From the archives- but seems an appropriate recipe to share now.
By the time I attended art school and launched into life on my own I had moved ten times and attended nine different schools in four different states. (And since then, nine states). Not unusual, I imagine, for many Americans. And for those of us with immigrant and nomadic ancestry (my people on both sides have crossed continents and oceans searching for safety and opportunity) it simply feels natural to do so, to gather up and move in sync with the wheel of the seasons, aligned with winged migrations and the fickle fate of turning stars.
I have always kept a nomadic heart, even when it wasn't easy. Even when I let her out only in my deepest dreams, inside a brushstroke, or as I stirred a makeshift dough with one of my young sons, improvising ingredients on a budget so small every dollar bill mattered.
Today I made a version of my favorite pre-celiac soda bread, savoring yet another eclectic improvisation that was grainy, tender and without pretense.
For all those who are migrating and moving, leaving what they know for an unknown future- my heart and prayers are with you, for safety, shelter, food and connection.
Peace for Ukraine, and the World.
