The Incomparable Joe del Tufo

In the early 2000's, I went through a huge Frances Mayes Under the Tuscan Sun phase. I was making Soffritto, painting walls a shade of gold that they had no business being, drinking Italian wine, watching the movie, reading the books. I stopped short of painting a fresco on our walls. Mayes has a way of writing that made me want to pack up everything I owned and move to Tuscany. Then she came out with beautifully photographed coffee table books, In Tuscany and Bringing Tuscany Home, and I thought I would die of operatic heart palpitations.

It was through these books that I had a revelation: I didn't need to move to Tuscany. I just needed to learn to photograph my life so it looked like I was living in a coffee table book. I took my trusty Cannon Rebel out into the Lancaster County countryside and proceeded to photograph things like the  farm stand up the road, goats in the field, the funky merchandise at Green Dragon, my meals, my garden produce--you get the picture. But while I have a good eye, I have neither technical camera smarts nor a long attention span. I was able to get some good photos by some fluke that the camera was set just right. But even then, I did not follow through on the grand scheme to photo document my life so that I would give myself heart palpitations just by being me. (It's all in the advertising.) Just so this doesn't come off as being too meta, think of my efforts as a way for me to appreciate my life--a visual gratitude journal, let's say. A way for me to see my own life with the wonder reserved for an eager tourist on vacation.

Fast-forward about ten years, and we move to Arden. We bought our house from Joe and Keri del Tufo. Keri grew up in Lancaster County near where Mark and I were raised.  Joe wears many hats, but one of them is a backward baseball cap--backward so the brim doesn't get in the way while he is shooting. And you will hardly ever find Joe without a camera in his hand and a camera bag slung around his back. Joe never trained as a photographer, but he is in constant the pursuit of the craft. It is second nature to him now. He is the Arden photographer. My apologies to Danny Schweers  (who does gorgeous nature photography), the late Earl Brooks ( a contemporary of Ansel Adams), and anyone else I am overlooking. But I have only once seen Danny with a camera in hand.

Joe, on the other hand, is never without his pack. He photographs as many Arden events as he can possibly attend and throws the photos out there for everyone to use and enjoy. I attended the Roaring 20's Party at the Buzz last month. Joe had another gig, possibly photographing a concert in Wilmington. The fact that we have none of his pictures from the event makes me doubt if it even happened. It's that whole If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it conundrum. I do kind of have one small piece of proof from that evening: I won one of Joe's infrared photographs in the silent auction.

We came to know Joe well through our Sunday morning hikes. Every week, he takes a shot of the hiking group that makes us look like we are on an album cover. We are rock star hikers. I do not like being photographed--at all. But when Joe has his camera out, I begin to Vogue.  Here's the other thing you should know: we bought our house sight unseen based solely on photographs that Joe took that were uploaded onto the realty company's website.  I saw the photos. Sent Mark the link with the text: I WANT THIS HOUSE. (You guessed it--heart palpatations.)

It doesn't matter what Joe is photographing--his dog,  Sunday dinner, concerts at the Arden Gild Hall, the woods, that drop of water (he likes his macro water shots), the Arden Holiday party --he makes his world--which has lots of overlap with my world--look good. I can joyfully inhabit the life he reflects back to me. You will see plenty of his photos in my blog, I am sure. I walk Joe and Keri's dog, Puck, twice a week in order to build up credit with Joe. I envision photo shoots for author photos, Maren's head shots, photos for our 25th wedding anniversary which is coming up. I will put some miles on that dog.

Last October, Mark and I took a road trip which included the cities of Nashville, TN and Asheville, NC. We got out the Canon Rebel, but didn't even know what to do with it. "This sucks! Who is going to take our pictures while we are on vacation?" We took a few photos with our iPhones, but our hearts weren't in it. I think there was one shot of Mark's back as he was walking down a Nashville street. Other than that, we weren't in any of the photos. We had a good time. . . I think. But was it any wonder that before the week was up, we were ready to end our vacation and get back to our regularly photographed lives?

Below are just a small sample of Joe's work. Check out Joe's website for more.

Writing in Arden

My writing desk in Arden

Here is where I cop to some truths. I have no work to show for my time in Arden--twenty months, as of this writing. It isn't that I haven't been working; I have. But this has been a challenging time for me creatively. I've heard it said that stressed vines make good wine. If a vine is too lazy or comfortable it won't put its energy into producing fruit. However, if a vine experiences partial drought, the roots will send a signal to the plant to hold back on the leaf production and put more energy into its fruit.

Is that what is happening here? Am I little too happy, too complacent--artistically speaking? Or maybe it is that I am just getting used to the transplant. But here is the thing. I have been creating pages. No artwork to speak of, but I have been writing. Still, it feels like I am working at Penelope's pace. She was the faithful wife of Odysseus who wove a burial shroud by day and undid all her work at night. I write. I rewrite. It is frustrating and solitary work.

I finally finished my novel last July and sent it to my agent. In the intermission, waiting for her to give me her notes, I wrote another novel. A new novel in four weeks. I was very excited about it. But my agent wanted to move ahead with the first novel. I took seven pages of notes during our phone conversation. She wants the novel to have a different tone among other things. And I agree it needs something. But a different tone means the entire thing needs rewritten. I am not sure how many times this thing has been reincarnated.

I am in Arden because of my novel Summers at Blue Lake. For those who don't know the story, in February of 2008, I was the guest author at a friend's book club in Newark, DE. It was there I met Cynthia. Cynthia lives in Arden and has a guest house. One of the scenes in Summers at Blue Lake that takes place in an outdoor Shakespeare performance. Add to that the fact that my main character is an art jeweler. Cynthia knew from reading the book that I would love Arden, so she invited me to come spend the weekend in her Little House. It took over a year for Mark and me to take her up on the offer. We spent our first weekend here in May of 2009. This was pre-Facebook, so we must have kept in touch through email.

I have heard it said that Arden picks you, not the other way around. Our story is such that you cannot dismiss the role of providence. Arden has this underlying energy about it; and I do feel called to live and write here. But I have days--many of them-- when I am appealing to the great creative spirits to help me move forward with my work. It is days like those when I wish I would have told people I was a waitress when I moved in. It is wonderful when people ask about how my novel is coming along, and it is supreme torture. I want to get T-shirts printed. Don't ask about my novel. Or maybe just business cards. People genuinely care about my creative life here in a way that I haven't experienced before. Maybe it is time to get a writers' group together. To trust in this creative community that has  called me hither.

Arden Dinner Gild

A few quick notes on the Gild system in Arden. A gild is a club. Like guild, except that in the early 1900's  when Arden was in its infancy, the Georgists who ran the show were part of a movement to spell words the way they were pronounced. They dropped the "u" in gild and have been explaining the letter deficiency ever since. According to the Arden Club web site: The Arden Club, Inc. is the cultural umbrella group for many Gilds in the three Ardens: The Village of Arden, Ardentown, and Ardencroft. Most activities take place in Gild Hall, which dates back to the 1850 when it was used as a barn for the Grubb farm. It was substantially renovated in 1910 as the Gild Hall and can be rented for special affairs. The grassy amphitheater of the Moonlight Theater sits to one side of Gild Hall, and the Swim Gild’s swimming pool sits behind Gild Hall.  At this point in Arden Club history we have the following gilds: Ardensingers, Concert, Dinner, Folk Dancing, Gardeners, Georgist (this gild is in limbo at this writing), Library, Poetry, Scholars, Shakespeare, Swim, and the newest gild--The Bridge Gild. Gilds have a couple of responsibilities throughout the year. They must participate in the Arden Fair to perform a needed service or to do something, like manning the baked goods table or overseeing the book sale, that raises money for the Club. Each gild must also provide a dinner for the Dinner Gild.

Last month, I attended a talk at the Scholar's Gild given by Henry Voight, a man who collects historical menus. As a foodie and an American history buff, I was intrigued on several levels by his presetation. Mr. Voight gave the history of our country told through food, and yet the talk was not quite about food. Did you know that restaurants as we know them only started in the 1840's in this country? He showed menus from restaurants, club dinners, Civil War reunion dinners, and in one case, he showed a menu from some sort of town gathering. June, one of the oldest residents in town and an active member of the Arden Craft Shop Historical Museum, asked Mr. Voight if he would be interested in seeing the menus that they had for The Dinner Gild. Mr. Voight brushed her off--not understanding the gold she was offering. He neglected to see the historical value, which is a shame. We in the Ardens know. We were treated to a museum exhibit that centered on The Dinner Gild, its history, menus, and recipes.

The Dinner Gild has been in existence for decades. My memory is telling me somewhere in the 1940's or 50's, but June could tell you for sure. At age 91, her memory is sharp as a tack. Mark and I met June when we drove down to Dinner Gild in those hazy months before we actually moved to Arden. We tried to reintroduce ourselves to her when we actually did move to Arden, but she didn't need a refresher; she knew who we were.

Imagine this. The Dinner Gild oversees weekly dinners for 100-140 people from October through the middle of May with a week off for Thanksgiving and another week or two off at Christmas. At the very least, they probably implement 30 dinners in a season. I continually remind my friends from outside The Ardens that we have perhaps a pool of 600 adults in the three communities. The amount of volunteerism needed to run our organizations  and events is staggering. It probably takes at the very least, ten volunteers to pull off any one dinner. Often it is more. These dinners are nothing short of incredible. The kick-off dinner is typically beef tenderloin and crab cake (though this year, they went without the crab cake). With all the creativity in the Ardens, the menus are a thing of art. Literally. David, a local artist, gardener, handyman extraordinaire creates chalkboard art to accompany each and every menu.

Chalkboard Art by David Yoder

So let's talk menus. This weekend's feature was Chicken Mole which has become an annual tradition. I'm not going to run down all the food we have eaten at Dinner Gild but here are some of offerings which stand out in my mind: Peanut Chicken with Sesame Noodles, Rochester Garbage Plate, Day of the Dead taco dinner, Eggplant Parmesan, Chicken Marsala, Pork Tenderloin, Cincinnati Chili, Beer-sauced short ribs, German sausage and kraut, Mardi Gras gumbo, and a 420 dinner which featured foods you might find in the parking lot of a Grateful Dead concert. We were pressed into dinner gild service one evening while sitting around a fire making S'mores in October just after we had moved in in late June. We agreed to lead a Pennsylvania Dutch dinner of Chicken Bott Boi, brown butter carrots, salad with sweet and sour dressing, and rolls with apple butter. It was a success, and we repeated the dinner again this year.

You will find salads with such ingredients as pears and hazelnuts, and homemade breads with compound butters. The desserts can be anything from Mississippi Mud Pie to coconut rice pudding. Chocolate caramel bread pudding to homemade pumpkin ice-cream with a ginger snap. The desserts for our Pennsylvania Dutch dinner in January included red velvet whoopie pies and shoo-fly cupcakes. Where else can you get a dinner of this caliber for $11 a head? ($13 for non-Arden club members.)

This Saturday, Mark and I walked from our house carrying our bottle of wine. Those en route to the dinner in cars, rolled down their windows and promised not to run us over. The wine bottle was a dead giveaway as to where we were headed. We got to the lower Gild Hall right at six and found ourselves at the end of a long line. The Gild Hall had a little snafu with its floors. Seems the folks who built the barn put the floor right on top of dirt with nothing to support it in one section. This was preliminary action of a $300,000 kitchen renovation coming this summer. Part of the lower hall was cordoned off with dividers and plastic because of the work being done. No worries, the Chicken Mole crew decorated over the plastic, but the new arrangement cost the dinner three tables of ten. With such a popular dinner and the loss of seating, you could see latecomers mentally calculate the remaining available seating. Musical chairs--for real. The tables were festooned in brilliant colors with confetti in the shape of little cacti and set with baskets of chips and homemade mango salsa next to baskets of warm tortillas and honey butter.  Mark and I did a "no-no" and put our coats and wine bottle at a table in the back room to reserve two seats next to a former town chair and his wife who works in R&D at Dupont. Yes, we were cheating at musical chairs.

Chef's table at dinner gild

This leads me to the very essence of Dinner Gild, and it is none of the things I have mentioned so far. Though there are those who sit with the same people each week, we do not. We squeeze in where we can. In this way, we have managed to meet so many of our neighbors. I really think this has made all the difference in the way we were able to assimilate into Arden village life. The conversations we have are fresh and fascinating. One week we are talking beekeeping with Ron, and the next week we are talking about a trip to China with...well.. a different Ron. Sometimes we eat with our most immediate neighbors, and we keep abreast of what is going on with them. How often do you live beside someone and know nothing about them? Too many times to count, in our lives. We have sat beside June and let her recount the history of all the people who have lived in our house during her lifetime. June is a treasure, and any time the seat next to her is open, you should take it. We have also sat next to June's son Allan and his wife Sharon. One such interaction led to an impromptu game night at their house. Game night is always a possibility except when, on a night like last night, there was a concert offering going on upstairs.

Also, on dinner nights, the library is open upstairs. You can check out the latest book by Anne Patchett (which I have done) or listen in on children's story time around the fireplace. I do want to volunteer to do story time at some point. I really miss reading to my kids. Last night, Mark and I were too tired to attend the concert or go to the library. With the threat of daylight savings time change looming over us, we walked home to watch a movie. On the whole walk home, we were groaning that we ate too much. Smart people bring containers to Dinner Gild, because most times, you can very easily package half your dinner and have something to eat the next day.

Mr. Voight did not know what he was turning away when he dismissed the invitation to peer into the history of Arden's food service. Oh, the stories he could have uncovered.

Empty Nest

As of last week, Mark and I are empty nesters. Kind of. Last Sunday, we dropped off our seventeen-year-old daughter in New York City to begin a two-month intensive at the New York Film Academy. Can you imagine being seventeen and on your own in arguably the greatest city in the world? I am excited for her.
I am also excited for us. We were young parents. We had Jonah when I was twenty-five and Mark was twenty-six. I don't regret giving up the last half of my twenties to parenting. We were happily beyond the diaper stage when all of our friends were getting started. And now, we are enjoying a kidless respite at an age at which we can still have fun. Let the wild rumpus begin.
When we moved to Arden, we downsized, anticipating this point in our evolution, but the downsizing was a bit premature. At one point, while Mark was tiling the downstairs bathroom, we were down to one shower for four people. That phase lasted four months. Just as Jonah was moving out, Mark finished his project.
Jonah. The one who doesn't like change and didn't want to move out of our old house. We moved to Arden the same month he graduated so that he could finish high school in Pennsylvania. And he was going on to West Chester University in the fall. It seemed like a opportune time for all of us. But Jonah didn't take to Computer Science at West Chester or it didn't take to him. The jury is still out on that one. Regardless, he didn't go back for a second year. Which meant he was coming to live with us in an unfamiliar place with lots of trees. For some reason, Jonah professes a dislike for trees. We think he lived on the heaths of England in a former life. For a few months, he moped in his room which is not a proper bedroom, but a back space that becomes an extra TV/computer/beer storage room when he is gone. Then he got a part-time job as an outdoors activities coordinator at Arden's summer program. It was a temporary gig. He got to meet a lot of of new neighbors. Kids followed him around like the Pied Piper when we went to the pool or music events. Eventually though the gig ended, and he needed something more. His friend Zero called him with a job opportunity back "home" in Pennsylvania. The two of them planned to get an apartment together.
"Wait to see if the job is a good fit before you commit to an apartment," we said.
Jonah moved in temporarily with Mark's parents. Within months, the job fell through, and Zero moved down south. Mark's mom networked and quickly found Jonah a better job at a machine shop. There Jonah puts together elevator parts with a loquacious, older man whose life work it is to prove that all events in the Bible are factual. While his coworker babbles, Jonah invents imaginary worlds (the basis of a science fiction novel?) in his head. He recently moved a sofa and a desk into the upstairs suite of rooms he has taken over in his grandparents' house.
"He will never move out," his grandmother says, and I can't tell if she is happy or horrified.
I worry that Jonah is isolating himself from people his own age. In Arden there are so many more opportunities for social interaction. I want to bring him back here, but I also want him to find his own path. So for now, I have to be content with giving him unsolicited advice on the little bits of writing he shares with me. I need to keep the dialog open, so I tread carefully.
Maren is a different story. She has wanted to be a film actress all her life. She was working towards those goals, even graduating early so she could eventually get an agent and start auditioning for parts. That was the plan anyway. She is the polar opposite of her brother, and we worry that too much socializing is stunting her ability to follow through on her plans. She has a serious boyfriend. This relationship is at the heart of her stalled momentum. We encouraged her to go back to acting class, but didn't push. She was the one who came up with the idea to go to the New York Film Academy. It was a good plan, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that it will force her to expand her world view beyond an embrace. That's the good news. The bad news is that she will come back to us in two months after having had the sweet taste of freedom and ownership of her own life. She will still be seventeen for another three months when she returns. Do we dispense with rules? How will we let go of all the freedoms we gained while our kids are gone?
And we have gained freedoms. We don't have to worry about being awakened when she comes in at a minute past her curfew which is two hours past our bedtime. I don't have to fear the constant interruptions when I am writing. When she is around, she is a flurry to the brain--always asking the most bothersome questions, the most frequent of which is "What are we having for dinner?" followed closely in frequency by "What can I eat for lunch?" Most of the times, our dinner menus are written on our chalkboard, so the first question is really laziness on her part.
Don't get me wrong. We love our kids. We want them to succeed. We want to help in that. But we also realize that becoming a full-fledged adult is uncomfortable work. They push boundaries. We push back--or give in depending on our level of fatigue. We begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Might this be our chance at a new life, too? It isn't like we are trying to recapture the missing half of our twenties. We wouldn't go back there for all the magic beans in fairyland.  The wisdom of our years is a far greater prize. What can we do with our hard-earned savvy and new liberation? The possibilities seem endless. We can sleep with the bedroom door open. We can have the TV all to ourselves. Where to vacation or go on a moment's notice? And the suggestion that even casual acquaintances bring up to us that we can now have sex in any room of the house we want. (Seriously, this advantage has been offered up to us as the Holy Grail of Empty Nesting more times than you would imagine.)
This phase is just a snapshot of what is to come. Maren will return in May, and life with kids will begin again. She is talking about getting an apartment with the boyfriend sooner rather than later which makes us want to bang our foreheads on the kitchen table. Maybe Jonah has room in his suite. HA! Wouldn't Mark's parents love that? They became empty-nesters the first time at ages 42 and 45. I'm sure they didn't see this particular boomerang coming until it hit them in the faces.
The point is that life is not a straight line. It is a labyrinthine path that forces you to circle back and examine your choices from different perspectives. For the moment we are empty nesters with all that the label implies. You might want to call before you stop by.

.

Art at the Buzz

We have somewhere to be. Dinner plans. But first we decide we must pop into Art of the Town Exhibition at the Buzz Ware Village Center--referred to simply as The Buzz. The art exhibition is part of a larger Wilmington initiative: First Friday Art Loop. Back when I was in college at the University of Delaware, my friends and I would drive into Wilmington to do the Art Loop, which was an actual loop, complete with bus ride between gallery stops. I was a Fine Arts major. Sure, I was there to see art, but also to get giggles on free and illicit (because we weren't of age) wine. For some reason, it never occurred to me to go to a frat party while in college. Mark and I have been to the Art Loop in downtown Wilmington twice since we moved to Delaware. The first time was a dud. Summer. In a month when Lancaster's First Friday would be so crazy you had trouble finding a spot on the sidewalk, let alone a table at a restaurant. But we are in Delaware now, and Delaware has a beach culture. Even in Wilmington, things slow down from June through September due to migration south to Delaware's beaches.

The second time we went on the Art Loop was just last month.  Our main stop of the evening was to friends Linda Celestian and Susan Benerarcik's new venture The Highlands Art Garage where they display art and give lessons. We stopped into a few galleries on the way because we were encouraged to give the loop another try and also because my college classmate Sara Teixido was showcasing new jewelry at the Delaware Center for Contemporary Arts (DCCA) gift shop.  The atmosphere this time was more like I expected with young hip crowds and the free wine I remember so well. The quality of art, like most art on First Friday, ran the gamut between questionable and professional. I really fell for Sara's and Susie's work. Both women are exploring nature and spiritual object in ways that seems to mirror my way of seeing the world.

Back to the Buzz. We are going there to see art, yes, but also to support Bernadette who recently took over curating duties for this event. The Buzz has been the center of controversy lately. It is owned and operated by the village of Arden, but is used by all three Arden villages. In an attempt to make the Buzz self-sufficient and not be a drain on Arden residents, the board made some decisions which were unpopular with citizens of Ardentown and Ardencroft. People took sides. Feelings got hurt. Under this reign, the previous curator quit, and the future of the monthly art exhibitions was in question.

In the parking lot, we run into Bill, who is trying to get into his frozen car. Being on the board, he was at the center of the Buzz controversies. The scoop I heard is that Bill made himself into a human blockade at a certain high pressure board meeting to keep out those who were merely advisors from the other villages. He cares about the Buzz, wants to see it succeed, but not every one sees it that way. I ask after Bill, because his wife posted on the Facebook page of our walking group that she wouldn't be walking because Bill had slipped and had fallen on ice earlier. Bill is embarrassed that I asked about his fall.

"It was nothing," he tells us and then adds that because of his wife's post, he has had to turn down so many offers of meals and help from concerned neighbors.

We go inside and see Bernadette manning the hors d'oeuvre table. Bernadette and her husband Jerry moved into Ardentown a few months before we moved to Arden. We met her at one of our friend Cynthia's barn shows. I have gotten to know Jerry better through Poetry Gild. On the table in front of Bernadette are the most wonderful array of focaccia breads, and I can't resist a piece of goat cheese, caramelized onion, and walnut even though we are on our way to dinner. I find out that they are from Black Lab bakery in Wilmington. I always appreciate scoop on the food scene in Wilmington. I make mental note.

art by Joseph Patrick Crouse

In the middle of the room, we encounter Phil who is a month removed from a heart attack and a well-timed ambulance ride. We met Phil the first weekend we spent in Arden. Our friend Cynthia arranged for us to tour artists' studios. Last summer, we bought one of Phil's metal sculptures. It sits outside our kitchen window, and I see it every time I wash a dish. We remark that he looks good to which he replies that he will live to pester Arden another day.

Next we talk to Anita. Anita and I were in the middle of some melee last month that centered on a missing dog. The state police were involved because of the possibility that the dog may have been stolen. (I do not personally believe this was the case.) Anita and I were links in the chain between the owner and the person who had the missing dog in his care on a cold night. Anita and I greet each other warmly and review the previous night's concert. We came to a lot of the same conclusions, but Anita has offered to lend me some SunVolt and Uncle Tupelo CDs so that I might have a better understanding of Jay Farrar's catalog of work.

Time is getting short, and we are trying to leave when our friends Jan and Alex enter. I am on the Arden Community Recreation board with both of them. I missed the yoga class I attend with Jan earlier that morning because I was sleeping in after the concert. She tells me I missed a really good class. Alex and I discuss the Fun Jar we are passing around all of Arden. It started when I gave them a jar of homemade salsa and it has taken on a life of its own. Alec put homemade chocolates in the jar and passed it on to Cecelia, a former Shakespeare production costumer. Alex gave Cecelia instructions to keep the jar moving. Tonight, we speculate where the jar might be. Alex also talks to Mark about what kind of card games interest him. The newly started Bridge Gild is looking for members, but Bridge isn't really Alex's or Mark's game.

Finally, after thirty minutes inside, I manage to pull Mark out of the Buzz so we can continue with our evening's plans. As we leave, we see the featured artist sitting on a bench smoking a cigarette. In an accent  (British?) he thanks us for coming. I realize then, that I didn't really give his work more than a cursory look.  I mentally chastise myself and try to figure when I might see the paintings again. I have a G-Ardeners meeting on the 17th. Will the artist (I don't even know his name) let his work hang all month?

We have only lived in this community a short while and already the relationships we have formed  have eclipsed my love of art. Or maybe they are the art. Maybe the dance that we are doing, the web we are weaving is the thing. It turns out that I went to the gallery tonight to see my own part of a work in progress. It's a beautiful chaotic tumble of connections that reminds me that we are all really alive. Isn't that the purpose of art?

Snowtopia

March, and we are due to get our biggest snowstorm of the winter season. We are all so weary of winter. Not Boston weary. (Those poor folks.) Arden weary. Arden is a place that makes you confront the outdoors. We walk to our many local events because parking can sometimes be limited. We hike our woods, play on the Arden Green with our dogs, argue about when and in what form the playground committee is going to replace the sliding board on said green. And argue. And argue. Because being outside is important to us. 

So snow? How does nine inches of stuff impact life in the village? Our streets are more like camp roads in the summer, no sidewalks. We have a single crew of native sons in a truck with a plow attachment taking care of all our tight, vegetation-and-rock-lined roads. If you can catch them on their rounds and throw them a little extra coin, they will take care of your driveway. Mark has been resistant to do so. He takes his shovel and gives our huge, looping driveway all he has in his tank, which is enough to move 3/4 of the snow which, in turn, is enough to get our cars in and out. While he is doing this, I making a huge pot of tomato soup using a recipe from our high school cafeteria. Believe it or not, school cafeterias made homemade soup back in the day. Kids loved it, and I have been asked time and time again for this recipe. (My Uncle Ken  got the recipe upon his retirement as a teacher.) Great for a winter’s day, but even a scaled-down, cafeteria-sized recipe is too much soup for Mark and me as new empty-nesters. No matter. That is what Arden is about.

Out of out window,  we see our friends with their dog. They are out on walk, taking photos of the untouched beauty. I wrangle them inside in spite of protests that they are all snowy and that their dog is going though his rambunctious teen years. (Let our old man pug deal with him.) After we feed our friends unsolicited soup and grilled cheese and send them on their way, I deliver more soup to neighbors. We are waiting to hear if the evening’s concert at the Gild Hall will go off as planned. The Arden Concert Gild  and the musicians they attract there are subjects for a whole other blog entry. Suffice it to say, we have great and talented musicians from all over the world coming to entertain our village and that the whole enterprise is run by volunteers. Tonight’s offering is a sold out concert by Jay Farrar, a folk rock singer of the band Sun Volt. 

It’s on! The opening act has canceled due to weather and been replaced by a super secret act. Arden folks are encouraged to walk or carpool due to the snow. Being less than a half mile away, we walk and are surprised at just how light the world looks at 7:30 at night when it has snowed. We have to be careful. The roads are narrow, and when cars come, we don’t have much room. A friend of mine observed that you can differentiate Arden folks from out-of-towners at a concert by their footwear. Tonight I am wearing hiking boots with removable Yak Trax which accessorize beautifully with my all gray ensemble of knit dress, leggings, and chunky cowl.

photo by Joe del Tufo

I am music appreciation novice. I don’t listen to much radio, preferring audio books. But now that we are in Arden, I am being introduced to all kinds of live music. We go to more of the offerings than not. Why wouldn't we? When you can walk to and from the concerts? The hall is abuzz with the news of the opening act. Some people, those who volunteer, are in the know. They lord it over the rest of us while we get seats and go to the bar for Dogfish Head beers, sold for $3 because they are one of the concert gild’s sponsors. Our friend Larry has sneaked bourbon cherries inside sandwich baggies and offers us tiny cocktail forks to fish out the really super-soaked specimens at the bottom of the bag. The trick is not to stab the bag. 

The moment of truth arrives, and we are treated to the musical stylings and hip shakes of Rhett Miller. Those who are familiar with his work gasp and cheer at the “get”. His gig was cancelled at the Queen in downtown Wilmington tonight, so this worked out perfectly (for us). It turns out that our friend Cynthia was instrumental in this deal. She had already been making some secret deals of her own with Rhett, trying to get him to come to her barn, site of its own concert series, to riff with some local musicians in an after-party. 

photo by Joe del Tufo

The man starts playing, and I am an immediate fan. I can’t speak to Jay Farrar. After the energy and raw magnetism of Rhett, Jay’s voice and music puts me in a trance. It makes my mind wander. I cannot focus.  The number of encore songs he performs are lost on me. The buzz of bourbon-soaked maraschino cherries has long since worn off, and I’m ready for the after-party.

This is when we find out that Rhett has bailed on that front. He has an early morning flight to the west coast, but the local artists still want to hang and play. We walk another quarter mile to our friends Cynthia and David’s barn and help them set the stage with votive candle in assorted jelly jars, pillar candles in Ikea lanterns, and the essential plugging-in of the disco ball. They have never had a musical event in their barn in the winter. An exception was made for Rhett. Also for Rhett—a requisite bottle of Jameson, which we quickly avail ourselves of while waiting for the space heater to do its magic. 

Snow-covered creek in Arden Woods

What ensues is glowy and boozy and a little blurry around the edges. It involves lounging on pillowed sofas in the round, shaking percussion on dubious beats, and the ill-conceived passing out of harmonicas. A musical slurry with some good, honest, homegrown music at the center of it. It’s about 2:30 when Mark and I stumble out of the golden glow and into the silver glow to walk home. The moon is full and directly overhead, lighting all of the snow-covered branches and the still-white streets. It’s a school night, except that the local district has already cancelled school for the next day. Mark decides he will take a vacation day tomorrow which is today. We remind ourselves that the last time we were out and about this late at night, we were taking our daughter to the emergency room. (For that story, see the blog entry entitled Rebels and Ice Cream.)  When we arrive home, we discover that our driveway has been completely cleared. We find out later that Denis, one of our neighbors to whom I brought soup, finished our driveway and also helped open up who-knows-how-many other neighbors’ driveways with his snow blower. He has a new lease on life after finding out this week that his cancer is in remission.
After we wake mid-morning, have a big breakfast out, and take an achingly beautiful hike in the woods, another neighbor returns our soup container with homemade pecan layer bars inside. She is newly retired with time to bake. We are tired and sore from navigating the snowy terrain. A pecan bar never tasted so good.

Oh, yeah. I am so ready for spring I could cry, but if winter keeps giving us gifts like this, I can hold out for a little while longer.

Warwick School District Tomato Soup

This is the recipe from my childhood. Our school cafeterias made this soup from scratch. They served it with a choice of sub or salisbury steak sandwich.

12 c. Tomatoes peeled and pureed (I just used two 28 oz can of tomatoes and one weird 35 oz can and pureed them in blender)

3/4 c sugar

1.5 qt water

1T onion flake

3/4 tsp celery salt

2 oz (1/4 cup) Beef base (calls for Major Beef Style Soup Base. I have been using Better than Bouillon)

14 T Butter

1/2 cup flour

Bring first 6 ingredients to a boil. 

In a small saucepan, Melt butter. Add flour and stir to make a roux (It will be more of a slurry). While soup is boiling add the roux to thicken. 

Makes 4-5 quarts