little green room

Goodnight Moon begins by describing the "great green room." Here's our little green room for our little guy, who is due any day, in June.

The corner cubbies are filled with books and treasures, including my stuffed teddy bear, "Bobby," and "Lambie," at top. My grandmother's miniature rocking horse completes the trio. 

The feeding, reading, rocking, and reclining corner. The photographs feature Iowa City and the Iowa countryside -- just one of the artistic contributions from the baby's aunts and uncles. (Others include a whimsical painted owl, an original poem, and a collage with Psalm 139.)

The curtains, crib, and changing table. I had to hunt a bit to find furniture low enough to accommodate my short height! I've gathered items from all different places, like twigs for a nest.

shorter days, snazzier lighting

My industrious in-laws visited over Labor Day weekend, quickly adopting the honey-do list as their own. We learned a bit about hard-wiring, caulking, and problem-solving ... and now we can remember their invaluable help every time we flip the switch.

The first project was upgrading the mismatched and poorly functioning outdoor lights. We added a touch of industrial chic:

Next, we installed a modern gray felt pendant in the dining room. Perhaps my love for the color gray is some kind of subconscious effort to balance my extroverted personality? The dining room in morning light:

In the picture above, you can also see my grandmother's mirror and a framed old map of the great state of Iowa, which we found at the Capitol Hill flea market. Look through the pocket door to the kitchen, and you'll catch a glimpse of the new gas range and OTR microwave ... our only significant "upgrade" so far. Finally, I can cook again! Just in time for fall soups and sauteed apples. Speaking of fall, please enjoy this close up of my harvest centerpiece (shades of grandma), composed of gourds from the farmers market:

trowels vs. tractors

Like the yuppies and dinks around us, we are centrally located between the farm fields of Virginia and the Farm Bill halls of power. We enjoy a Whole Foods and a year-round farmers market. But my interest in healthy food and how it is produced solidified during three years in Iowa City – one of the centers of Iowa’s local-food movement and adjacent to some massive corn fields. Now, I can’t claim to know many farmers -- though I did enjoy Galen’s lamb occasionally -- but I think processing the food movement (pun intended) while living in Iowa prompted some helpful questions about utopian farming and food systems. Also, my husband loves Oreos and being a devil’s advocate.

There’s more to consider and write about on this topic: the responsibility of Christians to steward the earth – and feed the poor; the unintended elitism of much of the locavore/foodie movement; and society’s construction of food mores with a kind of religious fervor.

For now, consider this article recommended by Mark Bittman on “The Facts about Food and Farming.” Maybe we have room for trowels and tractors.

three months immense

Rilke reflects “the summer was immense” but this year brought a three-month fall. Three months of crisp-not-cold air, three months of tiredgreen-gold-orange-crackling leaves. The marigolds and pansies still haven’t given up. September football and the last of the goldenrod in Pennsylvania. November football and the last tailgate of the season. For Thanksgiving, it was still fall in Iowa, which is not always the case. This year I’m thankful for a fall so immense. So immense that, for the first time in many years, I’m ready for Christmas. Lord, it is time.

(The tree is at Mount Vernon, George Washington’s estate south of D.C. We visited it with good friends, on a warm Sunday in early November.)

what can we carry?

The moving truck is coming tomorrow. I haven’t had to pack all the boxes myself this time, so the move still seems distant, days off. I’m still trying to figure out what treasured possessions should come along in the Civic and what to trust to the movers. There were a lot of goodbyes today, yesterday, the day before and before. It’s hard to go.

I’ve been listening to a new CD from Alli Rogers, a folk/pop singer-songwriter originally from Cedar Falls. I’m not great at remembering tunes, but I’ve had her song “The Things We Can and Cannot Keep” in my head these last few weeks as we’ve prepared to leave Iowa. It’s good for a transition:

what can we carry
what will stay with us
what will shine like gold
when the story’s told
some things will tarry
some will return to dust
there are things we can
and things we cannot keep

memorable morsels

Off the top of my head – favorite food moments from three years in Iowa City. A foodie yearbook page, if you will. Our friends are even more fantastic than the food they served.

Michelle’s cedar plank salmon and rosemary cheesecake (pictured at left) … indescribable. Good thing I’m not a food writer, because I couldn’t do them justice.

“Iron Chef” gatherings hosted by Emily. Squash, nuts, berries. And prizes for most creative, best presentation, and tastiest dishes!

Frequent family dinners, with countless desserts and lots of good conversation.

Cooking bibimbap with Jung Ok at Paula’s. Very spicy red stuff.

Bookish brunches and many, many fellowship meals at Lisa’s house. Coffee, casseroles, cookies. The door is always open there … just walk right in!

Darby’s scones, up on the third floor. She doesn’t live there anymore, but she still makes good things to eat.

Trying Thai recipes with Melissa – lettuce wraps and peanut-y noodles.

Orpah and Nate’s very cheesy pizza. Exploding beer and salsa!

finally, first farmers market

Saturday, I drove downtown and flip-flopped over to the first farmers market of the season! Walking down sunny, quiet blocks I kept thinking, “This is the day the Lord has made.” Usually, the first market is ushered in by blustery winds and regrets about leaving mittens and scarves at home. Michelle and I looked at all the pretty flowers and sniffed a lonely basil plant among flats of fennel. Oh, I’ll miss these early summer mornings.

My apologies—I don’t have the proverbial picture of asparagus to accompany this post. :)

on leaving the midwest

Our move from a little city to a big city is fast approaching. We’re not just changing towns; we’re changing regions. The people, cities, and landscape of the Midwest have nurtured me for most of my (brief) adult life … so I think some appreciative words are in order before I head “home” to the East Coast.

Wide-open spaces: (cue Dixie Chicks) The birds here stand out against the sky—there’s nothing to compete with their profiles. The robins love the tree beyond our balcony. But the hawks and crows I notice more often, circling and gliding over the interstate. Open sky means knowing where the sun is, and I watch its arc rise and fall with the seasons. At first, all this sky made me feel a bit insecure, and the land seemed so naked. For me, no hills or mountains made places seem like the “middle of nowhere”—even Chicago.

Honest, hard-working people: I know this sounds like a presidential campaign cliché (and boy, 2008 was a long year!) but in large part it’s true. People in the Midwest are friendly, and not just because they have to be. At my favorite little grocery, the high schoolers look me in the eye and say thank you after placing all my bags in the trunk. Both sides of my husband’s family hail from Iowa, and farming stories explain why hard work is still valued and expected.

A great public library: This is more specific, but the outstanding city public library is one of the things I appreciate most about where we live. It means free movie rentals on Friday nights, copies of new nonfiction, and a quiet place to spend a little time in between errands. For my friends who are moms, it’s a common outing. The playground and coffee shop next door make for a trifecta of fantastic gathering spaces. The community really treasures its library, and it shows. I’ll miss it!

There are many more specific things I love here: our active little church, every friend, the squash-and-peppers farmers market, conversations in coffeehouses, raindrops on roses...