Chronicles of the day

Sep 1, 2013

Sitting down for the first time today. It’s 9:09 p.m.

Woke this morning to the smell of buttermilk pancakes. Another reason I love Erin: letting me sleep in, and making delicious flapjacks.

Spent the next two hours helping Erin put Oliver’s new bed together, arranging his room, and shifting other furniture through the house. Erin had found headboards at the Habitat Re-use store, painted them blue, bought new side rails, and took Oliver to Target to pick out a new set of sheets and a blanket. He was delighted by his new bed. Another reason I love Erin: she’s an attentive and creative mother.

Then I was off to the Carrboro Farmers Market. It’s a holiday weekend, and today was hot, so at 11 a.m. the crowd was light and the stalls thin on produce (early birds got the goods, clearly). At one stand, I overheard a farmer lamenting her debt and her need to sell her farm. But she was hopeful she’d find a place to rent so she could continue. From her I bought potatoes, and elsewhere a loaf of dark rye with caraway seeds, a cantaloupe and a cinnamon roll.

Next, over to the Harris Teeter supermarket at Hope Valley Commons, where Scott the produce manager had just received another shipment of prune plums. I bought nine pounds, and other items, and this evening, I made three more batches of DIY slivovitz, in half-gallon mason jars I bought at Weaver Street Market yesterday when I was watching Oliver (Erin had to put in a rare Friday morning there, which stretched into the afternoon).

When I returned home, the family was ready to go to the swimming pool, so we packed up and drove to the Farm Club. We swam, and Oliver and Anna I played a bit of tennis. As we were leaving the pool, a pair of six-year-old twins was having an epic and loud meltdown. I think many of the parents at the pool could relate to the harried mother, but when she retreated to the showers, no one got up to help her. Until my daughters and Erin went in to assist. Another reason I love Erin: she is observant, and empathetic.

Back home, I walked right into the kitchen to prepare the slivovitz, make piperies Gemistes me feta, and mix Erin a mojito a la Ruhlman. Erin took the kids — and half a dozen of the neighbors kids — outside to make s’mores, and I cleaned up the kitchen.

Now that I’ve chronicled the day, I’m going to take a shower, make a pot of tea, and settle in with the new issue of Modern Farmer magazine.

Anton Zuiker

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