Rustic Fig & Honey Goat Cheese Tart

"The measure of your life is the amount of beauty and happiness 

of which you are aware." ~ Agnes Martin 

The earth is quietly opening up around here.  Today I looked at the teeny buds on the lilac bush in the front yard, and on the apple and plum trees behind the house.  Tentative first steps of the beauty that lies ahead.  It's been a warmer than usual spring.  Typically there should still be snow lingering, but it's been gone for a couple of weeks now.  Even the grass is beginning to turn green, and the cats couldn't be happier.  Their little mouths chomp down voraciously on the fresh chlorophyll until they eat too much and...we all know what happens when cats eat too much grass.  I too have the spring fever and can't wait to don a new pair of garden gloves and begin peeling back the layers of mulch in the flower beds.  I'm always pleased to see the fresh growth underneath.  I silently congratulate the perennials for surviving another bitter winter.  Like us locals, they too deserve a pat on the back for enduring another multi-month Saskatchewan deep freeze.  As the cats roamed the perimeter, I sat in one of the dusty patio chairs hauled out from the garage and turned my face towards the sun (I wasn't even wearing a jacket!) grateful for another season of fresh, happy starts. 

Rose Pavlova with Raspberry Pomegranate Sauce

"And the Spring arose on the garden fair, 

Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere; 

And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast 

Rose from the dreams of its wintry rest."  ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley

Springtime in Saskatchewan.  You never know what you're going to get.  Yesterday, as I was photographing this pavlova, the windows were open, furnace was off, sandals were on - showing off my freshly pedicured toes, and the cats were roaming the perimeter of the place, no doubt scouting for any animal trespassers.  And today it's a blustery affair, with dark brooding skies and a mood to go with it.  Furnace is back on.  As is the winter uniform of leggings, slippers and sweater.  A stark contrast to the day that came before it.  A season still trying to figure itself out.  Which I get.  I think at the core that's all we are trying to do - figure ourselves out.  Over the weekend I watched the HBO series Olive Kitteridge.  If you get a chance, I highly encourage you to do so, too.  It's lovely to look at - the opening credits alone made me crave a doughnut and the woods, though not necessarily at the same time.  It's a story of a family and a small town, of lasting love and the turbulence of life over the span of 25 years.  I love movies and books where the characters age and every five or ten years you check in with them to see how they're doing and how they've changed and mistakes they've made.  Love it.  I won't give anything away, but this series packs an emotional whammy.  The last hour alone made me weep like a baby because it took Olive most of her lifetime to figure herself out.  And it wasn't too late.  It's never too late.