Best of the Northwest

Today I helped Meg and Brad put up new siding on the rental house behind the barn, thereby fulfilling my corporate-to-construction Office Space fantasy. I was unreasonably excited about it and enthusiastically volunteered my help. We've officially reached the cheese doldrums for sheep-milk cheesemakers. The animal work is mostly done until lambing season begins at the end of winter. The sheep stopped giving milk weeks ago, so cheesemaking has come to a halt. There is technically enough milk here, stored and frozen, for a few more batches of their mixed milk cheese, but we're in a holding pattern until they reach their source for cows milk. There are only a few more markets left, so not as much cheese to cut. My only remaining tasks are cutting/packaging for and attending the last two markets of the season: one tomorrow in Puyallup and one on Tuesday in Chehalis.

So I realize: Out of nowhere comes the end of my second internship. I still have one week left, but I don’t know where the other eight weeks went. In keeping with my usual nostalgia flare-ups, which sometimes I can only liken to a recurring rash, I’ve started to reminisce on everything I’ll miss out here. Soon, I'll fully expound in a later post on the cheesemaking details and farm work, which I have neglected to do aside from the sheep care stories and a few market descriptions. To put it simply for now, I loved my internship and working with Meg and Brad, so I'll greatly miss every detail of that experience -- except, perhaps, cutting and packaging cheese for market. Much like washing Hooligans this summer, it is monotonous and lonely. Unsurprisingly years of document review as a lawyer, trained me to excel at tuning out and powering through such tasks. The highlight of that type of duty in the cheese world is getting to notice the changes in the cheese from time and care and the variances in batches; and at least with cutting and packaging, that involves noticing changes in taste.

Loving work has been a fortunate and reliable fact ever since I began doing this. But for now, I can't leave here without telling you about some of the other great non-cheese-related Washington experiences. 



Admittedly, I've been critical about a few things here (*cough* chickens). And I even stated I might be more of a east coast girl for long-term purposes (as far as coasts go, and with the exception of Portland, which I love).  For instance, I was disappointed in the suitability of my immediate vicinity for running and outdoor recreation. The logging history of the town and the industrial park down the road create a certain stench on the sides of the highway where I have to run. There are other gauntlets on many of the roads, including the certainty of running into at least one unleashed, untrained guard dog running across the road and barking at my heels. Sadly, I prefer the smell of bum pee while running on the sidewalks of DC. That's just me. 

 

Yet, I have found one oasis that is actually one of the most beautiful roads for running ever. I climb a monstrous hill and pass a small herd of cows at pasture, a well-kept red farmhouse, a leaf-lined trail leading to a tree farm, an orchard, and at the very end, a clearing with a perfect view of Mt. St. Helens when there are no clouds. Occasionally, on the smelly highway portion that ends my route, I see a mama and baby deer prancing through someone’s yard. I've seen the same pair at least three times, reminding not to be such a cynical jackass. I will miss that run and that reminder.

    

Seeing Mt. Rainier and Mt. St. Helens on a clear day is something I will definitely miss. On some mornings, when the Rainier is especially snowy and the sun hasn’t quite reached its peak, the mountain looks like it is glowing. If I lived out here, I would always appreciate days when Rainier peaks out from behind its cloud curtain – if for no other reason than the odds and predictability of a clear day make its appearance feel a lot like the winnings in a game of roulette. 



Not even the foggiest part
of my lovely hike

When my experimentation with running routes grew tiresome, I always had the opportunity to drive a bit and go for a hike somewhere beautiful. Despite being cloudy, and at points because it was, my hike on Mt. Rainier was the most gasp-inducing, beautiful trail I’ve ever been on. Plowing through the foggy clouds, blowing frost and zero-visibility, which made me feel completely alone, disoriented and like I was about to fall off the edge of world into a Tolkien novel at any minute, just to see what was at the top of Panorama Point was at times an exercise in self-motivation. Obviously, there was no panorama to see that day, but my curiosity won out. When I reached the top, I felt like I was seeing the mountain like few people would -- because who goes for a solo hike in that kind of weather? 

Is food on this list? You know it!

The hands-down best Mexican restaurant I’ve been to is in Centralia, Washington: authentic home-cooked, warm your heart food that is widely acknowledged as the best Mexican restaurant in the area. La Tarasca was built by one mom, not unlike your own perhaps. By the taste of her food, traditional fare from the Michoacan region of Mexico, I'm imagining she gives really good hugs. It tastes familiar, the flavors so discernable that you think you can recreat it. But of course, any attempt fails miserably, which is the beauty of really good home-cooking. She makes her own fresh corn tortillas in the kitchen, which I've seen from the dining room. And you can taste the love in them. It's a simple menu, the lamination falling apart on the pages that list off a dozen staple dishes and an a la cart menu with the usuals:  tamales, chile relleno, and badass Adobada and Chorizo tacos. Nothing is flashy; the tacos are just the seasoned meat, onions, cilantro wrapped in a fresh tortilla, with a lime for squeezing. It’s a family operation, and I get the sense that 80% of the customers are regulars. If I was here for longer, I would be among them. Please note this restaurant has received  old star approval from someone born and raised in Texas, and who therefore has street cred in tasting lots of good Mexican food.

Of course, I'll miss all the delicious fresh produce I’ve bought or bartered/traded for at farmers markets. And, god yes, the bread from Russell’s Bread, the vendor next to me at the St. John’s farmers market I’ve raved about.

Proximity to Seattle and Portland has allowed me to discover many great things about city life here. I'll miss my friends in Seattle and my guilty pleasures at Pike’s Place Market: the hot mini doughnuts, Russian Piroshkys, and Bottega Italiana gelato. I try to stay at the market long enough that I can make the rounds and eat at each place …so you know, about an hour. 

I'll miss the food in Portland. All of it. No really. I’m almost positive that every single food cart is amazing. I stop at a generic Middle Eastern food cart expecting a standard kofte sandwich and I get my face blown off by a really flavorful and fresh pocket of joy. I go to a Czechoslovakian cart for something different and pee my pants when I’m presented with the fried-slab-of-cheese-between-bread sandwich. I swear I didn't special order this sandwich, and this cart has been ranked as one of the best on their food cart scene (so it’s legit). 

I wasn't here for a particularly ideal season for weather on the beach or coast, but the Oregon and Washington coasts are beautiful even in the rain. Back to food: this also includes the amazing Bosnian restaurant, Drina Daisy, in Astoria, where the stew I ate felt like a warm blanket in my belly. 

I won't miss the chickens. I'm sorry but some things have no redeeming qualities. 

Rainier on the road to the farm