Thursday, February 23, 2012

Wildfire!

Since summer, I've been fearing winter. I've feared the culmination of our tree pruning exercise. I've feared the giddy fire play of a former farm boy, passed off as a legitimate way to deal with tree detritus. "Seriously?" I say to Jay. He nods. He's sincere in his belief that this is a necessary evil, sanctioned by even the rubbish removal guy who told us to save our pennies and burn it.

I wrestle with my conscience. For more than two years I actively worked to convince friends, family, and the public that burning was BAD. All those presentations by toxicologists who told us that despite the high level of carcinogens contained in woodsmoke, we'd never break the love affair that people have with fire.

Oh the testosterone rush of a gigantic, life-threatening blaze.
When it came time to light the pile, I was a nervous wreck. Furtively surveying the surrounding foliage: would that catch on fire? Jay's full of manly assurance: It's winter. Everything's wet. This is why we're doing it now. Still, my heart's racing. There goes our cabin. And the surrounding cabins. All the way down the road the raging fire is consuming all of Lester Beach. The next day we're featured prominently in the community newspaper: "Family Burns Down Cottage Country."

While I entertain thoughts of mass destruction, Jay's busy setting brush on fire. He barely gets around it before it goes WHOOSH! A gigantic, 12-foot fireball. Licking at the top branches of a neighbouring apple tree. My heart races. My 8-year old son inches closer, oooh-ing and aaah-ing, congratulating my husband and fellow testosterone monkey, for an "epic" fire.

Meanwhile, my 10-year old daughter paces. She frets. Like her mother, she loudly announces her disapproval of a fire so big. Neighbours drop by to check and make sure we're "okay". I continue to pace. Higher and higher the fire goes.

Curiously, in between the fretting and pacing, I do take time to take some pictures. Wow, those gigantic flames make for good photos. Phew, the apple tree isn't catching fire. Oh look, the cabin is still intact. And yes, the flames are indeed dying down, as Jay predicted. I relax a little. By this time, daughter's left the crime scene and retreated inside where her safety bubble is preserved.

I feel relieved. It's all okay! The fire was rather exciting, wasn't it? Thrilling, in fact!

Then I get a message from a friend. From back in the day. A friend who, in no uncertain terms, suggests I've clearly abandoned my air quality principles of yesteryear. I hang my head in shame. He's right. I DID enjoy that near brush with death. The thrill of a heat so intense I thought I'd singe my nose hair. Is it any wonder fire's a habit we just can't break?

Saturday, February 11, 2012

My Kingdom for a Bagel

Jay's little circles of bagelly sunshine
Winnipeg's Jewish community has a sizable, prominent and influential presence here. So why can't a girl get herself a decent bagel in this town?

Gee, I hope that didn't sound cliche.

But seriously. When we were moving to Winnipeg, I was beside myself with excitement over my bagel prospects. I couldn't wait to find the famous North End. Surely here I would find the Mecca of Bageldom.

Nope.

I found one local baker who made a New York style. But again, seriously? Anyone who loves their bagels knows full well that Montreal-style is the ONLY style. And here, I've found out from my reputable Jewish friends, there is NO Montreal-style.

Gaaaaah.

So. Cut to scene: since we can't go to Bageldom, henceforth Bageldom shall come to us. Our street cred is that Jay's a lab rat. He tinkers with test tubes, mass spectrometers, and gas chromatographs for a living. So really, could building a better bagel be all that hard?

So far we've had three batches, three different recipes. Tasting as we go. Adding extra notches to our belts. Stay tuned for the thrilling outcome, when just one bagel will be left standing.  Here, on Bagel Island.