I’m going to need to see some sun sometime soon, or I’m going to lose my mind. Not only is it cloudy, there’s a very low, looming cloud bank sitting on the ridge across from the house, and it’s drizzling here. Oh—and 30°. Ick.

Oh well, tomorrow is February 1st, and the eve of Candlemas, my favorite of the cross-quarter days, because it is the beginning of spring. Yes, I know we were all raised to think that March 21st—or somewhere thereabouts—is the first day of spring, but it simply is not so. That is the mid-point of spring, with green grass and eggs and chicks and ducklings. Beginning implies the first stirrings, the very first tiny, tentative starts, and that’s what Candlemas holds. It’s also the time when you can see with your own eyes that the days are getting longer—as a friend in WV used to say—it’s the end of solar winter. Candlemas is the christianized name for the holiday, which, in the Ireland, was called Imbolc, or Ewe’s Milk, meaning, obviously, the start of lambing season. It’s also called the Festival of Brigit (known variously as Brigid, Brighid, Brid, Bhrighde, and Bride.) Here’s an excerpt from the book Kindling the Celtic Spirit by Mara Freeman:

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In the dim winter days of the early year there grows within all of us a longing for more light. In old Scotland February fell in the middle of the period known as Faoilleach, the wolf month; it was also known as a’marbh mhios, the dead month. But although this season was so cold and drear, small signs of new life began to appear: lambs were born, and soft rain brought new grass. Ravens began to build their nests, and larks were said to sing with a clearer voice. The Cailleach, Old Woman of Winter, was transformed into Bride, the Fair Woman of February, fragile yet growing stronger each day as the sun rekindled its fire. As Alexander Carmichael writes in Carmina Gadelica, “Bride with her white wand is said to breathe life into the mouth of the dead Winter and to bring him to open his eyes to the tears and the smiles, the sighs and the laughter of Spring. The venom of the cold is said to tremble for its safety on Bride’s Day, and to flee for its life on Patrick’s Day.”

Bride’s Day is February 1, one of the four great festivals that are gateways into the seasons of the turning year. In early Ireland her festival was known as Imbolc, or Oimelc, a name that probably refers to the first milk of the year as ewes birthed their lambs, heralding the return of new life. In later centuries it came to be known as Brigit’s Feast Day, but in the Christian calendar the festival was replaced by Candlemas Day on February 2, dedicated to the Virgin Mary and featuring candlelight processions. A powerful female figure of light hovers over both celebrations, and indeed, Brigit was often called Mary of the Gael.

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What’s So Good About Coconut?

From The Good Fat Cookbook by Fran McCullough

* It’s a low-fat fat, several calories fewer per gram than all other fats.

* It has zero cholesterol.

* It increases metabolism rates.

* It’s an excellent fiber source.

* It’s used for energy, not easily converted to body fat.

* It protects against heart disease and cancer.

* It’s naturally organic.

* It’s the safest cooking oil.

* It contains lauric acid, the protective substance in mother’s milk, to support the immune system.

* It has strong antiviral activity: it’s effective against herpes, hepatitisC, and HIV.

* It prevents wrinkles and premature aging.

* It’s antimicrobial, antibacterial, antifungal, and antiinflammatory.

* It’s full of antioxidants.

There’s a beautiful pot of homegrown chicken soup simmering on the woodstove—I find the smell enormously comforting. I’m looking forward to having a bowl to soothe my scratchy throat.

My buddy A* is back online—please go welcome her back. Sounds like she has a bright and shiny new computer—what fun!

A friend got a new goat a couple of days ago, and found him in the midst of a dog attack today when he got home from work. The goat had to be put down, and we went down to offer moral support; now I’m feeling a little melancholy, but oddly affirmed in my decision to be doing this farming thing. We’ve seen so much death on the farm this year, but it almost seems to keep some of my fear at bay, to be confronted with the harsher aspects of life and death. Maybe it keeps me thinking about it on a conscious level, which seems easier to bear than having it squirming away below the surface, out of sight.

DH picked some kale, carrots, and parsley in the garden; I’m going to go add them to my pot of soup, and maybe make some dumplings for the girls. We’ve been working our way through the “All Creatures Great and Small” series–from Netflix—and a bowl of soup and a good movie sounds like just what the doctor ordered.

DH is home! Yay! And I have to retract, or at least modify my gripes about his lack of supportedness on my diet. We went grocery shopping this afternoon, and he spent a whole lot of time digging through the bargain bins for cheap discontinued low carb salad dressings. That’s pretty supportive, considering that he’d probably never stoop to eating them! What a good DH.

We went to a fun party at the D*’s tonight—it’s E*’s birthday—-happy birthday, E*! Unfortunately, there was an incredibly gorgeous chocolate cake decorated with little white powder sugar donuts sitting on the table exuding an air of menace and temptation. M* baked it today, and didn’t eat any of it—-not sure how she managed that. I didn’t eat any either, but I thought about it. A lot.

The girls are working on their knitted farms that never got finished. Their favorite new toy, which they got from a friend for Christmas, is a felting needle. Which, in case you don’t know, allows you to felt, not just wool, but nearly any fiber, and without water or mess. So they’re embroidering grass and hayfields, and streams and ponds; and knitting rib-stitch plowed fields, and making pom-pom bushes. And the felting needle has given them all sorts of new inspiration: they’re felting little flowers on yarn stems and felting them onto the grassy areas, and now Bernard is coming up with a way to make reeds or cattails for around the pond. They’re such cool, creative girls. Lately they’ve been knitting little wool chickens, which actually they’ve been doing for a while. But in a more recent twist, in cahoots with J*, they’ve been knitting sweaters and shawls, and other color-coordinated outfits for the chickens. Funny ED. Funny Bernard. Funny J*.

Bernard has decided to learn to read, and she’s done a fine job of it. I was a very early reader, and I somehow decided that ED was going to be also. But our early attempts caused us both a great deal of frustration, until I gave up , and just sort of let go of the whole issue. And one day when she was nine, she just started reading, and she now reads voraciously, and almost constantly—actually I have to make her do her chores before she can start reading in the morning. So with Bernard, I never brought it up. Never tried to teach her to read, never suggested that she learn, nothing. Of course she got read to a lot, and she’s surrounded by books and people who love them, so she’s no stranger to books. So a year or so ago she became interested in checking out the whole idea, and started looking at books a little more, and asking how to spell words. And then, more recently, just in the last few months, she’s spent a little time every day with a book, poring over , and sounding out the words, and now she’s reading! And just turned nine—seems to be the magic number.

OK. This is probably really boring, especially compared to the action and intensity, intrigue and suspense of the rest of my posts. But……

I lost 3 pounds this week!

I am so glad all that pain-in-the-rearend work paid off, or I might’ve gone on a binge to end all binges. I guess that’s the danger of weigh-ins—seeking solace in a pint of Ben and Jerry’s when the results aren’t what you were hoping for. I also lost 1-1/4 inches in my waist, which is as least as exciting as the poundage lost.

In other news: DH is coming home tonight. He’s been gone three nights, and I’m ready to have him home. Of course, I’m also glad he’s making some money—when he stays at the inn, he works 10 and 12 hour days, instead of his usual…..er…somewhat less than 10 or 12 hour days. To have him actually making some money, and here it is January, is great! Usually we’re both out of work for a month or two in January and February, and then it seems like the rest of the year is spent trying to catch up. I’m working today and the rest of the week at the other inn; just a few hours a day, answering the phone, returning phone messages, and checking email. It may feel kind of nice to get off the mountain for a while!

It’s hard to believe how much energy it takes to try to lose weight. I find that it occupies a huge portion of my brain space right now—figuring out when, where and how to exercise (made even more challenging by our current weather!); counting carbs and trying to get enough calories; making meals for myself and everyone else, which sometimes means making two separate meals; drinking the ten million glasses of water I’m supposed to drink during the day. And meanwhile I have these little doubts crawling around the edges of my conciousness, like “Isn’t it a little vain and self-centered to spend this much time and energy on how much you weigh?” or “If I were more spiritually evolved, wouldn’t the weight just come off by itself?” (OK, stop laughing. I know that one’s a ittle stupid, but there it is.) Or how about “What kind of example are you setting for your daughters with all this focus on your weight?”

And then there are the well-meaning friends and family members. DH always has this subtle (and sometimes not-so-subtle) kind of eye-rolling energy, like what I’m doing, and the fact that it requires so much time and focus, is just a silly little phase, that hopefully I’ll get over soon. Actually he’s the source of the “spiritually evolved” doubt. So there’s no support coming from that quarter. Other friends have been a little irritated, and possibly even a tiny bit pitying, that this would matter so much to me—as if maybe I’m not being a proper feminist? Or somehow, by wanting to lose weight I’m not honoring my inner goddess, or something like that. Thank god for M*—I highly recommend a good diet buddy—it makes all the difference.

I guess I sort of feel like if something is important to me—now matter what it is—then my friends and loved ones should honor that and offer support in whatever way they’re able. What do you think?

Here’s a recipe that made me very happy on this 0° morning:

This is from The Good Fat Cookbook by Fran McCullough. It’s a fascinating book. Here’s some of what she says about coconut oil:

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Though eggs have finally emerged from rehab, coconut may get life plus

fifty years before we greet it with the enthusiasm it deserves. Of all the good

fats, coconut is not only among the most valuable, but also the most reviled.

Over and over again, I have had tha experience of telling my savvy,

healthy-eating friends about the amazing virtues of coconut, only to be met with

a skeptical stare and “oh come on, it’s not only not good for you, it’s the

worst fat there is.” The reason everyone thinks so is a fascinating story—and

a shocking one.

Americans, and by extension much of the Western world, have been

brainwashed against coconut by the soy industry—with the collusion of some

unlikely bedfellows, the Center for Science in the Public Interest, and the U.S.

Congress. In the mid-1980′s, much of our commercial food supply contained ample

amounts of the “tropical fats”, coconut and palm oil. These saturated fats are

extremely stable and tasty, so they were extensively used in producing cookies,

crackers, other baked goods, and many prepared foods. In 1986, the soy industry

saw a chance to claim this strong market for itself. There was a study showing

that a cow—-a single cow— did not flourish on a coconut diet. That made

perfect sense, since no one, not even a cow, could have coconut as the sole

source of fat. The essential fats were completely missing, The coconut used in

the study was hydrogenated, to make it even more stable—and of course all

hydrogenated fats are by definition trans fats. And coconut is not a complete

fat; it has only miniscule amounts of the essential fats. At the same time,

saturated fats had been implicated in the accumulation of cholesterol in the

blood, and there was a lot of antifat hysteria brewing. The enterprising soy

industry sent out kits to start a grass-roots movement among soy farmers, who

were supposed to write their congressmen to complain about the “dangerous”

tropical fats throughout the American food supply chain. The letters were

written, and an outraged millionaire heart patient, Phil Sokolof, joined the

fray with a series of dramatic ads in newspapers all across the country

demanding that his government protect him from dangerous cookies and

crackers.

Congress responded to these orchestrated alarms and held hearings in 1988

about the safety of the tropical oils and whether they required labeling to warn

consumers of their dangers. Even though Dr. George Blackburn of Harvard

explained that the study on which these claims were based was meaningless and

Surgeon General C. Everett Koop dismissed the entire argument as absurd, the soy

industry won the day, and the “dangerous” oils disappeared. Soy oil, with its

own very dangerous trans fats, replaced the health-promoting tropical oils

(which were also more expensive, so the food manufacturers were delighted by

this turn of events). Both the soy industry and the Center for Science in the

Public Interest continued to pursue this canard (and do to this day) with

releases to media sources about the dangers of coconut and palm oils. All this

was based on no sound science whatsoever, simply the single sad cow (plus a

mouse study with the same flaws) and the fact that coconut and palm are

saturated fats and therefore condemned—though in fact they’re entirely

different from the animal saturated fats and do not increase blood levels of

cholesterol.

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In my next post I’ll tell you what she says is so good about coconut oil. Anyway, until then, enjoy a cup of hot chocolate.