Anne of Green Gables Picnic and Tea Party . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (Camp d'Evegnee, August 2013)

After so many fantasy-filled Camp d'Evegnees, I decided it was time to experiment with something a little closer to reality. As a teenager, I lapped up Anne of Green Gables like water and soaked in her creativity, her constant involvement in "scrapes" and, of course, her secret crush on (sigh) Gilbert Blythe. I want both my boys and my girls to become fictional friends with our dear, quirky Anne and to appreciate the need for female protagonists whose only super power is their imagination and their ability to make a simple life absolutely fulfilling. Thank you, Anne Shirley, for being that sort of girl. (And thank you, Lucy Maud Montgomery, for creating her!)

To prepare for Camp d'Evegnee,  I read Anne of Green Gables aloud to the oldest four kids. The boys tolerated it with a respectable amount of amused interest. Eve, though, kept me grinning as I caught her leaning forward intently and clinging to each carefully crafted sentence night after night. Anne kept popping up in her everyday conversations with both Eric and me.

The kids asked me, "So, with your best friend in junior high, were you Anne or Diana?"

 I wanted to say, "We're planning a costume bedecked picnic and baking Josie Pie and drinking Root Gil-beer-t Blythe. What do you think?"

Anne of Green Gables Picnic
 We dressed up in our formal picnic attire and headed down to the next best thing to the Barry's Pond--the gorgeous Ricks Gardens at BYU-Idaho. We couldn't have cooked up a better setting with our imaginations. Anne would have approved (and she certainly would have come up with a much more romantical name than "The Ricks Gardens!").

When Eric saw my get-up with its yards of white lace I had sewn on to a plain white apron, and the converted gathered empire waist, he said, "Well. . . you look maternal." I wanted to reply, "I've always dreamed of going to a picnic in puffed sleeves.  I'd rather look ridiculous with everyone else than plain and sensible all by myself." 

The Menu for the Picnic:

Root Gil-beer-t Blythe

Matthew's Favorite Fried Chicken

Rachel Lynde's Potato Salad

Carrots (of course!)

Josie Pie

Marilla Bean Ice Cream

All of the recipes for the picnic and the tea party are posted on my recipe blog HERE

Anne of Green Gables Tea Party

We couldn't keep all of the Anne-esque amusement to ourselves, so we invited some kindred spirits to join us for a tea party.

The Tea Party Menu
A Variety of Tea Sandwiches, including my personal favorite, Fluffernutter Tea Sandwiches (a homage to Eric's Eastern upbringing)
Raspberry Cordial (absolutely non-alcoholic--no intoxicating our bosom friends)
Josie's Beaus on a String (Fruit Kabobs)
Plum Pudding with Sauce
Miss Stacy's Nature Salad
Carrots
Matthew's Lady Bugs (Get it? He's bugged by ladies! I got a real "thrill" out of that one.)
Teacup Cupcakes and Teapot Cake
You can find all of the recipes HERE

When I discovered that Plum Pudding doesn't have plums in it, I was so flabbergasted that I couldn't stop chattering about the history of the dessert. The kids got so tired of my purely nerdy enthusiasm, that I over-dramatically asked them, "Did you know that Plum Pudding doesn't have any plums in it??" at least ten times the week of the party to see them roll their eyes.

I'm sure you caught a grotesque gander of the mouse in our pudding sauce. Well, I suppose in the end it was a romantic way to persish. . . for a gummy mouse. 

I wish you could have seen Marie as she ran after her partner, waving her arms just like Jane Andrews when she thought Anne had drowned and yelling, "Wait for me! Wait for me!!!"

The kids each got to decorate their own cupcakes to look like teacups.

 

Please email me if you'd like the files for any of these printables, the invitation, or the food labels! I'm always happy to share! devegnees@byui.edu

Breaking Bad Finale Party

At the top of my dream guest list for our soirée tonight is Flannery O'Connor, who would be followed by Shakespeare, William Faulkner, Tim O'Brien, and Cormac McCarthy because they all understand that goodness must be earned and understood, even while the desire for power swirls around us in pools of easy temptation. Flannery O'Connor's quote (along with several from Macbeth and King Lear) is the one clanging in my head today: "There is something in us, as storytellers and listeners to stories, that demands the redemptive act, that demands that what falls at least be offered the chance to be restored. The reader of today looks for this motion, and rightly so, but what he has forgotten is the cost of it. His sense evil is diluted or lacking altogether and so he has forgotten the price of restoration. When he reads a novel, he wants either his senses tormented or his spirits raised. He wants to be transported, instantly, either to a mock damnation or a mock innocence" ("The Serious Writer and the Tired Reader"). Even if the characters cannot be redeemed, here's hoping that the audience's motivation to find real redemption will be re-kindled. I know mine has.

 Here I am in all my yellow banana glory, cooking our Pollos.

 I was supposed to making a "bad-A" face, as Eric said. Instead, I just look like an angry yellow Oopa Loompa.

Carmel Corn Cash

I am absolutely giddy over the prospect that all art (even well-done TV shows and movies, which are unfortunately rare) should follow Faulkner's model of confronting "the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself which alone can make good writing because only that is worth writing about, worth the agony and the sweat" (Nobel Prize Acceptance Speech). 

For anyone who cares, Faulkner goes on to say, "He must learn them again. He must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid; and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the old universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed - love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice. Until he does so, he labors under a curse. He writes not of love but of lust, of defeats in which nobody loses anything of value, of victories without hope and, worst of all, without pity or compassion. His griefs grieve on no universal bones, leaving no scars. He writes not of the heart but of the glands." KA-POW!!!

Now I need to get back to cooking. 

Volume IX, issue vi, July 2013

Behold the Harvest

Fifteen years ago, the symbol for our wedding was wheat, inspired by a quote from The Little Prince. One of my artist friends drew and designed this wheat logo for us, and we used the lovely drawing on our announcements, invitations, envelopes and thank you cards. The quote from The Little Prince became the sort of epigram for our wedding. 

This time of year, our home in Rexburg is surrounded by fields of golden wheat and we've been reveling in the sight and the smell of the gorgeous grain. The Rexburg Temple, which is a mere walking distance from our home, also uses wheat as its main symbol. It's everywhere--the stained glass, the fences outside, the railings on the staircases, the carpeting, and the ceilings. The theme makes it feel even more like home and we consider it OUR temple. 

For Family Home Evening last week we couldn't resist snapping a few photos.

Fifteen years, and behold the harvest! There is almost not enough room in our hearts (and in our car) to receive it. . .

Thank You, Entropy

When I think of the best way to define the word entropy, I direct my gaze to the house-scape that surrounds me. Nine bodies in need of daily food and clean clothes create an entropic force that is both terrifying and beautiful to behold as it swirls around me in a wave of laundry, crumbs, love, and laughter.

Summer visitors mean summer cleaning that goes beyond the two daily chores on the kids’ list. On a particularly grueling day of cleaning, I could see that my helpers were losing steam and patience after a couple of hours of scrubbing and sweeping and organizing without a break. I finally told them that they were done for the day and I could feel the collective sigh of relief like the air coming out of a balloon as my war-beaten soldiers collapsed and sank into various couches and chairs and carpet.

Caleb found me in the study a few minutes later and said, “Aren’t you going to stop too, Mom?”


 I told him I was going to forge ahead for a few more minutes, but that he should take a well-deserved housework hiatus. He left the room and I assumed he had gone to join the celebration of lethargy downstairs.

A few minutes later I heard him sneak softly into the room with Holden at his side and they started picking up books and stacking them on the shelves. Holden said stoutly, “If you’re going keep going, we’re going to keep going.”

So, thank you, entropy. You bring out the best in us. I might not have known how good I have it without you. 

We spent the first part of July in St George, Utah for our annual Hafen Family Reunion. The heat was in the triple digits, which somehow didn't deter us from going on a hike to see the quarry which provided the rock for the St George Temple. I awakened all of the kids except Charlie around 7:00 and cheerfully asked them if they'd like to join us on the hike with their extended family. They all made the choice to come, which was  surprisingly heart-warming on such a hot day. We were all inspired by the faith-filled trail, but after about twenty minutes hiking in the overwhelming heat, red-faced Marie panted as she said, "Mom, I kind of wish I hadn't chosen to come." 

She did make it there and back, but not without learning how a girl can pee in the wilderness. Learning to pee in the wilderness without getting it on your shoes is a lesson we saved for next time. 

At the end of the hike, my red-faced crew staggered back to the car and poor Peter's nearly transparent Irish skin had almost an eerie glow to it. I was a little worried about heat stroke until he started to climb in the car and looked at the red dirt caked on his shoes and said, "Hey Mom! Look! I have sand-als! Get it? SANDals!" 

Frenchy Festivities
On my mission in France, Bastille Day on the 14^th of July was the only day we had permission to stay out past 10:30 PM. My mission president got it. Bastille Day was big. He wanted us to watch the fireworks and watch the faces of our French friends light up with patriotic pride in the glow of the sparkling reds, whites, and blues.

This year Bastille Day fell on a Sunday, so our family wore our best red, white, and BLEU to Church.

Our French patriotism also demanded that we eat not one layer of chocolate, but several. Sometimes you just have to sacrifice for love of country and love of chocolate.

We called this cake the Chocolate Prison. Eric said we’d need to cut it with a guillotine. 

Our petite Marie Antoinette said gleefully, “Let them eat cake!”

Talent Show
Like every single one of our other children, Charlie is a utensil prodigy. His chubby little mitts were made for holding a fork or a spoon and using it with grace. He can shovel forkfuls of rice into his wide-stretched mouth with both the speed and skill of a competitive eater ten times his age.

This month, Charlie had his first experience in the wide, wonderful world of restaurants. When the server placed a plate full of pancakes and eggs in front of him like some miraculous gourmet genie, he was clearly in awe of this new edible concept. 

He inhaled his breakfast and then pointed his adult-sized fork around the dining room, scanning the crowd with his fork as if trying to lock in our server with his hungry little fork-radar. Clutching the fork that engulfed his tiny fist, Charlie whined and pointed the utensil at our server as if to say, “Hey Food Lady! Bring me more! I can clearly see that it’s your job, so lay it on me, baby!” I had to share half of my breakfast with him to placate his volcanic appetite and I’m sure he would have happily eaten any more food that magically appeared in front of him.

Seven Kids A-Swinging
I can scarcely believe all of those monkeys are mine! What glee! 

All seven kids were piled onto the swings and taking turns pushing each other, trying not to get smacked in the nose by their siblings. My favorite line of our playground outing came from Ethan just after he gave Marie an "underdog" and almost got taken out by her tushie. He gasped and said, "A little girl's butt just came hurtling towards me at 80 miles per hour!"

It was Charlie's first time on the big kid swings and he looked so tiny with the swing going all the way up to his cute little armpits.

We decided to try out the "sports" button on my camera with a variety of results. I haven't laughed so hard in a long time. Luckily everyone knew I wasn't laughing at them. . . but about them. (Just kidding, Eric.)

It's Always Fun When Grandpa Comes
Eric's Dad (aka "Grandpa Rex" or "Franpa") made the long trek across the country to come for a visit and we were all spoiled rotten with the fun we had hiking and playing and eating together. He somehow manages to make each of the kids feel loved as an individual despite our staggering numbers. We love you, Grandpa "Rex!"