use real butter

Recipe: fish-flavored eggplant

I am approaching the end of chemo season, about to start radiation season. That’s part of the reason I haven’t been able to cook much lately. Too many appointments for X-rays, blood draws, port removal, consultations, etc. It’ll settle down eventually. Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to ready the patio furniture for the season of unrelenting sun and thunderstorms:

oil rejuvenates

Another unfortunate occurrence this time of year is the inevitable crashing of little hummingbirds into our vast expanse of windows. We’re in the midst of searching for decals to deter the crashes, but not soon enough to prevent one this morning. Luckily, the little dude was merely shocked and had not broken his neck like two others this past weekend.

a little male broad-tailed hummingbird

**Jump for more butter**

I haven’t been cooking much lately because we’ve spent the weekend polishing off leftovers, planning our summer, enjoying my return to normalcy, and taking it easy (not really in my vocabulary, but sometimes it is worse to fight it). This morning we packed up the dog and camera and set off down the canyon for a stab at the blooms in Boulder.

a lesson in geography, weather
I realize there may be some climate confusion for folks who see pictures of snowy mountain ridges posted alongside beautiful wildflowers in my entries. For clarification: we live in the Rocky Mountains at an elevation of 8500 feet. Don’t try looking anywhere on the US East Coast for a point that is 8500 feet, because there isn’t one. Our bathroom is higher than their highest peak Mount Mitchell (6684 ft.) in North Carolina. [That’s right, the highest peak on the East Coast is not Mt. Washington in New Hampshire, even though many New Englanders would like you to think as much.] The town of Boulder, Colorado lies to the East of us by 18 miles and is nestled against the Front Range at 5430 feet.

satellite imagery by Google

**Jump for more butter**

Recipe: chicken diablo sandwich

I feel like I’m in pole position, revving my engine, ready to bolt across the starting line. I began to sense a slight increase in energy this afternoon and endeavored to take a short 2-mile jaunt on one of our backyard hikes. The smells of pine forests and damp earth (the snow is melting out in earnest) trigger the urge to run for me. I like the soft feel of the pine litter under my feet as my eyes search for what is around the next turn. That’s the beauty of trail running for me – I don’t get bored. But my body wasn’t ready for that today, so we hiked and had time to spy the very earliest of our local high-elevation wildflowers like the lavender-colored pasque, violet astragalus, and pretty white draba. I have a hard time running with my camera (unless I want to take out several ribs in the process), so it was just as well :)

who wants a treat?

**Jump for more butter**