It’s been a long time since I entered this space, but somehow the urge was too strong to ignore this time. The thing that finally did it for me? Muffins.

So much is going on right now (as it always is) but it seems like there’s more to argue about than ever. People pick their sides, draw their lines in the sand, ‘cancel’ and condemn. So what can be the great equalizer in all this division and madness?? I offer you muffins.

Our friend, food
I’d like to offer this as well: food is our friend. It’s possible that food does not need to be a plague, a struggle, an altar on which to sacrifice health or happiness. It can just be.

I love food in the sense that I love a good brisk walk, a cuddle with my babes, a cool lake on a hot day. It’s enjoyable. It feeds me.

I hope for today, you can enjoy with me.

A muffin story
Long before muffins, today we are outside, the dew on the grass is gently warming. We walk up to the field and plant a few experimental seedlings. Breaking up clods of grass from dark soil with spades, our hands. We clear a small little row of bare earth. The kids argue about who will ineffectively use the small shovel, and then we tuck seedlings in and leave them to the elements, hoping.

When we walk back to the house something about the downhill slope, the cool air, sends us all to our own peaceful place. Me to the garden to plant more seedlings, the kids to their own nature adventure. It smells everywhere like growth, like cocoa shells and worms.

All the movement and activity makes us actually hungry and we go inside for fresh eggs and half a piece of toast, a strawberry each.

The kids run back outside while I clean up the kitchen.

It’s almost midday, getting warmer so I don’t know if I should bake. But here they are. Sitting on the counter are two glossy apples as green as the new grass. I take mental inventory. Whole carrots, oats and raisins, baking soda. Out comes the recipe.

Morning glory muffins.

I don’t remember when I first had these muffins, but clearly they left an impression. My recipe is so loved, I’m not quite sure what color the paper was when I first wrote it down.

Many a friend and family member has requested these muffins to comfort their soul or feed their healing body. Many a morning these muffins have brought me back from wandering mental spaces.

First the carrots. I peel off the outer layers of dirt and ribbing into the scrap bowl. Now long, bright-orange ribbons form a pile on my cutting board. Can you see the green apples loose from their bitter shiny skins and become wedges of porous white? Can you smell the aromas lifting from the wood board? Lemon soap, eucalyptus, apple’s tang and carrot’s earth.

The fruit and veggies wait on the board as I wash three brown eggs, warm as my skin, and crack them into a bowl of measured olive oil. Vanilla makes the liquid rich yellow

Now the dry ingredients go into their own bowl. Oats, flour, sugar, salt, baking soda, and cinnamon– all their own beautiful neutral. It’s almost a shame to mix it together, but we must.

Then, I chop the carrot ribbons into confetti and the apples become imperfect cubes. All go into the dry ingredients (raisins too). I mix and coat the sticky fresh things, ensuring they wont sink to the bottom of the batter.

Finally the wet ingredients flood the dry. We (I have a helper now) mix it all into a sticky mass. These muffins will be anything but dry.

I paste the sides of the tins with butter and fill each tiny cave to the brim with batter. One spoon scrapes another, dropping in a sweet mound of mix– a motion that I’ve known since childhood. When it’s done, kids lick the sweet spoons clean.

Into the oven they go, and soon the house fills with smells of cinnamon cake and baked apples.

Later, when we bite into these muffins, we get all the moisture and tang of the apples, the sweet bursts of the raisins and cake-y smack of cinnamon batter. We lather our muffins with butter and eat more than one. We give them to neighbors and friends and sometimes freeze them for later. We eat them and remember that life can be simple and good.

These muffins don’t solve world problems and won’t run for president; they don’t even satisfy hunger for long, but their simple goodness is worth sharing.

I hope you enjoyed this little muffin story.

xoxo
Meg