That first bite...

The foraging deer were late this year discovering my container garden. The first evidence they found my treasure trove was a partially ravaged Sungold cherry tomato plant, and a pruned section of a truly epic Jack-in-the-Beanstalk-sized Blue Lake pole bean, initially trained to a trellis then rappelling up the TV cable wire. The deer have been back several times to selectively sample cherry tomato fronds, leaf lettuce, rainbow chard, and a little Thai basil. They have once again signaled their fondness for Cherokee Purple heirloom tomatoes as opposed to more mundane Romas or Early Girls. This year, I have also been trying Indigo Rose, a deep purple tomato the size of a Ping-Pong ball. The deer are a little ambivalent about them, as am I. Pretty, but 'meh.' Occasionally, Mom says she hears them in the night under her window. I have a window fan on low and keep the radio on in my bedroom, so I haven't heard their depredations. This morning I made a disconcerting discovery that also caused eruptions of chortling at intervals. It would be worth the cost of a night vision camera to capture the scene: A deer browsing the salad bar, decimating the lower third of my Jack-in-the bean plant, taking tomato nibbles, then trying the top of a hot pepper plant. While the missing foliage doesn't pack a punch, I know that the missing pepper certainly did. I had been keeping an eye on that three-inch pepper, variety unknown, thinking to pick it in the next day or so. It was on one of four pepper plants grown from plain-wrapper seed packets. The other three have different shapes; this may have been a jalapeno. All are in a container with a truly prolific Thai bird pepper plant I bought as a start. I certainly haven't noticed any missing foliage or fruit on it. Those bird peppers are incendiary. I picked a cup full of red ones this week and dumped them into a mixture of vinegars plus salt and a couple of sprigs of Thai basil. I brought them to a boil, then put them in a pint jar. The lid pinged, so I presume they are sealed, but to be on the safe side, I am keeping the jar in the fridge. There was a teaspoon of vinegar that didn't fit in the jar so I tried a tiny sip from a teaspoon. It about blew my head off and led to coughing spasms. I am forewarned. Although I chop raw bird peppers into my stir-fries and miso/tofu soups, I haven't pulled a pickled pepper out of the jar yet. I took another look this morning at my raided garden, and feel a bit justified in having no remorse over their peppery surprise. I have an inkling the deer may have passed the word --- "Stay away from that container with those things that make you cry."

The Beaded Huckleberry Basket

The scene: Newark Airport, changing planes after the 2008 Inauguration, walking around the boarding area of the terminal, which was packed, trying to find something to drink. The loudspeaker crackled to life to announce my cross-country flight was boarding when out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a handsome Northwest Indian man with his briefcase balanced atop a garbage can, talking to two people, likely members of a Plains tribe. What had my eyeball glued to the briefcase were its contents --- it was filled with really fine beadwork.

I wandered over and asked, "Are any of these for sale?" I had already spotted a singular piece, a beaded replica of a Klickitat basket brimming with huckleberries, with three paddlers in a Chinookan canoe worked into the front of the basket. It was exquisitely made, with smoke-tanned elk hide as its base and three-dimensional huckleberries in the basket, which has Klickitat 'ears' and the obligatory one-bead mistake.

I asked if he was from the Columbia Gorge, where those baskets originated --- he said he was a member of the Nez Perce, but his wife is Warm Springs. I was already reaching for cash while watching the boarding line recede down the corridor and onto my plane. I indicated the one I wanted; he said $40. I handed him my last two twenties and a business card and dashed for the plane. My heart was pounding, full of gratitude for this chance encounter. It is now my favorite beaded piece, eclipsing the silvery blue fish motif earrings I once bought at a powwow.

I sewed a small loop on the back so it can also work as a pendant. Mary Schlick, whose book on imbricated basket-making is a definitive work on the subject, stopped during an event to admire it.

Now, I wish I knew who made it. I have searched the web but found only two other beaded baskets, and they were not like mine.

There were many tribal members at the Inauguration; they hosted their own ball. While walking to the Dirksen Building in D.C. the day before the Inauguration, I talked to two women from a northern Alaskan village walking down the street wearing beaded anoraks and sealskin mukluks. Later, I emailed Warm Springs tribal headquarters, attaching a photo of the piece and asking if anyone knew of its maker, but he or she is still a mystery.