A Year at Catbird Cottage

A Year at Catbird Cottage

Introduction


This book is a love letter to food, and by extension it is a love letter to Nature, too. I am typing this from my deck nestled on a mossy hillside in the Hudson Valley, a brisk two hours from Manhattan. Years ago I began dreaming of a way to transition my photography and styling career so I could be less beholden to the changing industry. I thought, wouldn’t it be wonderful to pull from my husband Jim’s and my expertise from years in hospitality and make use of all the family artifacts and one-of-a-kind pieces I’d collected as a stylist. We could create a space that felt like a curated sanctuary, nestled in nature, and give people dining experiences to remember. As we searched for a home, the idea of hosting people was built in, and when we landed on our humble Cape Cod, we saw its potential and began the work of making our home ready, creating Catbird Cottage.

With our two kitties, we took the leap and moved into our cottage a few years ago, and ever since, I have relished witnessing seasons arrive, unfold, then make way for the next. This regular observation of nature’s cycles has inevitably deepened my relationship to the foods I eat and the meals I prepare for Catbird Cottage guests.

During my morning garden walks I am met with discoveries of new buds and fruits on our serviceberry and sour cherry trees, thimbleberry shrubs, morning glories, poppies, columbine, monarda, early meadowrue, and innumerable other edible and native plants we installed. I have searched patiently under bush bean leaves to snip their fuzzy, slender fruits. I managed a serious glut of tomatoes two years in a row, canning, roasting, and pickling to preserve the season’s jewels. By and large, the garden has rewarded me manyfold through the seasons. I have kept the numerous garden beds more or less tidy. In growing an increasing amount of my food year after year, I have learned to companion plant and succession plant with some confidence. I am definitely not an expert, but three years in, I know some things about what a garden can be.

Perfectly timed, two hummingbirds just whizzed by as if to cheer me on, stopping at our nectar feeder to grace me with their resplendent tiny beings.

How did I get here? I lived in large cities for the majority of my adulthood, and though there was a crucially relevant time and place for that kind of living, I haven’t craved it in years. In 2012, when we moved to the Deep South, it dawned on me that I needed a greater connection to nature in my daily life.

After moving back north, we found interim solutions, including daytrips hiking outside of NYC, regular visits to nature preserves, and weekly meanders to forage on a nearby and quaint block that, to our surprise and delight, possessed an abundance of wild foods hidden right in plain sight. Neighbors and passersby scrunched their faces, perplexed at our enthusiasm as we harvested tiny wild black cherries dangling over parked cars or as I snipped purslane from fence openings at lawn edges. We stretched and contorted ourselves (and brought a folding ladder, on occasion) to harvest inky, nectar-sweet mulberries from branches laden with fruit arching over sidewalks, their telltale stains viewed only as a nuisance by the building landlord.

While biding our time and making the most of the city, we set on a path to find a permanent place to resolve my longing for a sturdier connection to the wilds. Years prior, when we moved to Birmingham, Alabama, I grew friendships with family farmers. They lovingly tended all manner of foods. It was cathartic to walk their fields and see the crops growing and observe how they toiled to bring food to market. I learned about elements never found on grocery store shelves, such as okra flowers and cauliflower leaves, about cover crops, and how to milk a goat or a cow by hand. I found ways to forage wild foods easily when I lived in the Deep South, as abundant nature was only minutes away from urban city blocks. These experiences stoked something that, when I returned north years later, made me realize that I needed permanent space in my life. I am now living a life I am in love with. I am lucky enough to walk out my door and be welcomed by a cacophony of beautiful sounds and sights. Nature really is at my fingertips. This brings me enormous peace.

Along with gardening, the move has allowed me to be spontaneous as a forager and explore almost without thinking, because the wilds are everywhere surrounding me. I’ve learned to seize on my hunches and been rewarded by plump wild berries toppled into many containers. I am party to the anticipation of—and in competition with the innumerable birds and chipmunks—the first ripening black raspberries and am keenly aware of how quickly fragrant chanterelles push from the earth with a few good rainstorms. All this informs the food I prepare throughout the year for guests at the Catbird. Nature has become my partner in crafting menus.

Routine observations around my property and the immediate countryside refine plans as to which ripening ingredients are laced into a dish. Once I’ve had a chance to explore and test an exciting idea, it becomes a new member of the family of elements in an ever-expanding repertoire. This regular connection is a wellspring for inspiration. I hope this book ignites your curiosity and zeal to explore, too.