Blueberry White Chocolate + Thyme Scones

Summer held its breath until the 13th hour. Finally, upon exhalation, the weather is sticky, languid as molasses...deliciously perfect. I'm odd to relish humidity and that spot on the small of the back which never completely dries during (and after) meandering through a non-air conditioned farm house. But I am in love with summer, even especially during her passionate fits of temper. Yesterday was particularly ethereal + lush; a spirited mix of hazy sunlight and distant reverberating thunder. My red entry door, now flushed and expanded with heat, brushes fiercely against the sisal rug. I find wicked amusement in hearing people huff and occasionally curse when, upon swift entry, they're met by an immobile rug + a pregnant door. It's also proving to be an excellent alarm system and gives me ample time to hide baked goods from prying hands. Sometimes the most exhausting element of food blogging is simply keeping people (and photobombing cats) away long enough to snap pictures.
    
My next recipe, if I can stop eating the star player, will be a raspberry something. For now, as you can see, I'm still riding the sanguine blueberry wave. Scones don't require too much baking sorcery but they are difficult to photograph. No worries, I will not bore you with more photography angst, but I hope it's okay to experiment with both light & dark backgrounds/moods. My cheeky heart inadvertently strays to the dark side, but I'm attempting to build bridges with the bright and airy.

Pumpkin Curry Scones

"Pivoting like old watches
on their hidden jewels,
the tall trees out the window turn toward winter."

~ Jane Hirshfield, from "Storm: Yaddo, 1989," in The October Palace

A few days ago my beloved genteel ash tree was taken down in a noisy flurry of cold metal chainsaws and frustrated shouts from men wearing hard hats and thick industrial gloves. I knew it had to be done - last May I was told the tree had succumbed to something called emerald ash borer (what a graceful name for something destructive!). Over the years I had noticed a few leafless patches in the tree's canopy but I chalked it up to the dramatic storms of late spring...apparently a lush green beetle is mightier than a handful of errant lightening strikes.

I'm fortunate enough to be surrounded by several other large trees, but without the ash softly brushing its extended branches against the neighboring oak, the yard looks like it's missing a limb. I wish I had read beneath her protective umbrella of summer leaves more often, or at least taken notice of her stoic warmth as I pulled into the driveway, instead of honing in on the opening mouth of a frigid garage. According to the rings in her trunk, which is now flush with the ground, the ash was quite ancient. When old trees are torn down I wonder if every other tree in the world can feel a quiet shift in the earth - like a single grain of sand from a castle that's suddenly pulled into the ocean...

The leaves are in their prime and even though the ash tree didn't put on the most colorful show, I do miss her, truly. Maybe the flouncy clouds of autumn and the pensive blue skies have placed me on a closer frequency with nature. Hopefully I won't tune out this time.

Blueberry Orange Scones

Nighttime dreams are fragile. If we allow our minds to revisit them too often, or cling too tightly to their ambiance - they eventually disintegrate like ancient papyrus. Sometimes, if we're lucky, a few are potent enough to leave a soft aura that follows us around all day - a warm, cosy memory that we can run to when reality becomes messy and the afternoon feels uneven.

I had the best dream last night. I hope its nourishing milky images will last throughout the evening. I won't go into intricate detail - as with most dreams it was deeply personal and it would not make sense to anyone outside my silly head. It involved the one who got away. The blue eyes from that day, a little over 10 years ago now, were present. He and I were so happy. Silently happy in a noisy room full of strangers, and so at ease in our silence, as though we had known each other in several lifetimes. And for once...for once I was not afraid of happiness. I didn't feel that anxious bird flying around my rib cage, and the cadet-grey sadness, the one that's almost always in my peripheral vision, was nonexistent. If only reality, with its sharp edges and garish light, could retain such a soft cadence. For a moment, which seemed like a dazzling mere three minutes, the universe itself was purring.

This morning I cocooned myself inside the smoky remnants of my dream and savoured as much hazy bliss as possible. My early companions, aside from Niles (the portly cat), were a strong cup of creamy coffee and a tender scone. With an early chill in the air, I spent the better half of the morning reliving something I'd never actually live through with someone I'd never officially met (yet?). It was lovely.

Lime & Ginger Cream Scones

Happy weekend, everyone! Today I'm sharing a breezy, simple, scone recipe. Scones, as I've only just learned, are not very camera friendly. Either that or I'm over-thinking the art of photography (a huge taboo, I'm sure!). But I think we can all relate to not liking something - and redoing the redos to the point where up is down, east is west, and your jagged, growing mound of frustration could easily rival Mount Everest. Yes?

I'm probably just sick of this dull, grey, sleepy weather. It feels like a heavy, cold, wet, cloak that I can't quite shake off my sun-thirsty shoulders. Once the temperature catches wind of what the calendar is screaming, I'm sure I'll be happier, and less frustrated...about everything. Thank goodness for sugar, flour, cream, and ovens.

Nutella Toffee Scones

Sometimes, especially on weekends (and especially in winter), I like to stay in my grey and yellow-striped flannel pajamas well past what is considered acceptable and/or appropriate. When this happens someone almost always knocks on the door. Refusing to be seen in my nighttime garb with tousled hair standing at attention- giving me the appearance of a walking q-tip, I hide. There is a rather large window that people can easily squint into during the day, so I quickly crawl to the safety of my kitchen, artfully weaving between chairs and a coffee table that seems to be in love with my knees and ankles.