The All You Can Dream Buffet Read online

  “Nature is cruel,” Lavender said. The pancakes were light and fluffy, steaming with hot huckleberries. “These are gorgeous, girl.”

  Ruby poured maple syrup over hers and passed the bottle over. “I know that, about nature. But if a kitten shows up hungry and hiding from a coyote, a woman doesn’t have to be as cruel as nature.” She popped a bite of pancake into her mouth, raising her eyebrows as if to challenge Lavender.

  Instead, the older woman nodded. “Fair enough. I’ve got some tuna around here. She’ll like that, I betcha.”

  Just then Ruby’s face crumpled and she covered her mouth with her hand, raising a finger at Lavender before she ran for the toilet.

  While Ruby threw up, Lavender prepared a cup of chamomile tea and sweetened it with a touch of honey from her own hives. When Ruby returned, she said, “Try that.”

  Ruby nodded, pulling the pancakes and tea over to her. “Maybe I can eat now.”

  I’m writing this from my cozy little trailer, on the road. Outside, rain is pattering on the top of my roof, and, inside, my good dog Willow is snoring softly.

  Today I had the great good fortune to meet one of the community here, Tina Romero, from Rocky Ford. She was kind enough to invite me to her home, where she and some of her friends had made several cakes from “Cake of Dreams.” Thanks, Tina! I had such a great time.

  This is my Black Forest cake, which some of you might know was the very first cake I posted to this blog. Isn’t it pretty? Find the recipe here.

  107 Comments

  9:17 TinaR

  Ginny is so gracious! We were so excited to meet her, and she was just as nice in person as she is in her blog. I’m going to just say that her picture here doesn’t do her justice. She’s a very pretty woman.

  9:18 Young Girl

  So jealous! Wish I could have been there.

  9:32 Glenna

  I have baked that cake many times since the first time I read the recipe here. It’s a family favorite now.

  10:10 Hilda12

  You’re on your way!

  Chapter 9

  Ginny awakened to the sound of car doors slamming and the shouts of children. The air in the trailer was stifling, because she hadn’t opened any of the vents or windows, and her body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Willow was sprawled out in the longest stretch of space in the trailer, on the tile between the stove and dinette. She was sound asleep. Peeking out the window, Ginny saw a family piling into the rest-stop bathroom. Although she couldn’t see it, she heard the rumbling of a semitruck engine somewhere close by.

  Her mouth was dry. Her neck was stiff. She had to pee.

  Some adventure.

  Still, she stood up, finding her back and knees stiff from the long drive yesterday, and hobbled into the bathroom. It was a tight fit, but she loved the birch on the walls and the Art Nouveau glass mirror. The shower had been detailed with four tiny rows of glass tile inlaid in a chevron pattern, and it was big enough to stand up in. Some of the trailers she’d looked at made the bathroom and shower a single room, and she’d decided right away she wanted better than that. A morning like this was a good reason why.

  Slipping back out to the main area, she pushed open the roof vents to let in some cooler air, then made sure the curtains were closed good and tight, stripped naked, and stepped into the shower. Quickly, she rinsed away the sweat of the long night, feeling some of her depression sluice away into the drain with it. It seemed slightly wicked to be showering in a big parking lot on the side of an interstate, and she suddenly liked being a person who could do it.

  She considered splurging on washing her hair but, since the campground was only a little ways up the road, decided against it. A person who could shower in her trailer in a parking lot could also put her hair in a ponytail for the rest of the morning.

  Buoyed, she dressed and thought about making a cup of coffee on her little stove. Willow yawned and wagged her tail, however, so Ginny took the dog out for a morning pee.

  And stopped dead. The temperature couldn’t have been more than sixty degrees. The air smelled like grass and fresh morning, the feel of it on her skin as whispery as the sky, stretching overhead in bold, bright blue. She breathed it in, deeply, and let it go, astonished. Who knew the air could be like that in the summertime, especially the day after a heavy rainstorm?

  Willow was less impressed with the quality of the air and pulled Ginny to the grass. A couple with a fussy little dog waved at her, and she waved back. The kids who had awakened her raced around an open area, no doubt burning energy before they headed on their way.

  Back home, Matthew would be getting ready for work. Something about that comforted her, but she didn’t stop to examine why. Last night she’d been homesick, but now she was on her way for real. In Colorado, a state she’d wanted to visit her whole life. Criminal that it had taken so little time to drive here.

  Willow snuffled along the edge of the field that bordered the rest area. Ginny made herself just be right there with her dog, on this singular morning in June. The hour was early yet, so the light was new and pale. It limned the edges of grasses and a handful of walkingstick cactuses with buds sitting in readiness on their fingertips, revealing each needle on each arm of those severe-looking plants. Beautiful.

  It was a stand of grass with curlicue tops that made her decide to go back to the trailer for her camera. Willow loped along happily, waited with a cheerful smile, then trotted back. Ginny took several dozen pictures, zooming in and out, playing with depth of field, trying to capture the mood of fresh, delicate morning light, that sense of beginning and hope.

  She finally realized she needed to be at ground level for the shot she wanted. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw only one truck left in the lot, so she lay down flat on the grass on her belly, aimed her camera upward at the circlets shining in the sunlight, and took some more pictures. Once she began, she found that the whole world looked different from this angle, as ever, and she made a mental note to talk about this with her students. She shot the cactus and the edge of the building’s roof looming over everything, then rolled over and captured a long series of Willow’s jaw and nose and ears, all from this intriguing, ground-level angle.

  When she stood up, there was a man watching her as he filled up a water bottle from the drinking fountain. He was around her age, probably, wearing jeans and boots like a rancher. The only thing left in the parking lot was a semi with a metallic-blue cab and an unmarked trailer. Must be his.

  Embarrassed, Ginny looked down and brushed dirt off her jeans.

  “That’s a fine-looking dog you’ve got there,” he called out.

  “Thanks.”

  He capped his bottle and came a little closer. “You mind if I pet her? I’ve just lost my dog, and you know how that ache is.”

  One part of her mind warned that he was a STRANGER and POSSIBLY DANGEROUS and it might be a BIG TRICK. Her heart, however, was pierced. “Oh, I’m so sorry. What was his name?”

  The man knelt by Willow, who wasn’t friendly or unfriendly but waited with dignity for the admiration that was her due. “Her name was Miz Cedar. She died just last week.” He moved his hands on Willow in the way that told you he was somebody who knew and loved dogs. “Cancer.” He cleared his throat. “Best damned dog I’ve had in my life.”

  “I can’t even stand to think of it. Willow’s only four.”

  “Border collie and what?”

  “Newfie and shepherd, my vet thinks.”

  “Bet she’s as smart as most politicians.”

  Ginny chuckled. “At least.” The man had wavy gray and black hair and strong hands. “Is that your rig?”

  “Yep.” He half-grinned as Willow stretched her neck up so that he could scratch under her chin.

  “Did Miz Cedar travel with you?”

  “She did,” he said gruffly. He stood. “Thank you kindly. You have a safe driving day, you hear?”

  “Thanks,” Ginny said. “You, too.” She watched him walk away
on long legs and couldn’t help noticing that he had a very nice behind. It made her feel young, and she headed for the trailer with a jauntiness in her step. “Come on, girl,” she said to Willow.

  Ginny secured the interior, tucking away loose items and making sure nothing would rattle around or get broken, then took a moment to examine the exterior for hail damage from the storm last night.

  There were a few dings in the smooth surface, and she ran her hand over them, as if kissing a child’s skinned knee. Hail had been one of the things she worried most about—in the tornado country of Kansas, it was realistic—but research had revealed that the aluminum in the Airstream’s skin was very high quality and thus resistant to damage in the first place. More intriguing was the fact that if the metal was allowed to sit in the sun, many of the dents would dissolve by themselves. She hoped it was true.

  The dog hopped into the Jeep, and Ginny started up the engine. One day accomplished.

  Onward ho!

  FROM: [email protected]

  TO: [email protected]

  SUBJECT: !!!!!!!!!

  I’m in Colorado, just over the Continental Divide!!!!!!!!!! It is even more amazing than I expected. I’m kicking myself that I’ve never been here in all my forty-six years and it was only one day away. This morning I took a cog railroad to the top of Pikes Peak, America’s mountain, and you can see practically the world from up there. Miles and miles and miles and miles, all the way into Kansas and across the Continental Divide, and it’s so high and craggy that I felt dizzy. (Or maybe that’s the altitude. One lady got sick from it, and they had to take her down in an ambulance. Did you know that altitude sickness is a real thing?)

  You guys know I’m not the writer you all are, but I have been taking a million pictures, and some of them are really great. I snapped this one.

  It’s pretty impressive, but then you keep driving, and there are more and more and more beautiful mountains. Once, I had to pull over and rest because I was getting all teary-eyed over them.

  How come I never came to Colorado before this? Why did I just think about it and never DO anything about it? I get so mad at myself for things like that sometimes, like for how many things I haven’t done. Next to you guys, I feel like oatmeal. Kansas oatmeal. How would that be for a blog title? Hahaha.

  Kind of rough driving last night, but today was much better, even though I got into the mountains proper. As long as you take your time, it’s not bad, even on the passes, though I wouldn’t like to drive them in the rain or snow. Yikes!

  I’m done for the night. Gotta get some sleep!

  Love you all, can’t wait to see you.

  Ginny

  FROM: [email protected]

  TO: [email protected]

  SUBJECT: re: !!!!!!!!!

  Sounds like you’re having an adventure now, toots. Enjoy every second.

  FROM: [email protected]

  TO: [email protected]

  SUBJECT: re: !!!!!!!!!

  Dearheart,

  You are making my heart sing. I love to imagine you sleeping in your Coco, with Willow snuggled up next to you and the rain falling down on the roof. It makes me want to come cuddle with you both. Does Willow snore? Can’t wait to give you a big victory hug when you arrive!

  Love,

  Ruby

  The Flavor of a Blue Moon

  a blog about great food…

  The Elixir of Honey

  Honey is a magic elixir—made from the tiny drops of nectar taken from hearts of flowers, carried by little bee feet to a secret cave where it is transformed by time into thick gold sweetness.

  Not all vegans eat honey, but many do, and I am one of them. When I was so very ill as a child, my father tempted me with bread smeared with thick local honey he purchased from a neighbor, thinking it contained some alchemical healing sparkle to it.

  Perhaps he was right. Every batch of honey is different, miraculously woven of the local flora—perhaps columbines or clover, roses or bee balm or buckwheat, which is so thick and dark and pungent. (It is also my favorite pancake!)

  I am here at Lavender Honey Farms, exploring the lovely business of bees and lavender and honey and dancing in wonder at the alchemical delight of it all. Lavender honey is delicate in color and ever so faintly floral.

  Honey has well-known antibacterial properties, and some studies have shown it to be an effective way to reduce C-reactive protein, which might be what my dad instinctively knew when he gave it to his very sick daughter.

  Chapter 10

  Ruby had expected something different from the meadery, which proved to be a sterile room with three big metal stills. A bloom of disappointment covered her heart and she touched it, wondering what in the world she had been expecting—

  A cool room with walls made of gray stone. Light shining through thin rectangular windows, dust motes dancing in the beams, making them look practically solid. On a wooden table, amid a pile of greenery (dill, some voice in her mind said), stood an enormous jar of honey the color of hawk feathers. Her own slim white hands—her hands but not her hands—setting down a wooden cask with a stopper on the side…

  Ruby blinked, and the vision disappeared, leaving her once again in the utilitarian meadery of the present. Stainless-steel counters and sinks lined the room, which Lavender explained were used for washing produce. “And other things.”

  “Other things?”

  Lavender took the stopper from the still and drew out a measure of golden liquid. “Blood, sweetie. This is one of two places where we can slaughter the chickens.”

  Ruby looked around the room in alarm, a buzz filling her ears as she imagined animals being slaughtered, blood pouring out into the drains—

  “Ruby, taste this,” Lavender said firmly.

  The buzzing halted, and Ruby realized the room had no sense of being haunted. It was as straightforward as any restaurant kitchen she’d ever worked in, with the easily sterilized surfaces required by modern hygienic standards. She knew that the chickens were held in someone’s arms, killed individually, and maybe that—

  Her head buzzed again. To distract herself, she reached for the cup. “It’s alcohol, isn’t it?”

  “A sip will not deform your child.”

  Ruby smelled the alcohol before the cup reached her lips, but she also smelled something else—golden afternoons, sunlight and flowers, the faintest, maybe even imaginary, scent of lavender. She let a few drops fall onto her tongue. It was strong, fiery, but, again, she could taste something more, that gilded depth of honey.

  “Mmm, that’s wonderful!” Ruby sighed. “I’m enchanted!”

  Lavender took the cup and tossed the rest back, rolling her tongue against the roof of her mouth, making a smacking noise, moving her mouth back and forth. “This might be the best batch yet. I’ve been working on mead for fifteen years.”

  “Isn’t this wine country?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why not wine, too?” Ruby’s father loved wine, all the little notes and stories of it. When Valerie had been writing her blog, he’d followed it religiously. Ruby always thought he might have something of a crush on Val.

  “Above all things, know yourself,” Lavender said. “I like fussing with mead because it’s made of honey, but I wouldn’t have the patience to make good wine.” She put the cup down. “Do you want to see the hives?”

  “Am I going to get stung?”

  “Shouldn’t. We’ll keep our distance this time. You’re not allergic to bees?”

  “No. I’m kind of afraid of them, though.”

  “Most people are. But I think you’ll like it.”

  “Okay.”

  Ruby ambled out behind Lavender, taking pleasure in the sunlight on her head. A big black chicken walked along with them, feathers glossy in the sun. “Can you pet chickens?”

  “Some are friendly. This one just likes to talk.”

  “Do they have names?”

  “Not offic
ial names. Some have nicknames. I call this girl Martha, for no particular reason.”

  “Hi, Martha.” The chicken clucked in a busybody sort of way, and Ruby laughed. “How are you this morning?”

  Cluck-cluck, cluck, the chicken said, cluck-cluck.

  “Really?” Ruby asked. “And then what happened?”

  Cluck-cluck-cluck. Peck. Peck. Cluck.

  They emerged through the doorway in the shrubs, and again Ruby was taken aback by the stunning view of the lavender fields, spread out like giant purple pincushions over the hillside. Lavender led the way down one row, and Ruby followed, brushing her hands over the tops of the flowers. Bees bounced along the rows, feeding.

  Lots of bees. The sound of them, bustling and full of purpose, was a fizzy note in the air. Ruby paused, enveloped in the landscape, surrounded by flowers, the smell of the lavender wafting over them, the bees buzzing, the sunlight tumbling down over the hilly landscape. She stretched out her hands and closed her eyes, trying to focus on just the sound. Then she let that fade and breathed through her nose, inhaling deeply the sweet fragrance of lavender, so intensely pleasurable that it could almost make a person levitate.

  Then she opened her eyes and let in the visual: the mounded shape of the plants, stretching out in dark purple and light, white and pink, every single one covered in a head of blossoms, as round and regular as Chia Pets.

  Lavender had turned to watch her. Ruby gave her a beaming smile. “Wow,” she said. “Wow, wow, wow. This is fantastic.”

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  If Ruby was a photographer, like Ginny, she’d take a photo of Lavender standing there against the sky, up to her knees in lavender. As if you could go swimming in it!

  She started to walk again, fizzing right along with the bees. As if the baby felt her exuberance, it did a slow, mellow flip, and Ruby laughed. “Do you actually make money from the lavender?”

  “You bet.” Lavender gestured toward the two-story farmhouse, near the road. “That’s why I moved out of the farmhouse and into the cottage, so we’d have plenty of room for the shop and the distillery. We can explore that, too, if you like.”