A week after Fiona was born, we started separating her from Emma in the evening. Then in the morning, my husband milks Daisy first and then Emma. We’re a week into this new system and Emma is giving approximately 2.5 gallons each milking; Daisy gives a little more. 

About Emma’s milk: it’s soooo different from Daisy’s! After less than 12 hours of chilling (actually, more like only five hours!), the cream is so thick that it crinkles when you skim it. And the milk itself tastes different — richer, not as strong-flavored, and sweet. I am beside myself. 

Here’s a run down of all the ways we’re enjoying the fresh milk.

Ice cream! Mid afternoon, I blend up an egg, a splash of vanilla, and a half cup each of sugar and milk. I mix it real good, so it’s light and frothy and smooth. Then I pulse in 2 cups of cream and pour the whole thing straight into the ice cream maker. 

About 15-20 minutes later, soft serve vanilla! I transfer it to a different container and pop it in the freezer. By the time dessert rolls around, it’s scoopability perfection. Served with a fruit crisp or cobbler, or fresh sugared strawberries and granola, we can eat almost the whole thing. The little bit that’s leftover is a lovely addition to smoothies.

Smoothies! Just this week I bought a new blender.

I’ve been eyeballing an upgrade for months now and when I saw that Costco had one on special for a hundred dollars, I sprung for it. (Amazon, $150)

one of the three blender pitchers: this one’s the extractor

The thing is amazing, and now that it’s hot weather, I have a feeling we’ll be reaching for the yogurt and milk about twice as often as before. Here’s a banana strawberry licuado (before the Ninja).

The first night we had it, we made piña coladas (no milk) before bed.

Baking! Currently, I’ve been making buttermilk ricotta pancakes (because when you have a lot of milk, you double the dairy). 

The night before, I mix the drys and blend the wets and then smack ‘em together first thing in the morning. 

Yogurt! I’m not a yogurt person, but I’ve actually been eating whole bowls of it for my breakfasts and/or snacks.

roasted strawberries: maple syrup, wine, balsalmic, olive oil, salt

Lattes! So my younger son has been volunteering at the local thrift store one day a week. Days my younger son volunteers at the local thrift store, I’ll get random texts from him: Want this fan? (Yes.) A set of plates? (No.) How about this clock? (No.) Then yesterday, while my husband and I were standing in Costco debating the merits of various blenders, he texted, “Want an espresso machine?” 

“How much?” I wrote back. “Does it work?”
“Ten dollars. I’m testing it now.”

So now I have an espresso machine and I’m YouTubing my way through how to steam milk, pull shots, and make lattes and cappuccinos.

It’s loads of fun and we’re all drinking a lot of coffee, but it remains to be seen if this is just a fun toy or an actual piece of equipment that’s worth the kitchen realestate it take up. 

And speaking of kitchen space, I may need to add on to my coffee stand since my son also got me this spiffy coffee grinder a few weeks back.

Butter! We did it again, but this time with the cream at a cooler temp. While it came together in five minutes, the yield was disappointingly low. We’d used a mix of Daisy and Emma creams, so maybe the low yield was because Daisy’s in the later stages of lactation? Or maybe it’s something else we’re not doing right? But I’m not giving up yet. My snazzy new blender comes with a dough blade, which I think should be perfect for butter making. And it has a lid that locks so I don’t need to hover, whoop! 

I can’t wait to transition from store butter to homemade and start stashing it away in the freezer for all my winter baking.

This same time, years previous: in the bedroom, black lives matter, the quotidian (6.3.19), mama said, when the studies end, sour cream ice cream, buttered bread with radishes.

This weekend, one of my friends posted on Facebook about a nine-plus mile hike she’d just gone on. Right away I told my husband that we needed to do it, too. I was itching to get out. Plus, I’d recently bought a small hiking backpack and water bottle (since my husband is forever fussing, rightfully so, about my lack of hiking preparedness) and was eager to use my new gear. So Monday morning after the milking, we drove east for about an hour. After some last-minute direction confusion, we got our bearings and struck off into the woods.

Actually, we struck off into the woods before we got our bearings AS IS THE MURCH WAY. But we worked out the kinks within the first half hour and only backtracked once so that was basically the same thing as doing it right the first time. (For us, anyway.)

Ooh, look. He dropped his heart.

The first three (five?) miles felt a little like highway driving — just walking on a trail in the woods, no babbling brook or stunning views to distract us from the heat and gnats.

There almost weren’t even rocks to sit on to eat our lunch. Just, lots of trees and a path.

Oh, and snakes! I stepped on a baby green snake without knowing (my husband gasped when he saw it coming up from under my shoe), and then I nearly stepped on this monster.

I shouted, turned tail, and booked it back to my husband. Once I caught my breath, we gently urged mister snake to let us pass, and he kindly did. 

One thing we noticed was the lack of birdsong. At our house, all day long and even sometimes at night (we have a drunk mockingbird that like to sing his heart out at 2 am right outside our bedroom window) the tweeting is deafening, but in the woods it was quiet quiet.

After a few miles, we started climbing. A couple miles of that and then, right around the seven mile mark, there was a short, steep climb to the old fire tower with views in all directions which we savored only briefly…

…(because the sun was killer) before relocating to the little stone room under the tower where we leaned against the cool walls, ate chips and chocolate, and rested.

The first mile back down the mountain was gorgeous: a single path through moss-covered rocks, mountain laurel, and sunshine.

And then the last mile or two, the trail widened so we could walk side-by-side. It was mostly downhill, with lovely shade and so many butterflies flitting in front of us that I felt like I was in a Disney movie. I half expected deer and bunnies and chipmunks — all with enormous soft brown eyes — to skip across our path. 

This was the first time my husband and I had gone hiking just the two of us. “What’s even the point of this?” he said as we tromped down Bambi Lane.  

I took the bait. “It’s kinda like meditation, right? All there is to focus on is what we’re doing, right now, and there’s nothing to distract us from our current misery. It’s centering.” It’s weirdly addicting, I’m learning.

We finished the last of our water right before we got back to the car (note to self: buy a second water bottle) where I discovered the iced coffee I’d packed and left in the cooler, but forgotten about on the hike.

It was like finding a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but better.

This same time, years previous: the coronavirus diaries: week 65, simple lasagna, this is us, brown sugar rhubarb muffins, the quotidian (6.1.15), the quotidian (6.2.14), a bunch of stuff, showtime!, what makes this dish.

Quotidian: daily, usual or customary;
everyday; ordinary; commonplace

Eat the rainbow.

Grilled flatbread, split and stuffed with egg and cheese.

I had mine with olive oil and herbs.

Sunday breakfast.

Taste testing: it passed with flying colors.

Thanks for the ice cream, Emma!

Einkorn dump.

Eye candy.

My first tingley rubbers!

Waiting her turn at the teet.

The perch.

Improvements.

Look up.

This same time, years previous: gluten-free bread, period, facts, the quotidian (5.29.17), the quotidian (5.30.16), an evening together, in her element, the race we saw, the saturation point, the ways we play.