Bittersweet (29 page)

But even though I didn't speak, Ruby seemed to understand, in that intuitive way of hers. She reached out and patted my hand. “It's hard to see our parents moving into their later years and not know how to make it easier for them without compromising their independence.” She paused. “And ours.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Thank you.”

Ruby nodded. “Been there, done that,” she said, and I knew that was true. Her mother's Alzheimer's is a hard thing to cope with. But she didn't want to linger on the subject. “What about Mack and her hunky deputy? What do you think is going to happen there?”

I laughed. “Hey, I'm not the one who's living with a crystal ball. That's another story, isn't it? They've only just begun. How they're going to end is still a mystery.”

Ruby peered into her empty cup, where a few microscopic bits of tea leaf had escaped the strainer. “Maybe,” she said. “But the leaves suggest that the future looks promising.” She twinkled. “Very promising.”

“That's good,” I said. “Mack needs a special guy—somebody who can live with the work she wants to do.” I paused. “Which leaves us with just one more question. How did your yarn bombing go this weekend? I saw the results when I came in this morning. The trees are quite . . . amazing.”

And they were. Amazing. All along our entire block, the trunk of each sidewalk tree had been wrapped with flamboyant knitted stripes. Turquoise, yellow, navy, fuchsia, mulberry, tangerine, lime, shamrock, periwinkle.

“I'm glad you like it,” Ruby said modestly. “The permit says we can leave it up until after New Year. Next weekend, we're putting up the fairy lights, so it'll be even more eye-catching. And the kids at Sam Houston Elementary School are painting a big plywood sleigh and Rudolph and candy canes.”

“Santa Boulevard,” I said.

“Something like that.” Ruby smiled. “I just love it when Christmas comes and everybody gets creative. Don't you?”

I nodded. “As long as Rudolph isn't wearing monster antlers, I'm
fine.”

When we talk about herbs, most of us think of the green plants growing in our gardens or the little jars of dried plant material on our pantry shelves. These are the herbs that appear in traditional European cuisines: parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, bay, mint, dill, and oregano.

But in recent years, ethnobotanists have broadened our understanding and appreciation of the many human uses of plants. Ethnobotany is the study of native peoples and cultures and their relationship to plants, as food sources and in medicine, cosmetics, dyes, clothing, construction, ritual, and magic. As an amateur botanist, I treasure my well-thumbed copy of
Native American Ethnobotany
, anthropologist Daniel Moerman's extraordinary compilation containing descriptions of over 44,000 native uses of more than 4,000 plants, documented by hundreds of firsthand studies of Native Americans made over the past 200 years. (An edited version of this information is also available in a searchable format online at herb.umd.umich.edu/.)

Moerman's valuable work is the main source of my information for most of the American herbs that appear in
Bittersweet
. For example, Moerman cites studies documenting over two dozen different uses of the book's signature herb,
Celastrus scandens
(American bittersweet), by a dozen different Native American tribes—forty-four citations in all. Among other applications, bittersweet was used as an analgesic, an abortifacient, a diuretic, a fever and cough remedy, a treatment for cancer and tuberculosis, and a ritual body paint. Our modern society, in contrast,
has reduced this versatile plant to only two uses: as a robust decorative vine for the back fence and a colorful wreath for the front door.

Bittersweet also has an invasive look-alike, Oriental bittersweet (
Celastrus orbiculatus
), that is wreaking havoc in many states. But it is only one of the many introduced invasives (kudzu is probably the best known of these, but there are literally hundreds of others) that pose an enormous threat to native environments. More and more gardeners are learning that our native plants are preferable to these imported exotics. This is important because introduced species are all too often capable of outcompeting and hybridizing with our mild-mannered natives, possibly to the point of extinction. Once established, native plants often require less care and attention than exotics. As self-sustaining plant communities adapted to the climate and soils of local regions, they tend to resist damage from freezing, drought, and disease. Because they have coevolved with other species, they coexist in a companionable way with them. They provide food and habitat for native wildlife, serve as an important genetic reserve of native plant species, and make our world beautiful.

There are invasive animal species as well. Not long ago, my husband was surprised to see a large axis deer grazing on our Hill Country property. In the 1930s, these beautiful animals were imported from India for Texas sport hunting. Unfortunately, they escaped confinement and moved into the Hill Country to stay. Finding themselves at home, they are outcompeting our smaller native white-tailed deer for scarce forage. It was that sighting that prompted me to begin the research that led to one of the major plotlines for this book: the development of commercial game ranches here in Texas and the treatment of wild animals as agricultural commodities, like cattle and sheep.

While the story in
Bittersweet
ends with justice more or less served,
the rapid growth of Texas' commercial deer-farming industry continues, with many unhappy consequences. The game ranches are expanding their efforts to offer genetically modified bucks with enormous racks, while wealthy “sportsmen,” eager to display the trophy antlers on their walls, are forking over even more outrageous sums to participate in canned hunts for captive animals. That story seems destined to continue, because there are too many Texas-size egos at stake, too much money to be made, and too much political influence to be bought and bartered.

As China Bayles might say, in the real world justice sometimes isn't served. And sometimes, that's just the way it is.

•   •   •

S
EVERAL
last-minute thoughts . . .

About herbal medicine. My reports of traditional medicinal uses of plants are not intended to suggest treatments for what ails you. Some folk uses of therapeutic herbs are not supported by modern science, while others are completely ineffective or may have potent and unwanted side effects, especially when combined with over-the-counter and prescription drugs. Respect these powerful plants. Do your homework before you use any plant-based medicine, and consult the appropriate authorities. China and I value our readers and friends. We'd hate to lose you.

About place and people. Uvalde County, where most of the action of this book takes place, is a real county, located in the Brush Country of South Texas, a biologically diverse eco-region that is bordered on the north by the Edwards Plateau, on the south and west by the Rio Grande River, and on the east by the Gulf Coast prairies and sand plains. Utopia is a real town, too—the setting for a recent movie, in fact (
Seven Days in Utopia
). The Lost Maples Café and the general store are real, and you can visit them when you
go there for the rodeo, which is also real. But the people in this book, including the residents of Utopia and its environs, are all entirely fictional. They are not modeled on any individuals, living or dead, so please don't go to Uvalde County and start looking for them. You'll be disappointed.

About thanks. I'm grateful to the many journalists who have been following the Texas trophy ranch situation and writing about it in state and national publications. This is a developing story, so if you're interested in following it, the Internet is your best source. Try searching on Google for a combination of terms such as
Texas canned hunts
,
genetically modified deer
,
deer breeding
,
and so on.

I'm grateful, as well, to Sharon M. Turner of Pflugerville, Texas, who appears as a cameo character in this book. Sharon is retired from a career as a teacher but leads a busy life full of fascinating projects: she teaches reading to adults and landscape painting and cooking to kids, tends her herb garden and her roses; makes rose sachets and herbal soaps; reads a book a day; and is always available to give China and Ruby a hand in their shops. And yes, she really does change her hair color often!

Thanks, too, to Peggy Moody, my extraordinary cyber-assistant and webmistress, without whose able assistance I would be in serious trouble at least once a day. And as always, to Bill Albert, for his unfailing support and his willingness to drive all over Uvalde County through a chilly January rain.

Yes, it does rain—occasionally—in South Texas.

Susan Wittig Albert
Bertram, Texas

If venison isn't available, or if you prefer, substitute beef stew meat or ground beef.

4 tablespoons oil

1 large onion, chopped

4 cloves garlic, minced

4 tablespoons dark brown sugar

4 cups red wine

4 tablespoons red wine or balsamic vinegar

1 (6-ounce) can tomato sauce

1 (14.5-ounce) can diced tomatoes, undrained

1 teaspoon ground cumin

½ teaspoon cayenne pepper (or more, to taste)

½ teaspoon chili powder (or more, to taste)

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 teaspoon oregano

6–8 dried juniper berries

salt to taste

4 tablespoons oil

10 slices cooked bacon, diced

2 pounds venison stew meat, trimmed and finely diced

2 (15-ounce) cans black or red beans, with liquid

Heat the oil in a large pot over medium heat. Stir in the onion and garlic and sauté for 3–4 minutes. Stir in brown sugar, red wine, vinegar, tomato sauce, diced tomatoes, cumin, cayenne pepper,
chili powder, cinnamon, oregano, juniper berries, and salt. Simmer for 15–30 minutes, until reduced by about half. Meanwhile, heat the oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Stir in the diced bacon and fry until browned. Add the venison, mixing with the bacon, and sauté until the venison is cooked through, about 15 minutes. Transfer meat to the tomato sauce. Stir in beans, mixing thoroughly. Simmer for 20–25 minutes. Serves 8.

4 tablespoons oil, divided

1 onion, diced

2 garlic cloves, sliced

1 carrot, diced

½ green pepper, seeded and diced

½ medium head cabbage, chopped

6 cups water

1¼ tablespoons dried juniper berries, finely crushed, or substitute 3–4 fresh whole berries

2 bay leaves

1 pound mild Italian sausage, crumbled

¼ cup chopped parsley

salt and pepper to taste

In a medium-size, heavy-bottom pot, heat 2 tablespoons oil. Add onions, garlic, carrot, green pepper, and cabbage. Sauté until the vegetables are tender, about 5 minutes. Add water, juniper berries, and bay leaves, bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium-low, and simmer for 20 minutes. In a skillet, heat 2 tablespoons oil. Add crumbled sausage and brown. Add to cabbage mixture. Stir in parsley, salt, and pepper to taste. Simmer for 10 minutes. Remove bay leaves and whole juniper berries (if used). Serves 4.

1 7.5-ounce tube refrigerated crescent rolls

1 cup granulated sugar

¼ teaspoon allspice

zest of 2 lemons

1 tablespoon minced fresh rosemary

2 tablespoons lemon juice

3 tablespoons softened butter or margarine

2 ounces cream cheese, softened

1 tablespoon lemon juice

½ cup confectioner's sugar

Remove the crescent rolls from the package and open each one. Mix the sugar, allspice, lemon zest, and rosemary with a spoon or your fingers. Add the lemon juice and margarine and mix very well. Spread evenly over the opened rolls and reroll each one, not too tightly. Bake at 375 degrees F for 11–13 minutes, or until brown. Glaze with lemon–cream cheese glaze.

To make glaze: mix cream cheese, lemon juice, and confectioner's sugar. Drizzle over rolls.

¾ cup water

1 pound peeled baby carrots

1 tablespoon butter or margarine

¼ cup orange marmalade

1 teaspoon ground ginger

⅛ teaspoon ground nutmeg

3 tablespoons candied ginger (optional)

1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley

Salt and pepper

In a medium saucepan over high heat, combine ¾ cup water and carrots. Cover, bring to a boil, then reduce heat to medium-high. Shake pan occasionally until carrots are tender, about 7–8 minutes. Drain. Return carrots to pan over medium heat. Add butter, marmalade, ginger, nutmeg, and candied ginger (optional). Cook, stirring, until marmalade mixture coats carrots, about 5 minutes. Sprinkle with parsley, and add salt and pepper to taste.

2 cups chopped green cabbage

1 Granny Smith apple, peeled and chopped

½ cup chopped sweet onion

½ cup diced sweet red bell pepper

½ cup chopped pickled beets

½ teaspoon caraway seeds, lightly crushed

1 tablespoon pickled beet juice

4 tablespoons mayonnaise

Place the first 5 ingredients in a bowl and mix well. In a separate bowl, stir together caraway seeds, pickled beet juice, and mayonnaise. Add to cabbage mixture and stir all together. Refrigerate at least half an hour before serving.

This recipe makes enough to stuff a 10–12 pound turkey. It can be doubled for a larger bird.

4 tablespoons butter

1 cup chopped onion

1 cup chopped celery

2 tablespoons chopped fresh sage

2 sprigs minced fresh thyme

½ cup chopped fresh parsley

1 teaspoon minced fresh rosemary

1 teaspoon olive oil, if needed

1 loaf sliced bread, cubed

2–2½ cups chicken broth

½ cup dried cranberries

½ cup chopped pecans or walnuts

Salt and pepper to taste

In a large skillet, heat the butter. Add onion and celery and sauté for about 5 minutes. Add the herbs. If the mixture seems dry, add olive oil. Put cubed bread in a large bowl. Add sautéed mixture and toss. Add about half of the chicken broth and toss to coat as much as you can. Add the dried cranberries and the nuts and toss. Bit by bit, add most of or all the remaining broth until the stuffing begins to hold together but isn't soggy. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Stuff the bird loosely and bake. Place remaining stuffing in a greased casserole dish, cover with foil, and bake at 350 degrees F for 20 minutes. For a crispy top, remove foil and bake 10–15 minutes longer.