We skiied across Long Lake in the Chequamegon National Forest yesterday with friends. And then that wasn’t long enough, so we skied around it too, and down the un-plowed forest road leading to it.

Long Lake is one of our favorite swimming lakes in the summer. It was a little disorienting to see it frozen and snow-covered, but beautiful all the same.

Jack came along. He had a blast running all over the lake with Jenn and Trevor’s dog Coal, and was so worn out when we got home, he curled into a ball on his bed and fell right asleep {very un-Jack-like. He usually has energy to spare!}

After the ski, we headed to the yurt for a potluck of potato soup and an oxtail stew over hot grits- super satisfying after our workout. The dogs laid together by the woodstove and the humans chatted late into the night over red wine.

Yesterday morn we woke up to a nice layer of fresh snow. We rubbed the sleep from our eyes, popped a ham in the oven, whipped up some mashed potatoes {from our garden}, and headed over to the yurt for brunch.

It was so warm and festive inside…

Within seconds, we were plopped down by the woodstove and handed a glass of wine.

Friends started to arrive. The table filled up with steaming bowls of stuffing, roasted root veggies, salad, pies…

Bellies were filled. Stories were told. Laughter was shared.

A jar of cream was passed around the table and shook. Sweet winter-squash pie and whipped cream ignited a chorus of hearty “oooos” and “ahhhhs”.

And then the dishes were washed, leftovers were divided and shared, and the football was tossed around in the snowy yard with cold, red hands.

Which is precisely what we have been up to lately, with a variety of different neighbors, friends, and family members. Our meals have mostly been comprised from the odds and ends that are still lingering in the garden: cherry tomatoes that weren’t bothered by the very light frost we had in September, kale, and acorn squash.

It’s a little difficult to take good photos of these visits, since they happen after dark in the dimly-lit kitchen where our camera is only capable of producing fuzzy, blurry versions of the real scene. But chances are that you’ve experienced a fall get-together of your own before, so you know what it looks like.

The Swedes have a special cake, aptly named the Visiting Cake, which they make and bring to potlucks or even just for dropping in on a neighbor for a chat and some coffee. It’s simple, delicious, and full of comforting flavors {although, since Mike is 50% Swedish, we’re perhaps a little biased.}

It could be made gluten free very easily by using almond flour instead of wheat flour, but I would suggest skipping the almond extract in that case {almond flavor can easily overwhelm.}

The only dairy in the cake is the butter and the eggs, so for you vegans I would guess you could use substitutes for both and it would still come out great. Olive oil is a great sub for butter- I have used it in cake recipes before and could not detect any difference from the butter version.

Image courtesy Baked Bree.

Swedish Visiting Cake
8 tbsp (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted and cooled, plus more for preparing pan
1 cup sugar, plus extra for sprinkling
Grated zest of 1 lemon
2 eggs
1/4 tsp salt
1 tsp vanilla extract (optional)
1/2 tsp almond extract (optional)
1 cup flour
1/4 cup sliced almonds (blanched or not)

Center a rack in the oven and preheat to 350 degrees. Butter a seasoned 9-inch cast-iron skillet or other heavy oven-proof skillet or a 9-inch round cake or pie pan.

Pour sugar into a medium bowl. Add lemon zest and blend zest into sugar with your fingers until sugar is moist and aromatic. Whisk in eggs, one at a time, until well blended. Whisk in salt and vanilla and almond extracts.

Switch to a rubber spatula and stir in flour. Finally, fold in melted butter. Scrape batter into prepared skillet or pan and smooth top with rubber spatula.

Scatter sliced almonds over top and sprinkle with sugar. If using a cake or pie pan, place pan on a baking sheet. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, or until golden and a little crisp on outside; the inside will remain moist.

There you go! You’re all set for your next neighborly visit. Enjoy!

After all the apples were {somewhat} clean, the pressing began.

It’s so fun for us to start new seasonal traditions with our new community. I can imagine, ten years fast-forwarded, doing exactly this, but with all our little kids doing all the work. Us grown-ups can just kick our feet back and eat apple fritters. Right, mom and dad?? Isn’t that what parenting is like??

Anyway, it’s pretty special to have found such a wonderful group of friends our age.

When I was little, the group of homeschoolers we met with every week had a cider pressing party at a farm in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to mark the beginning of the school year. It was completely incredible to our young minds that this sweet amber treat dripped out of all those white-fleshed apples.

It’s still just as amazing this time.

We drank it raw, in little sips, comparing batches and commiserating over how the mixture of apple varieties impacts the taste- like the snootiest of wine connoisseurs.

The best batch was one in which we tossed in a wide mixture of varieties. A few bitter ones, a few sweet ones, a few that tasted very similar to pear, a few tart ones.

And just as the sun got low in the sky and we were adding layers to our outfits, the hot apple fritters came out of the house. Steaming, golden brown and dusted in confectioner’s sugar.

They literally melt in your mouth. The recipe is coming up next! Happy fall!

The press was a group purchase between two other couples and us. They came over, plus some other friends too {because once word gets out that fresh cider is to be had, a party happens} and we got busy picking.

The tree limbs were shook gently, apples rained down, and heads were covered with arms.

Our tarp was filled quickly with crisp early season apples.

“You missed one!”

There was a plethora of opinions and strategies. Means to the same end.

The dogs watched from a safe distance, once in a while swooping in to grab an apple to munch.

Full buckets in hand, ready to press!

To be continued…

A: Building an apple cider press with friends, of course!

Happy Labor Day!

It’s the tail-end of blueberry season ’round these parts, which means the bushes are loaded and the berries are tastier than ever. The plants can sense that fall is closing in, and they think, “Crap! Must procreate!” and they put all their energy into beautiful fruit. Yum.

My aunt, uncle, and two cousins were visiting from Chicago and we got the berry-picking itch. Blue Vista is one of my favorite places to pick because their farm is gorgeous- perched on a hill overlooking Lake Superior- and they’re organic, so we headed north with visions of blueberry pancakes and muffins and pies to come.

Blueberries here, raspberries behind us.

A blue heron overhead, the big lake below.

Whole handfuls of berries coming off the bush all at once.

“She picked three more berries and ate them. Then she picked more berries and dropped one in the pail-Kurplunk! And the rest she ate.” -McCloskey, R. (1976). Blueberries for Sal. New York: Viking Press.

What beautiful girls my cousins are…

And yet they can make the weirdest faces…

Hmmm, yes, I do believe we are related. Except, why are they so tall and I am so short? Unfair.

Brunch is maybe my most favorite thing that humans ever invented. Brunch is especially awesome when its contents are composed of fresh, local ingredients. And in that regard at least, this was a rockstar brunch.

The pretty pink potatoes came out of our garden, and so did the kale that we sautéed them with. The flour in the pancakes was grown and ground down the road from us. The milk, too. I picked the blueberries yesterday at a farm in Bayfield. The eggs came from Sarah & Bob’s chickens, living in our yard. The maple syrup was made by my family. The bacon came from Blaise and Jes’s farm down the road.

We fed our souls with laughter and fellowship, and our bellies with yummy morsels.

See how much happier we all look already? I’m telling ya, brunch is a miracle worker.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again- we’re so blessed to live in a community full of family farms and folks who care about their community, the earth, and good food. Couldn’t ask for anything more than this right here.

And after this happened, I got my bum to the beach, read my book and fell asleep for a while, and floated in {the deliciously ice-cold} Lake Superior for two whole hours. So in other words, this was a pretty fantastic weekend.