Solstice Settling and Sprouting

I returned to Alaska in the middle of the first big snow of what had thus far been a mild winter. In the week that I've been back there's already been a couple feet of snow, some extreme cold, and a thaw to rain, piles of snow melting and whooshing off the steep roofs, icing up on the roads...and it's supposed to freeze back down and snow all over again by the end of today. I've been swiftly reminded of how important weather and the weather forecast become during the winters here--more so than it would somewhere with a less maritime and so changeable climate.

Fortunately, the place I'm blessed to be house-sitting this winter is snug, comfortable, and beautiful, so I won't at all mind being snowed in for a few days should that happen.
Here's the view from a window, with Mount Augustine out in the ocean, and the full moon. 

And from another direction, sunrise...

In this season of least light, the colors forced through the spectrum at this latitude are spectacular. Reputedly the north-facing window in this house has stadium-side view of the Northern Lights when they're out, so that's something I look forward to in the next month or so when that tends to happen.

It's quiet up here, even remote-feeling, although it is also right at that pinnacle of the bluff where there are updrafts and, from the highway, you can see the ravens levitating and floating and playing in those drafts. I've heard chickadees and pheasants, seen the lift-drag of pheasant tracks close to the house. When I headed out on snowshoes after a big snowfall, I wandered off the road and crossed the tracks of a large moose.

I'm cultivating some life indoors as vibrant company for the winter also. One of the first things I did was shred up a cabbage, add a bit of raw sauerkraut juice, and set it to kraut--vibrant bacteria. And then I've been making sprouts. There's buckwheat on the left and fenugreek on the right, both of which are cheap and sprout super-readily. 

I sprouted just a little buckwheat, about a quarter cup, because I wasn't sure if I'd tolerate it and I'm not really tolerating much of anything very well right now.
Was pleased to find, as I'd expected, that it's dry enough here that I could dry the sprouted buckwheat just leaving it in a warm place in the room; no dehydrator necessary.

The quarter-cup of buckwheat blended with three large dates (two and a half would have sufficed) and some cinnamon to make six little bliss balls--with no fat, if that's your bag. Each of them just a small amount of buckwheat, and so far so good tolerance-wise, but maybe that's not enough to really be able to tell.

As for the fenugreek, which I've been sprouting and eating for years, my friend Ofek in Israel tipped me off to a special property it has, which may not be surprising given its mucilaginous character.
When you blend up sprouted fenugreek in a Vitamix or similar with a bit of water, it foams up like crazy, so that it ends up looking like irish moss...

...of course, though, it's not neutral flavored like irish moss; it has fenugreek's signature pungent, curry-like taste. It could be overwhelming all by itself, although obviously the added moisture cuts it. Pretty good with some sauerkraut, avocado, and green powders. The Arab Israelis and the Yemenis make a sort of salsa with it called hilbeh, which I didn't get to try while I was in Israel, but which sounds somewhat reminiscent of Moroccan harissa. It's often offered as a hot relish at falafel stands, so since I tend to go for spicy it's reasonably likely that I've tried it in the past all unaware.
Traditionally this is a time of year that I enjoy playing with food and making goodies, as this blog can amply testify! This year, between having just been gone, getting used to staying in a different place, and the fact that my own body isn't getting along that great with food, I haven't yet figured out what sort of playing I can do for holiday gifts and for fun. But this new foamy substance, with the challenge of its intense and specific flavor, is a challenge indeed. 
Dare I say "watch this space"?

Meanwhile, I got into fenugreek leaves on my trip--after we got back from Israel, ironically; they're readily and very cheaply available at the Indian and Turkish markets near where my parents live. Less pungent than the seed, a little succulent like purslane, delicious. I came home with a big sack of soil yesterday, and am preparing to grow some little greens--fenugreek, red clover.

It feels good to be quiet, alone, and still this solstice (which literally means "sun standing still"). To feel grateful to have such a comfortable and beautiful place to be. To sleep late and not berate myself for it too much. To drink lemon water and nettle tea tinged with Earl Grey. To write. To have dirt on my fingers. To go for a short walk and have dirt under my feet through the washed-out snow. To ponder the problem of my bifurcated blog and how to return to one web home. 
And, to ask the universe, where next? I'm at a still point right now, but this is transition time. I set the intention that when I have to leave this house at the beginning of April I will move smoothly into another house-sitting arrangement, but I will also have some clarity on where I'm headed next. I have no idea, except that it's coming time for me to move away from Alaska. I don't know where. And as the sun holds still, so do I, and for a little time that's okay.

Happy Solstice--I hope yours is peaceful with the stillness that precedes germination.