Three Bears Sited in Upstate New York

Once Upon a Time There were Three Bears. I know what you are thinking, that I am going to tell you the story of Goldilocks and her three furry friends. But, this story takes place in the sleepy hamlet of Ovid, New York (down the East side of Seneca Lake).

Here, on a knoll overlooking the village green are The Three Bears. This is the name that the locals have given to the Courthouse complex (Circa 1845 - 1860) ~ four-pillar Greek Revival buildings, built in descending size. In 1976, these architectural treasures were added to the National Register of Historic Places.

There's Papa Bear...

and Mama Bear...

And Here's Baby Bear!

No one was home the day I visited. But unlike Goldilocks, I didn't go in and make myself at home.

Perhaps, I was too early for tea!

That's the End of My Bear Story. I hope you enjoyed it.

Marjorie

A Girl Can Never Have Too Many...

Sally Patchins. Not a posh handbag like the Birkin bag (or as they say in the Beijing silk market, a "Barking bag"). It's a basket, but not like its wealthier cousin, the Nantucket basket. Still around these parts a Sally Patchin is a must-have.

Sally (1874-1958) lived in Patchinville, (near Wayland, NY in Steuben County), where she ran a cottage industry of hand-painted baskets from her studio. She did not make the baskets herself, often buying large lots from China and India. Most were utilitarian ~ sewing, laundry and market baskets which she adorned with her designs of birds, and old-fashioned garden flowers (hollyhocks, pansies, delphiniums...) Her work is colorful and cheerful, and some would say primitive.

From the Internet.

From the Internet.

You can't walk into a local antiques shop, or show, and not see the fruits of her labor. Here in Upstate New York, The Wayland Historical Society owns a collection of "Patchins", and Steuben County named her to their Hall of Fame. She received national recognition when the Library of the National Museum of Women in the Arts, Washington, D.C., created a file with photographs of her work and information on her life.

One ardent fan owns a collection of 400 Sally Patchins! I am happy to own two.

First and Last ~ From My Collection.

Counting my blessings and my baskets,
Marjorie

(Posting from the Scenic Finger Lakes of New York State, USA)

A Child's New Year's Eve in Upstate New York

New Year’s Eve in our family meant just one thing – the Annual Costume Party. For it was then, that my parents and their fun-loving friends would play dress-up for one night.

Sometime around Christmas the invitation to the annual party would arrive in the mail. “Please join us for a Cruise to the Caribbean”, or for a "Hawaiian Luau”, or “Come dressed as a Beatnik” it would read. Thus, added to the flurry of the holiday activities, would be the pressure of what my parents would wear on the evening of December 31st.

Each couple was on their own when it came to ideas for costume attire. Since I was the artsy member of the family, I was tapped to be our in-house stylist. I remember well the year when the invitees were asked to come as a designated famous person. My father was to be Picasso; my mother Joan of Arc. Now Dad, who was completely bald, had the Picasso look down pat. All he really needed to complete his look was a beret (brought back from our family tour of Europe), a torn white tee shirt, khakis and sneakers. Taking a red magic marker in hand, I adorned his tee-shirt with my variation on one of the artist's “Demoiselles d’Avignon”. My poor mother’s costume was less inspired. I only recall that part of her costume was a lamb’s wool hat, which doubled as Joan’s helmet.

The merrymakers would gather in the basement “rec” room of the Glass family on White Springs Road. Their son Teddy was a talented artist, and the genius behind the annual invitations, decorations, and party favors. (He would later become a Hollywood set designer; so in a sense his first gig was at those costume parties).

Sometimes, the party would take place at our house on Washington Street. On the evening, I would perch at the top of the front hall stairs, and try to identify the disguised arrivals by the scent of their perfume or men’s cologne.

Later, laying on the floor of my bedroom, I would listen to the sounds of the adults having fun as they danced and played various party games. Games included the ever popular “Walk the Plank”; "Fashion Designer" (where patterns for clothing were cut from newspapers and pinned on a live model); and the crowd pleaser “Who’s Legs and Feet are these?” (A bed sheet would be tacked across a doorframe two feet up from the floor. One team of guests would take turns standing behind the barrier, and showing a little bit of leg. Then the team out front had to guess who belonged to which legs).

The morning after, I would eagerly rush downstairs. Then I would raid the refrigerator for exotic left-overs, and stale bottles of ginger ale; while awaiting my parents’ review of the festivities.

How wonderful and innocent it was for these hard-working adults to have this once-a-year night to laugh and play like children!

I toast them, (almost all now gone to the big party in the sky); and I toast all of you: “May your hearts be filled with the joy, wonder and laughter of children this coming year!”

Cheers,
Marjorie

Our Sheldrake Wins "Top-100" Winery Award

Twelve years ago, we gathered in the field of a former dairy farm, high above Cayuga’s waters, in the Finger Lakes region of Upstate New York. We were: a viticulturalist, an interior designer, a professor, two IT professionals, and me, the great-granddaughter of a pioneering American grape-grower*. Each of us planted a grapevine in honor of the inauguration of our new winery/vineyard venture, Sheldrake Point Vineyard, while an Abenaki Native American blessed the sight.

Here I am with our Winery Manager

Partners have come and gone, but our vision has remained the same, to respect and integrate the uniqueness of the Finger Lakes region, pursue the best sustainable viticultural practices, make the highest quality wine that the grapes and weather will permit, and offer our visitors a memorable experience.

None of us could have dreamed of the day when Sheldrake would be named one of the "Top-100 Wineries in the World" by Wine & Spirits magazine.

On October 14, 2009, three of us (my husband and I, and Bob, the Winery’s general manager) presented our wines at the Magazine's gala tasting event, amidst the splendor of the Galleria at the San Francisco Design Center.

There we were, standing shoulder to shoulder with the most iconic wine brands from around the world.


The Finger Lakes is known for its Riesling, and we showcased our best: a 2007 Dry Riesling and a 2007 Riesling Ice Wine. The ice wine is made according to Canadian standards, for example, the berries are harvested when it is below 15 degrees F. This wine has won many awards, including the "Best Riesling in North America" at the Hyatt International Riesling Chalenge, and has also been served at the White House.


Aside from receiving the “Top-100” honor, many other things stand out about the evening:

• Having my first taste of Cristal champagne (after waiting in line with the hoards of their groupies);


• Chatting with Prue Henschke (from Henschke Winery in the Barossa Valley of Australia), which made us homesick for the beautiful wines and the wonderful people of the land down-under;
  
• Getting a chance to meet the winemaker from Ridge, and sampling his famous Monte Bello Cabernet, which won the Judgement of Paris Rematch in 2006;


• Talking with the charming young representative from Fonseca, (a member of the Symington family, one of the oldest Port houses);


• Seeing Craggy Range from New Zealand, a picturesque winery in Hawke’s Bay on the North Island, where we stayed in their luxe ‘bach’ guest house among the vines;




• Sampling food from the many chefs, restaurants and provisioners. The most popular being Hog Island Oysters, which was perfectly sited in the Champagne and sparkling wine section.

Wish you had been there!

Salute,
Marjorie

*Wine and grapes are in my blood. My great-grandfather, Theodore Sedgwick Hubbard (1843-1906), established his nursery; T.S. Hubbard Co., in Fredonia, NY in 1866. Considered a leading authority on grapes in the world, at one time he propagated over a 100 different native grape vines, and sold rootstock all over the US and abroad. His grapes won awards at the Louisiana Purchase Exhibition, 1904, and in 1915 the received the Wilder Award from the American Pomological Society. Last summer, I walked the NY Ag Station experimental vineyard in Geneva, NY with a scientist who showed me a big purple, blue grape - named after my grandfather, the Hubbard grape. How proud I was!

The Language of Bread

Just call me “Little Miss Sunbeam Bread”. When I was little, this doll-like icon with the yellow Betty Grable curls and plump cheeks was my ideal of girlish beauty. But when it came to choosing my “pain quotidien”, it was Wonder Bread everyday.

Ironically, I was raised in a family of good bakers. Each fall and winter, Aunt Margaret’s Vermont kitchen would be full of the scent of her homemade donuts. Grandma Goodrich was queen of the pies; and one year she taught me the tricks of the trade. The result of our first collaboration, miniature sour cherry pies, was the gourmet hit of the church Strawberry Festival. Grandpa Goodrich, on special occasions, would channel his French/Canadian ancestry, and serve up his famous crepes. Aunt Lois, a Southerner, introduced me to the delights of Sally Lunn bread and seven layer cake. However, no one in our family baked bread until along came “moi.”

Once a week, the children and I would take down the big yellow mixing bowl, flour-up, and produce four loaves of bread. The hands-on favorite was Challah or Sabbath loaf (House and Garden’s New Cookbook, p.257). My little apprentices became expert at punching down the giant yeast puffball, and braiding the three pieces of dough into exquisitely tressed creations. Sometimes, just to put a little pizzazz into our routine, we would add raisins and a topping of sugar glaze, or grated cheese. I even attempted, and mastered Julia’s French baguette recipe.

When we went to live in Europe, I hung up my apron because there was so much good local bread to be found. How could I possibly compete with the brot from the bakkerijs in Belgium, or the pain from the boulangeries in France and Switzerland! When in Paris, we would always beat a path to Poilâne on Cherche-Midi, for some of the best rustic loaves and apple tarts ever. Back home in Belgium, we discovered that the same local monasteries so praised for their beer, also made heavenly bread.

European style bread-making has even come to my hometown in Upstate New York. The new kid on the block is Dustin Cutler, whose shop, Normal Bread, is located at 111 Washington Street, Geneva, NY. Dustin apprenticed to Richard Rice at the North Head Bakery in Grand Manan, New Brunswick, and has been in his present location for two years. He uses only 100% organic flour, and almost no sugar or oils. The bread is fermented overnight, and then baked in a four deck steam tube oven.

Et voilà, out comes his crusty signature Levain de pâte and assorted other breads. (Photos courtesy of Doug Reilly/Dandelion Empire.)

Bread culture and history is celebrated around the globe. For a list of bread museums, see http://foodhistorynews.com/directory.html. (Use the search term "bread" under Food Museums.)

For example, Save the Bakehouses is a unique movement to protect and preserve the old baking huts of Belgium. These historic structures are disappearing quickly. Thus far, 2903 examples have been inventoried. For a complete list and slide show see: http://www.mot.be/w/1/index.php/BakehousesEn/Bakehouses

It’s a Wonder-ful World,
Marjorie

Rocky Shores

The rocky shoreline of Seneca Lake (in New York’s Finger Lakes region) has been the playground for generations of my family. Many happy childhood hours were spent collecting beach glass, shells, and driftwood. The glaciers which made the Lakes have left endless deposits of shale and stones. At the water’s edge, we would amuse ourselves by scribbling secret messages on miniature slates, searching the cliffs for fossils, holding stone skipping competitions, and digging snug harbours for our tiny boats. For a treat, Grandfather Parrott would take us for a ride in the old green wooden rowboat. “Row, row, row your boat” we would sing as we made our way up the Lake to view the “shower bath” waterfall at High Banks and the mysterious Cudjo’s Cave. We would sit in the boat shivering and looking at the Cave as Grandfather would whisper “Those that go in never come out!”

Lately, we have been bringing the shore to the cottage garden. Carrying pails of lake stones up the stairs from the beach to the cottage, we have been able to create a shale footpath. Shalestone Vineyards just down the Lake is a testament to the excellent stone terroir for grape growing and wine making.

The shores of Cayuga Lake, our neighbouring lake, are one of the few places where “Lucky Stones” can be found. These are rocks with fossil worm holes. Our friend, Florence, a plucky eighty-year old, makes a living combing the beach for these fossilized treasures. Legend has it that they bring good luck to anyone who finds one.

Sheldrake Point, on Cayuga Lake, seems to be epicenter for discovering these stone amulets. Several years ago we considered buying a charming shingle-style house there named “Lucky Stone Lodge”. You entered under a rustic arch with the name of the property worked in sticks. The owner of this unique house had been a prominent geologist, and the Lodge was packed with amazing collections from the natural world – strings of Lucky Stones hung by the fireplace, and other geological wonders were displayed everywhere. Trophies from the material world, included walls decorated with the lids of antique porcelain chamber pots. The editors of the World of Interiors would have loved it! This is a place that remains in my dreams. Sheldrake Point Vineyard is nearby, and they honor the local geology with a full-bodied wine named “Lucky Stone Red”.

Bonne Chance!
Marjorie

A Thoreau Summer

These long hot summer days remind me of the old hammock at the family cottage in the Finger Lakes. A relic of WWI, the hammock was brought back by my maternal grandfather. It was made of heavy grey canvas with dark letter stenciling. We kids spent hours swinging in it, and designing ever-more daring acrobatic feats.

This summer I have vowed to take some time in a hammock: to rock, to read, to think, and to sip some of Aunt Betty’s mint tea. Thoreau said it best in the following excerpt from his Journal:

I go forth to make new demands on life. I wish to begin this summer well; to do something in it worthy of it and me, to transcend my daily routine and that of my townsmen; to have my immortality now, that it be in the quality of my daily life…. I pray that the life of this spring and summer may ever lie fair in my memory. May I dare as I have never done! May I persevere as I have never done! May I purify myself anew as with fire and water, soul and body! May my melody not be wanting to the season! May I find myself to be a hunter of the beautiful, that naught escape me! May I attain to a youth never attained! I am eager to report the glory of the universe. May I be worthy to do it; to have got through with regarding human values, so as not to be distracted from regarding divine values.

Savor your summer,
Marjorie