mother? How about "Thank God, these two are together!" instead of "FAKE NEWS!".
Thanks to what remains of our Free Press, which is under constant attack from this administration, the American people saw the horror of family separation, even though our government for the most part closed these children's camps off from public view. And when we learned about it, our people demanded that it stop. Our country turned out to have limited tolerance for zero tolerance, once we understood the implications. Our courts also demanded that the separations stop, and that separated families be reunited, in response to the legal case for the families brought forward by the ACLU. But Jeff Session's nightmare policy had been so poorly implemented that for many of the children, they did not even keep record of who they were, who their parents were. Some babies were so little they could not yet even speak their own names -- so they even stole their names, when that and their family's love were all they had in the world. As a consequence, now that at least we are going in the right direction and making progress in righting this terrible wrong, the process of reuniting families has been muddled and is shamefully slow.
We need to treat people with dignity and compassion. We are Americans. We can do this.
Creative Commons License
CC Modification: It is OK to sing this song in any live performance, non-profit or for profit.
Many of these pictures are taken by James or myself, but a few came from friends we made on our trip, Homa and Onanang. To celebrate our 30th anniversary, March 4th, 2018, we were traveling with Baja Jones Adentures, a wonderful way to visit the gray whales in their winter waters.
Laguna Ojo de Liebra is part of La Reserva de la Biosfera El Vizcaíno, a UNESCO World Heritage
Site, and is a whale sanctuary. It is a world treasure, a sacred place, honored
and vigilantly cared for by the good people of Mexico. It is given to the gray
whales to bring their little ones into the world, and to court and mate, a part
of their Baja destination in their annual swim south, from the ice-riddled
arctic seas to the warm waters of Mexico. The lagoon is vast, and when the
whales are there in their winter home, it is kept safe for them: no fishing, no
sailing, no swimming or kayaking in their wintering waters, not even drones
allowed overhead. An ancient place left in peace for whales. Only a handful of
very small boats are allowed on the water, and those only allowed in sections
of the lagoon. This restriction is so the whales can choose if they are
inclined to do some people-watching, or not.
Here is what happens when you visit. Your captain takes you
out in a little boat, capacidad maxima 10
personas, and you motor out into the vast blue of the lagoon; you can lean
over the side and let your fingers ripple the blue water. As you move out into
the lagoon, your eyes hopefully scanning the horizon, you start to see whales
spouting all around you -- great plumes of white water shooting up to feather
into the wind. Thar she blows! And Thar! And Thar! Finally the captain idles
the motor, so you are just rocking in the wind, on the little swells of the
lagoon. And then, they come.
Spyhop
The first time we went out, we happened into spyhopping
lessons. Out of the lagoon would rise a vertical tower of whale, upright and
half out of the water. Then another, and another, and they were all around us,
across the vast space of the lagoon, some very near, some distant. I thought
the spyhopping would be fast; there was so much whale to lift out of the water,
how could they linger long in our world? But it was a dignified controlled
rise, and they would quietly stay upright for long moments, studying the
world-above before just sinking back down into the water.In shallow places in the lagoon, I was told
they balance on their tails, but in other places they were just supported by
the their great flukes, waving back and forth in the deep waters.
Just Breathe
Their breath was like a gentle whoosh and sigh.If we were lucky, it would be a pair heading towards us, Momma and baby:
breathe, arc down, disappear for a minute, and then another explosion of spray
as they surfaced next to our little boat. Sometimes we would be soaked in the
rain of a spouting whale, all of us laughing, with the great momma arched up
right next to us. Hello! I think they deliberately douse the boat, and it’s
lovely. Maybe they like it when we laugh. The little ones come up for a breath
in a perfect arc just by their big Momma’s side. Sometimes you when look up
into the white spray of their breath, it would catch the sunlight in a rainbow.
When they were very near, you could see them moving fluidly
just under the surface of the clear water, gliding by (and by and by), so vast
and gentle. You could usually only see a small part of them at any one time,
they were so much bigger than boats we were in. It is very hard to convey the
feeling of wonder, and the unexpected feeling of peace. Their skin is a mottle
of white, light gray, darker gray patches, with white scars and barnacles
making distinctive patterns. We could sometimes tell who was who when several
were playing around our little boat, by their markings. “Ah -- there is the momma with two lines of
scars across her back!” or “I recognize those flukes!” As they were swimming by
the boat, the vast landscape of their skin would abruptly reveal a flipper,
their side-flipper alone bigger than a man, weaving purposefully through the
water, beautiful in color and design, every movement fluid and graceful. Water-wings.
Everything was surprisingly slow, gentleness scaled up to awesome.
One whale played hide-and-seek with us, surfacing on one
side of the boat, going under, surfacing on the other. And he kept up this
game, delighting everyone on board, as we would dash across our little boat,
following the cries of, “He’s here!”, NO! He’s here!Now, here he is, here he is!”My hands were in the water, he would glide just
inches from my reach, then plunge deep and disappear, only to spyhop again in
front of the boat, circle down and glide under us again. His flukes would be on
one side of the boat, his head on the other. He would dive and breathe and
scoot by, circle back and do it all again. When our captain finally decided to
motor away, the whale was ready to keep playing; he escorted us, swimming
parallel to the boat, for quite a stretch, and we regretted leaving him.
Twice I saw a whale came up to the surface on its side to
bring an eye out of the water and peer into our boat.So twice I was graced with looking into the
eye of a wild whale, once a baby, once a great lone whale that rose up, his
side out of the water, and met my gaze.What did I see there? Intelligence. Mystery. Recognition – our eyes met,
we saw each other. Attributes perhaps I’m not allowed by those who are quick to
harrumph at anthropomorphizing, but still, this seems true to me: I saw
curiosity, and a gentle tolerance. But perhaps that was context, because both
qualities were clearly manifested in their actions. These extraordinary beings
can live over 60 years.What do they
remember of us, if they think of us at all? I think they must at least consider
us, as this people-watching thing is pretty clearly a part of their
whale-culture.
Sunday morning as we were cruising out in our boat, we were
greeted by magnificent flukes, shooting straight up from the sea, towering up
into the sky and holding very still: I am here, I am here, I am here!
The mommas and babies stayed very close to each other,
side-by-side and often touching as they swim.While I suspect it would be dangerous to get between a mother and her
baby, I’m not even sure it would be possible, as they stay so close
together. As they rose in synchrony out of the water to breathe, the babies
would sometimes flip their flukes up along the their momma’s back, a tender
cuddle. The babies had to get strong, to make their journey of 5,000 miles up
the coast to the Arctic seas. So they were all being taken out for swimming
lessons, strengthening as they swam daily against the tidal currents in the
deeper channels of their lagoon. Their mothers had not eaten since autumn;
their great bodies (nearing 50 feet long, weighing up to 40 tons) holding all
they needed for both their own journey, and to pass strength into the little
ones.Each baby nursed more than 50
gallons of warm creamy milk a day, to build up the muscle and blubber they
would need for the long trip to their cold northern sea-home.Newborns are up to 15 feet long, 1400 pounds.
They grow fast, and they were considerably bigger than this already in early
March when we came to see them. The babies had whale-ways to learn. How to
spyhop. How to ride their mothers’ backs, a strategy to take refuge in case
they are attacked by a pod of orcas as they are en route to their arctic summer feeding grounds. Several times we
saw little ones near the surface, their mothers steady and just underneath
them. Once a baby found itself horizontal across his momma’s back as she
surfaced, and then he slip-slided into the water… Practice, little one, you have
a long and dangerous swim ahead!
Our second day, we humans in our little boat were invited to
a dance.A trio of adult whales were,
according to our guide, courting, and they swam to our boat side. Their
movements were utterly beautiful. A furl of a whale fluke, 10 feet of smooth
grace emerging from the water with a waterfall of sea shimmering off its edge.
An undulation of grays rippling just beneath the surface of the water.
Sometimes it was difficult to see where one whale began and the other ended. Flipper,
fluke, jaw would surface by the boat, then sink down again into the green blue
waters. The blow-hole of the whale as it came up for a breath, then the calming
sweet sound of its exhale, then the slow arching of its back out of the water,
the knobs of its spine ripping past as it dove deeper into the water, ending
with a flourish of its tail; all was movement, elegance and power. They were
strong enough to smash our boat in a moment, instead this dance was perfectly
controlled, and their small human audience was safe in the midst of wonder.
They repeatedly came within inches of our boat, but never touched it. One swam
along by the boat on his side, flipper up, like a flag. It was ridiculously
cute. Another spyhopped.One rolled its
great belly up to the sky, perhaps to cool down in the brisk wind, but it
seemed utterly vulnerable, full of trust.For me, these three were the most remarkable encounter. I gather two
whales mate with the help of another whale; given their vast size and their
watery home, love-making is not a simple task for a pair, and they need some
support. Perhaps a new baby will be swimming in Laguna Ojo de Liebra next
winter, as a perfect finale to the elegant dance we witnessed the beginnings of
on this fine March day.
We also had the good fortune to see some whales breaching.
My God!Exuberance is the word that
seems to be associated with most descriptions of breaching, so, “exuberance” it
is. Breaching is when a whale leaps out of the water, his whole body shining in
the sun, waves pouring off him as he curves with a quick twist in the sky, and
then splashes down. The sea closes over him, quickly taking him back into his
home, and the sea birds rush into the space he just held in the air, flying in
spinning vortex, circling over the great turbulence in the sea where the fish
are swept to the surface in the chaos of his landing.
Osprey parent
Ojo de Liebra had
other wonders to offer as well. For a time, a gull flying over our boat decided
to hang out with us, so just rode the wind and lingered over our heads, a small
birdish human-watcher.Dolphins, with
their sleek fast ways would speed by, dorsal fins up and slicing through the
water. As we were heading in to dock, a pair of dolphins, their two fins
side-by-side, came racing towards our boat. They zoomed in front of us, then they
leapt together, both out of the water in two perfect synchronous arcs.
Show-offs! There was an osprey nest on the boat dock, with a magnificent couple
tending to their cute little gray fluff ball, the chick peering over the edge
of his grand stick-home, looking down at us as we passed under.A fine-looking coyote, strong with an elegant
glossy coat, was trotting along the dirt road as we drove back out to the
campground, and he lay down to watch us rumble by. We turistas were visiting theater for the native furred and feathered set that call this place home.
Just two days with the whales.A time-out-of-time.Grace and wonder.
Here is a link to three short whale videos that were shared by our new friends on the trip.
Flying into the Far
Away
Friends told me they were thinking about a trip to Baja, to
see the whales for themselves, and asked for some thoughts about how to go, and
what it is like. Here is my main thought: if you’re the least bit tempted, then
go. JT and I went to Baja specifically to see the whales of Laguna Ojo de Liebra, but loved our
whole trip. We went with Baja Jones Adventures, and we highly recommend them –
Keith Jones and his posse of good old friends have been hosting these trips for
many years, and they know what they are about. You’re camping. There is nothing
else out there, and it would be crazy to stay in town, and besides it is lovely
on the beach.But even if you’re not a
camper by temperament, they make it very easy: a really comfortable bed in your
tent; a wooden floor with a rug; sand swept up and tent cleaned every day; a
down comforter; hot showers; great meals; and they take care of all the
transportation. The soft clean sheets smelled lovely, and when I saw the sheets
billowing in the wind, set out to dry on the line, I understood why: you were
resting your head on white sheets made fragrant by the desert wind. Then there
are the whale tales and yarns, spun in the quiet evenings after they fix you a
delicious dinner. Free from the internet, the ancient art of listening, and
then countering a story of your own, wakes right up! Conversation turns to
tigers, to gorillas, then to pandas as you sip your China tea, because Keith
Jones and his girlfriend Onanang travel the world together.
You can find Baja Jones Adventure Travel on the web, and if
you want to go to Baja next year, you should sign up early, as the flights are
a limiting factor and it helps to schedule early.In particular, flights into Guerrero Negro
are limited, typically only a few a week go from Ensenada, and the alternative
is a 14 hour bus or drive through Baja, from San Diego. There are a couple of
other travel options, with other groups around San Ignacio, another Baja lagoon
that the whales winter in. Baja Jones is the only guided trip to Ojo de Liebra.
(Alternatively, you could make your own way down, there was
plenty of space in the campground, and they have built shelters from the wind.
If you decide to do this, get out to the dock first thing in the morning to get
a place on a boat, and they will take you out with the whales for 1.5-2 hours.
Plan to go out several times at least. Each time out was unique, the whales
were up to different stuff. And plan to eat papayas.)
But we really enjoyed being so well taken care of. We were met in San Diego, and driven south to Ensenada, to board the little 13-seater plane that takes you to the town of Guerrero Negro, ½ way down the Baja Peninsula. The plane flies low, skimming the wild lonely Pacific coast. We could watch the skin of deep blue sea in its constant movement. It makes a plaid, a weaving of swells in a warp and weft that run in perpendicular lines of light and wind and water. The fluffy white clouds cast dark traces of themselves as shadows on the surface, and the darkest blue channels run deep and mysterious. A few images of the Baja coastline from the plane:
Five pictures of the Baja Pacific coast from the plane.
The first stop was at the Isla des Cedros, steep mountains plunging abruptly up out of the
sea.Curved beaches where the mountains
join the sea, with lines of crashing breakers, are each perfect places that no
road touches. As we were flying in, a collection of clouds had gathered on the
peaks and highest ridges, so that the rim of the island that touched the sky
was lost in clouds. On the way back, the sky was clear, we could see that on
these highest steepest points, Cedar trees grow, giving the island her name;
thin lines of green at the crest of everything. We marveled that any tree could
make a home on land so steep and barren, until we realized that those highest
ridges and peaks that were precisely the gathering place of the clouds; the
embrace of the clouds must be how the trees have enough water to flourish.We later met a wonderful fellow, Oscar, who
works at the camp. He had lived on Isla
des Cedros for a stretch when he was young.He had taken a backpack up those steep desert mountains, found a rare
flat place among los Cedros, and
tucked himself into it for a night, his only company trees and the stars. He
treasured that lonely memory; I loved being invited into it.
Salt Barge
The industry on that little island is transferring salt from
the Guerrero Negro salt mines in
Baja, taken out to the island by tug boat and barge, to the deep-water
ocean-going vessels, that then ship it out to the rest of the world – salt for
Japanese industry, for safe roads in an Alaskan winter, for a sprinkling in a
soup-pot in New Zealand.It’s the
largest salt mine in the world, so you see mountains of salt, rivers of salt: 7
million tons a year flow through this place.
We were the only gringos on the flight, and we had the
company of a few families: salt farmers (la
sal de la tierra).After we bounced
down into our landing on the island, kids tumbled out of the plane, bursting
with all the laughter they had politely held in check for the flight. They
magically transformed the airport steps into a playground, and the one little
broken pillar that was in the airport yard became a framework for
hide-and-seek. Chief magician in this transformation was a knee-high
El Capitan
person, her hair swooped up with ribbons, and all dressed up in lace for her flight home.
Her beautiful big brown eyes were peeping around the pillar’s base, more
laughter erupting when her Dad “found her” and spun her into the air. The Boss
of the tiny airport was the Belgian Shepherd who took his work very seriously,
his nose carefully checking every single bag with rigor and focus. Then he sat
quietly by his human assistant, watching his domain, the antics of the kids
bringing out just a hint of a tail wag. He was a military dog, his dignity
singing out, “yo no soy marinero, soy capitan, soy capitan…”
Ejido Benito Jaurez
is a collective, the Ejidos
established in the Mexican Revolution to share and govern resources in a
region.The Ejido chooses the fate of the place, and in Ojo de Liebra the people work with the biosphere reserve to best
share their home with the whales.These
people are also the ones who mine the salt from the sea, and the huge
evaporation pools that give an otherworldly look to the landscape as you drive
out to the lagoon. You are surrounded by pillars and islands of pure salt
slowly emerging in these fields of evaporating water, water so still it makes a
perfect blue mirror of the sky. It is an interesting patient sort of mining:
flood a pool via a channel from the lagoon, the let it dry, and dry some more,
and then some more, then gather the salt. The local people also fish, and they
seem to live in harmony with their trust. The lagoon is closed to all fishing,
swimming, kayaking, boating and other activities while the whales are here;
they just allow a few small boats onto restricted parts of the vast lagoon.
This is governed by a harbormaster, who keeps both whales and people safe.They give the whales room to rear their
young, and space to frolic. Whales definitely need space to frolic.
The lagoon is vast, an expanse of deepest blue and greens,
set in wild dry desert. It is a 2-dimentional world, horizons on all side. Our
first night we saw a full moon rise, a great golden-orange orb to the east, in
balance with the sun setting into the sea to the west; the sky was rimmed with
fire and light either way you looked. Subsequent nights we got to watch Orion and
his bright companion Sirius spin across the winter sky, and Cassiopia riding by
in her throne, because the moon circled round later and later each evening,
leaving the opening act to the stars in a very dark sky. There were distant
mountain ranges that rim this flat world to the east, north and south, their
strange silhouettes a dark and jagged drama.To the west, it’s lagoon, as far as you can see.
When I arrived on Friday, words like barren, stark, and
harsh were scuttling around my brain.By
Saturday, those words made themselves scarce, and I instead I saw a world of
softness. Gentle curves of sand, caressed and carved by wind into waving
patterns of curves upon curves. The cool sand underfoot. The beautiful colors
to the rest your eyes: greens, creamy whites and gold, and every kind of blue.
The laughter from our new friends. The arc of a gull’s wings. The way wind and
water, chief architects, slowly shaped this landscape into an abstraction of
ripples. An ocotillo branch, slim twist of life, with green leaf and red
trumpet flowers, a vivid
Ocotillo remembers rain.
trace of the blessing left by a rare and recent rain.
A flock of a hundred sea birds rising into flight, then tilting into the wind
in unison so the dark and light of their wings held the same shifting angles,
making a moving sculpture of light, life, flight and feather.
The sound of the sea stirs with the tides, a gentle lapping
on the shore; this rhythm was a continuous undercurrent for the strong winds
that course over this place.The wind
quiets down in the morning, but is relentless in its midday start up. It rocks
your tent at night, beating at the canvas, and pulling at the ties; the tent
groans, as the wind gathers up its strength and charges again. This wind
rattles your between-time: waking/sleeping twilight dreams are shaped by the
sounds of your tent doing its best impression of a clipper ship in a storm. I
closed my eyes to see sails billowing and slamming in the wind, to hear the
wooden ship’s joints creaking and shifting.But then, it was in fact, just a tent, we were snug on shore, and
eventually each night, sleep came. We would wake to the quiet of still
mornings. All wind-blown dreams fled with the sun and the promise of whales.
Anniversary Party
This trip spanned our 30th anniversary: 3/4/2018, so we
Marched Forth, again.We decided to
re-speak our vows, but this time with leviathans and our new friends as our
witnesses. Patti helps with the camp, she is the resident whale-whisperer. Like
the whales, she comes on her own annual migration to Ojo des Leibra, her
wintering grounds. She leaves her family’s farm in Minnesota to find her place
with her whale-kin. She took us under her wing.She put her very creative mind into turning our little re-vow ceremony
into a perfect celebration.She timed
it, with the sun going down over the lagoon, so the surface of the sea was
filled with diamonds. Then she found a lovely of drift of sand for us to
promenade down, she up gathered the camp to bear witness, and she miraculously
came up with recording of “In my life, I love you more” for us to walk to. She
then did a remix of the Beatles, with the Baja wind on rhythm, and she got the
whole thing on video for us: wind, Beatles, and us.
And I got to look again into my JT’s green eyes as we
renewed the promise of our future together, but this time that man of mine is a
handsome Silverback.Then there was
champagne, toasts, and camp dinner table decorated with hearts and whale
drawings, and Patti’s sweet gift of a beautiful shell. Then, the other
camp-Patty, the camp chef, served us up a fantastic chicken mole, scented with
cinnamon and chile, and a Tres Leches cake finale.
Three whales heading north -- baby on top of mom on the left.
It was very hard to leave Monday morning. Flying out low
over the coast line, we could see five mother-and-baby whale-pairs also leaving
the lagoon, turning right, heading out for the Northern lights (Perhaps that is
why they do all that spyhopping practice, getting ready to attend the Celestial
Theater in the Northern seas).I suspect
the mother whales were feeling some of the same tug at their hearts that I was,
sad to leave this magical place. But I like thinking about how curious and
wondering the little ones must have felt, as they left the lagoon for the very
first time to follow their mommas into the sea.
Easy Chicken/Squash
mole:
Patty of Baja Jones Adventures suggested getting a pre-made
jar mole; I was happy to follow her advice not deal with hours of work and 26
ingredients.
She is a wise woman.While what I made was not
Patty at work in the camp kitchen
as good as Patty’s was, still I managed to serve mole it on a work
night, and it was a quite a step up from our usual fare.
1) Squash: Steamed a cubed butternut squash, with a 5
sprigs of fresh rosemary. When the squash is soft, ~ 25 minutes, it is ready.Rosemary infuses the squash, and squash is
really tasty this way on its own.
Serve sprinkled with toasted pinon nuts, lightly toasting
them in a hot frying pan prior to serving. As a veg alternative for dinner, just skip the
chicken below and stick with squash.
2) Get some rice cooking.
3) Fry 2 boneless skinless chicken breasts, on the stove top
in a little olive oil until golden brown (15-20 minutes total). Slice chicken and serve on top of fresh greens (baby kale…).
4) Starting with a jar of purchased mole, follow the
directions on the jar and warm it up (it comes concentrated, and looks like
axle grease; don't be fooled).I used Majordomo Mole Negro, purchased at Amazon, about 1/3 cup, added some water, a few squares of very dark
sweetened chocolate, and some extra cinnamon.One jar will last several meals. I served the mole in a small
dish on the side, and we dipped bites of chicken or squash into the mole -- mole fondue, rather than
pouring the sauce over; I don’t think this is traditional, but we liked
regulating how much mole we wanted, as it is quite rich.
Music to cook by:
After renewing my old friendship with the Pacific Ocean last week,
feeling restored by her power and beauty, I came home inspired to try to
look into how to get active in the fight against the horrifying
offshore drilling threat that Zinke and Trump have created. They are
putting our coastal waters and all who depend up on them at risk (as for those who depend on the Pacific coast, the whales and their life giving annual migration come to mind). Here are maps of evil intent:
This kind of damage we can not step aback from; Democrats as well as Republicans are united in this fight.
I was
hoping to write a letter to the Dept. of the Interior in
protest, but discovered I just missed the period for public comment
(ended March 9th). But, California friends, I found a great thing you
can do -- write or call you state representatives to express your
support for California senate Bill SB-834, or its counterpart Assembly
Bill 1775, which would prohibit new pipelines in state waters. Here are
some links to read more, if you're interested. Meanwhile, I would
welcome thoughts on the best ways for New Mexican's to help. Please learn more, and figure out how to help. Your Earth needs you. Now. #Resist#WaterIsLife
