Special Delivery: A Postcard From The Past

 A very special postcard delivered to us sixty-five years after being written

Photo: Chronica Domus

Summer in the United States, for those that have school-aged children,  usually involves some type of summer camp activity.  Summer camp, for the benefit of my international readers, is a supervised recreational or athletic program designed for young children and teenagers.  It provides structured activities for the duration of the long summer break when children are not attending school. There is a myriad of summer camps available to choose from if you decide to send your children to such things. 

Summer camp is a distinctly American tradition and is not one I grew up with in England.  Our summer holiday breaks from school were usually filled with visits to the park with the other neighborhood children, playing in our garden, or whizzing about on our bicycles.  We also spent a lot of time rambling in the large woodland across the road from our home in Kent.  The highlight of the summer was our month long family holiday which had us traveling by boat and car around the continent visiting such gloriously hot places as Greece and the Aegean islands.  With no set itinerary, we enjoyed whatever adventures presented themselves along the way, and there were certainly many I can recall. With six weeks off school, we children had our plates full.  American students have twice as much time off during the summer as their British counterparts, which feels like an eternity for both parents and offspring alike.

My own daughter has this year decided she would rather spend her time at home, playing with her friends, reading, and working on a variety of art projects, rather than attend any of the summer camps we offered to sign her up for.

So, with all of this talk of summer camp around our home lately, it was with much pleasure and serendipity that we received a very special package last week, addressed to my husband and sent by his cousin, Rowena.  The package contained a note explaining that Rowena was feeling nostalgic and decided to look through some old boxes of family photographs that had belonged to her late father, Robert.  She came across an envelope labeled "Things for Rowena" and within it found a remarkable postcard.  Rowena wrote "I had never seen the envelope before so you can imagine my excitement wondering what he had set aside for me. In it were some photographs, birth certificates from his grandpa and grandma, a few papers, and the little gem I'm sending you".

The "little gem" turned out to be a postcard written by my husband's late father Richard, when he was a mere lad of ten, sixty-five years ago.  It was mailed on August 13, 1949 from Fort Bragg, California, and it was addressed to his mother, my husband's grandmother, in San Francisco. Interestingly, the price of postage was a mere penny.

Oh dear, not a happy camper!

Photo: Chronica Domus

It seems that young Richard had been sent to a summer retreat run by the San Francisco Boys' Club at Fort Bragg, a town located along the northern California coast. Back then, the camp was known as Camp Marwedel and has since had a name change to Camp Mendocino.

It appears the camp was not a hit with master Richard.  Here is what he wrote:

Dear Mom,

I don't like the camp and I'm homesick.  I went fishing for today.

Thank you,

Richard

These scribbles, written by an unhappy ten year old city boy, had us roaring and in fits of giggles.  This is because at such a tender age, his youthful thoughts had already revealed so much of Richard's disdain for venturing into the great outdoors as an adult.

According to my husband, his father absolutely loathed outdoor living and would not join his wife and four children on the family's regular camping and fishing trips.  The only time he did, he lasted until nightfall, at which point he got in his car and drove himself home.  This from a man that loved to sit by a blazing fireplace, even during the summer months, but never a camp fire.

 The young Richard (left), his brother Robert, and sister Nadine in happier times

Photo: Chronica Domus

Rowena continued in her letter "It's funny how after losing people that are so close to you, these items feel like gold".  And, how right she is.  Thank you Rowena for your kind and thoughtful gift.  We feel so fortunate to have been the recipients of this very small piece of family history that might have otherwise remained in a box for a future generation to have found, one that would not have known who this young boy was. Our daughter enjoyed reading the postcard, which provided her with a small insight into her grandfather, even though she never had the privilege of meeting him.  She has enjoyed such camps, living among the trees and participating in riparian activities, and cannot fathom her grandfather's dislike of the great outdoors.

Have you ever been given a treasure from the past that belonged to your family, and what of summer camps, did you enjoy them and do you send your own children off to such camps?  What will you be doing this summer?

A Pea Salad Luncheon

A salad of Prince Albert peas, pencil thin asparagus, and pea shoots served on a botanically themed platter

Photo: Chronica Domus

On June 15, which happened to fall on Father's Day this year, our second harvest of heirloom Prince Albert peas was ready to be picked.  Out to the garden my daughter ran, basket in hand, to retrieve one hundred and seventy-two bright green and plump pea pods.  I was astonished she had found so many pods that were ripe for the picking, so soon after our initial bounty twelve days earlier.

I received an email from the editor of Lindaraxa, a blog revolving around the writer's passion for entertaining and cooking, with a suggested recipe for using any further peas I might harvest.  The recipe, which can be found here, included an ingredient that was already growing in the garden, but it was one I had not actually considered eating. As it turns out, the young and tender shoots of pea plants, along with their white blossoms and curly tendrils, are edible.  There they were, right under my nose in my very own garden, yet I had not given them more than a passing glance during the entire growing season as I admired their botanical beauty. Ultimately, it was the suggestion of using pea shoots as a component of the salad that swayed me to try Lindaraxa's deliciously fresh and spring-like recipe.  And, I am delighted I did.

Impeccably fresh ingredients for our pea and asparagus salad include freshly shelled peas and their shoots, and Eureka lemons from our tree

Photo: Chronica Domus

The recipe turned out to be one of the easiest ways of preparing fresh peas and asparagus that I had ever attempted.  Aside from the pea shelling, always an agreeable activity for my daughter who treats it more like the unwrapping of Christmas gifts, the entire preparation took less than fifteen minutes.  As the asparagus was already pencil thin, I did not even bother to slice the stalks in half.  I also substituted Eureka lemons freshly picked from Old Faithful, our lemon tree (a subject for a future post, I think), Meyer lemons not being on hand. The salad was so fresh and spring-like in taste, thanks to the addition of the zingy lemon juice and zest, that I dispensed with adding sugar as suggested by the recipe. And what of the pea shoots you might ask?  Well, surprisingly they too were deliciously tender and grass-like, and an unexpected culinary discovery that I shall attempt to incorporate into our cooking whenever we are fortunate enough to have them growing in our garden.

Our Father's Day luncheon, served casually at the kitchen table, was all the more special because not only did my daughter pick the peas for the salad herself, but Lindaraxa made it all possible by reaching out to me with her recipe, and for that I am most thankful.

Can you recall a time you ventured forth and discovered something new and tasty in the culinary world?

Dinner At Boulevard

A local's view of San Francisco's waterfront complete with trolley bus and an illuminated Bay Bridge, as seen from the corner of Boulevard restaurant

Photo: Chronica Domus

What an absolutely lucky girl I am.  As fate would have it, this was my second dinner date in a month at my favorite restaurant in San Francisco. The first, back in mid-May, marked a wedding anniversary and a birthday celebration, and on that occasion a table was secured weeks in advance to insure a happy and carefree evening. On the second occasion, this past Saturday evening, plans to meet friends fell apart earlier in the day so my husband and I seized the moment and made inquiries in hopes of reserving a table for two at Boulevard. Lady Luck was shining down upon us and a table was promptly secured for a late dinner at 9.15 p.m.  The timing could not have been better as it allowed us plenty of time to dress appropriately for such an establishment, and arrive in time to loll away a pleasant hour at the bar prior to taking our seats for dinner. Although a strict dress code is not enforced at Boulevard, my husband and I enjoy upholding old-fashioned sartorial standards of adult dress that befit such a restaurant (suit and tie for him, dress and heels for me). We are not subscribers of the "anything goes" mentality that is sadly becoming the norm at some places around town. I am pleased to report that the majority of diners do make an effort to dress smartly at Boulevard, but of course, there is always the odd few that think it perfectly fine to wander in from the streets in grubby tee-shirts and jeans and actually expect to be seated.

Boulevard is housed within the historic Audiffred building which happens to be the lone surviving structure in the area following the 1906 earthquake and subsequent fire that raged through parts of San Francisco.  The building's architecture resembles those of the French second empire, complete with a mansard roof and garret. Patrons of the restaurant enter through the revolving wooden doors and are warmly greeted by the affable hostess at her desk, which is illuminated by the lamp in the photograph below.

An Art Nouveau inspired lamp in keeping with the interior decoration of Boulevard

Photo: Chronica Domus

Mr. Kuleto, co-owner of Boulevard, did an outstanding job designing the cozy interior which draws heavily from the Art Nouveau period. Everything from the ironwork to the flattering lighting helps set the mood for a swell time ahead.

We were more than ready to kick off the evening with cocktails so Raymond our bartender obliged by mixing our favorite drink from Boulevard's cocktail menu, a cucumber gimlet.  If you've yet to try one, I highly recommend it.  Thirst quenching, refreshing, and gin based, need I say more?

Accoutrements at the well stocked bar

Photo: Chronica Domus

We were having such a pleasant time chatting and unwinding from our busy work week, we decided that with another thirty minutes remaining until it was time to be seated at our table, that a second round of gimlets would be a capital idea.  And, it was.

Our second, and most decidedly final, round of perfectly mixed cucumber gimlets

Photo: Chronica Domus

We eagerly anticipated our dinner this evening as neither of us had eaten for hours beforehand in preparation for the feast that was to come.  We were escorted through the front of the dining room, past the theatrics of the open gallery kitchen, and into the back area where our table awaited us.  As is typical of most of our visits here, the room was buzzing with excited patrons as they happily tucked into their delectable modern American fare with more than a little French flair to it.  I did not spy a single vacant table about the room, but why did this surprise me?  It was, after all, Saturday evening and we were in one of the city's most favored restaurants.  We've been eating here with pleasure for many years and it is always the first place we think of when celebrating special milestones.  Boulevard received the James Beard Award for Outstanding Restaurant two years ago, the highest national restaurant accolade, and the first time that title has returned to a west coast establishment since being won by the storied French Laundry in 2006.

Looking back towards the front of the restaurant upon our arrival when it was still light outside.  The room boasts an impressive domed brick ceiling

Photo: Chronica Domus

One of the things I enjoy most about Boulevard is that it has yet to succumb to the all-too prevalent and annoying trend of playing loud background music.  In fact, they don't play any music at all, which is exactly as I like it.  Of course, I make an exception for live music that adds to the ambiance of a place and doesn't eclipse everything else, but forced loud music to set a mood, as though the happy chit chatting and banter from contented diners was not enough, no thank you!   I want to enjoy my meal and be able to hear my dining companions' conversations, not gain a headache and be deafened in one fell swoop.

The tenderest scallops imaginable

Photo: Chronica Domus

Back to the evening's main event, the food.  We began our dinner with a plate of delicate buttery scallops dressed in brown butter, lentils, and tangy roasted tomatoes.  We also chose the tastiest buffalo buratta and tomato salad we had ever sampled.  Every component was a delight to the taste buds. The creamy buratta was the ideal accompaniment to the perfectly ripened tomatoes, and the surprisingly flavorful basil and colatura dressing.

The buratta and tomato salad that had us raving with delight

Photo: Chronica Domus

You may, as I was, be wondering what on earth is colatura.  It is, I've since discovered, an Italian fish sauce, dating back to the Romans, and primarily made of anchovies.  This tasty new (or would that be old?) discovery is what made me declare this particular salad the best I've had at Boulevard. Which brings me to yet another favorite point about their menu items. Boulevard's staples will always remain the same, no matter which time of year you find yourself eating here.  You will always have a choice of filet mignon, a pork, lamb or quail entree, and a variety of fish.  However, what constantly changes with each of these staples is the seasonal ingredients that are paired with it. For this reason, no two meals you will have eaten at Boulevard will ever be the same (unless you are lucky enough to have a repeat performance the very next day, in which case, you'd be a most fortunate fellow indeed!).

The kitchen staff constantly source the freshest and tastiest local ingredients available to surprise and delight their regular diners.  I suppose it helps that the area's farmers sell their produce directly across the street at the twice-weekly market located at the Ferry Building, one of the country's premier farmers' markets, and one that I enjoy patronizing whenever I have the opportunity.  Even the tasty rounds of pain au levain, a delicious wholewheat sourdough, is walked across the street from the Acme bakery. You really could not get a better confluence of farm-to-table cuisine than this.

Bread rounds are cut by the wait staff as needed to insure the freshest possible taste 

Photo: Chronica Domus

The service here is always discreet but friendly, and most certainly efficient.  Water and wine (if you've ordered a bottle) is replenished as if by magic.  Oh, and don't be surprised upon visiting the ladies room to powder your nose to return to a table where your napkin has thoughtfully and neatly been replaced tableside, ready once again to be used.

We both opted for the Alaskan halibut that was served with fingerling potatoes and an assortment of green beans, marcona almonds, and a delectable lemony green sauce.  It was all so mouthwateringly good.

 

A light and flaky halibut in its spring finery

Photo: Chronica Domus

 

We could not get enough of the tasty bread which is accompanied by the creamiest butter

Photo: Chronica Domus

We cannot quite remember which wines we ordered, which may have just been a side-effect of one too many gimlets earlier on in the evening I suspect. Nevertheless, we were sure they were perfectly suited to our food choices as we managed to quaff every last drop.   

I took a pass on the dessert menu, and opted instead for a decadent sliver of Brillat-Savarin cheese followed by plenty of black coffee, which may have accounted for the the lack of sleep later that evening.  My better half held no resistance to the trio of bonbons that enticed him; manageable little spheres of ice cream covered in chocolate and pretzel pieces bathed in a caramel sauce.  

One final cup of coffee before we head home

Photo: Chronica Domus

What an enjoyable evening we had shared at this marvelous restaurant. We even managed to extend our stay by striking up a conversation with a pair of diners that were sitting at the opposite table from us as we were all about to leave.  They happened to be visiting from Los Angeles and were equally delighted to have eaten at Boulevard this evening too.  The four of us agreed there was no better place to have dinner along the waterfront of San Francisco.

The peacock, a favorite motif of the Art Nouveau period, bids adieu as diners exit through the revolving doors

Photo: Chronica Domus

As we stepped outside into the cool night air, we decided that it was the perfect evening for a gentle stroll along the Embarcadero.  Passing by the familiar sights of the Ferry Building's clock tower, and the dazzling Bay Bridge illuminated by the recent light installation, it was all so terribly romantic and beautiful.  Is it any wonder Tony Bennett left his heart in San Francisco?

A glimpse of the Ferry Building's clock tower as viewed from Boulevard restaurant

Photo: Chronica Domus

If you get the chance to visit this fine city, do consider reserving your table at Boulevard for a uniquely San Francisco experience with food to delight and views of the waterfront to enchant.

 Nota bene: I am neither paid nor do I receive recompense in exchange for applauding products or services within my blog.  I do so because I enjoy them.  If you are a kindred spirit, you too enjoy recommending nice things to fellow good eggs.

The Tale of a Naughty Laptop

My morning started with coffee and cursing.  The cursing was emanating from my husband who was thoroughly peeved off with our laptop that was not behaving to his liking.  To his insistence, the computer was making decisions on its own, such as opening pages and pushing command buttons on various websites.  Of course, I scoffed dismissively and returned to my coffee.

Fast forward to the afternoon following on from a wonderful lunch, it was my turn at the keyboard.  I began working on the outline for a future post when suddenly, what were imaginary problems when they involved my husband earlier in the day, suddenly became my reality.

It seems our laptop saw fit to publish my working model gibberish, a fact that escaped my notice for five hours.  Upon returning from a visit with friends, I was mortified to discover this rather red face inducing development and swiftly deleted the posting.

I suppose this is all my fault as there have been plenty of warnings in the media of late regarding the fact that Windows XP is no longer supported by Microsoft, thus subject to some rather nasty digital illnesses.  I think mine just caught a bug. 

This was definitely the straw that broke the camel's back so we are now in the market for a less vulnerable laptop.  Please stay tuned as normal service will resume shortly.

Have all of you non-Mac users updated your computers from Windows XP? 

An Edible Antique: Recreating A Jeffersonian Pea Contest

Readying the table for dinner with the first crop of heirloom Prince Albert peas

Photo: Chronica Domus

One of the things I discovered while touring Thomas Jefferson's gardens at Monticello, which I wrote about here, was that he was an enthusiastic grower and eater of peas.  In fact, peas were his favorite vegetable and he planted them repeatedly during his gardening years at Monticello between 1767 to 1824.  Jefferson dedicated three entire "squares" to growing peas, and grew an astonishing twenty-three varieties, seeds for which were purchased from his favorite seedsman Bernard McMahon.

What intrigued me most about Jefferson's love of peas was the story of the yearly pea contest in which he engaged with other gentlemen farmers of the area.  The winner was declared when a farmer produced the earliest crop of peas for the year.  The winner would then invite the other participants to share in a meal that would include, naturally, the winning peas.  George Divers, a friend of Jefferson's, was always the annual champion of the contest, a proud accomplishment indeed.  It is said that the year Thomas Jefferson produced the first pea, he was loath to reveal his victory so as not to hurt his friend's pride.

Pisum sativum "Prince Albert", an attractive heirloom pea seed packet purchased at Monticello, Thomas Jefferson's home in Virginia

Photo: Chronica Domus

I think it would have been a great lark to have joined in on the fun of this competition if I had been a neighbor of Jefferson's (were there gentlewomen farmers in his day I wonder?).  So, when perusing the racks of seeds for sale at Monticello's gift shop, harvested from the gardens there, I naturally included a packet of English garden peas among my purchases.  I was excited to take these back to my small garden in California and see if I too could cultivate peas, an endeavor I had as yet to try.

The delicate white blossoms of the Prince Albert heirloom pea appear as white butterflies at rest

Photo: Chronica Domus

I chose an heirloom pea that is said to be indistinguishable from Pisum sativum "Early Frame", a variety that was grown at Monticello annually between 1809 and 1824.  The variety I selected, Pisum sativum "Prince Albert", was introduced to American gardeners from England in 1845 where it had been grown there for many years prior. 

Young peas on the vine photographed in May, 2014

Photo: Chronica Domus

I planted eighteen seeds on March 17 to mark St. Patrick's day.  These were, after all, green vegetables so what could be more appropriate.  The seeds were sown around two pyramidal-shaped structures that I made using branches pruned from the fruit trees in my garden, and a few pieces of twine to secure the tops.  Jefferson referred to these as "pea sticks" and they provide support for the young pea shoots and tendrils as they grow and scramble skyward.  All but one of the seeds germinated.  Half the seeds I planted were from the original seeds within the packet I bought back from Monticello in the summer of 2012. The other half were seeds I saved from the initial crop of peas I grew from those seeds last summer.  I was curious to discover if the fresher seeds I had saved would grow into stronger and taller plants, therefore producing more pea pods, than the seeds from the Monticello packet that were now three years old since being harvested.

The vines are now laden with plump peas ready for harvesting

Photo: Chronica Domus

On June 3, with assistance from my daughter, we excitedly picked the first harvest.  Our crop amounted to two hundred and fourteen plump little pea pods.  We were delighted with our little bounty.  There are several more pods remaining on the plants but those are not quite ready to be picked yet.  Also, many white flowers at the tops of the plants have yet to bloom so over the next month or so, if the bees and the butterflies cooperate, we can expect another, albeit smaller crop.  I noticed that both the newer seeds I harvested last year, and the original seeds I purchased, did equally well.  They both grew to the same height (around five and a half feet), and they both held as many pea pods as each other.

The first crop of heirloom Prince Albert peas harvested on June 3, 2014

Photo: Chronica Domus

And, what of the contest?  Well, I doubt very much I would have won the annual pea growing contest, even with the advantage of the milder climate I enjoy in California.  It took me exactly seventy-eight days from sowing my seeds to harvesting them.  An entry in one of Jefferson's gardening notebooks tells us that the "forwardest peas of February 20 come to table".  He wrote that on April 24, 1767, which meant his peas were ready to be eaten in sixty-three days, assuming as was very likely the case, that the peas were picked the same day they were consumed.  Clearly, this gentlewoman farmer is in no position to be hosting any winning feasts.

The peas after shelling 

Photo: Chronica Domus

A closer view of a perfectly formed, plump pea pod encasing six fat little peas

Photo: Chronica Domus

What I was able to do, however, was host my own dinner with a bowl of our heirloom peas as our side vegetable.  Of course, as Monticello tradition dictates, our dinner was eaten in the dining room around 4 p.m.  The peas were served from an old Paris porcelain vegetable bowl, and eaten from plates to match.  These pieces were all made during Jefferson's lifetime around the factories of Paris.  I chose them to honor the fact that Jefferson likely ate from similar porcelain tableware.  While stationed in France as Minister representing the United States, he became so enamored of French porcelain that he arranged for barrel loads to be shipped back to Monticello upon his departure from his post in Paris.  Within those barrels were held a staggering one hundred and twenty plates along with the other service pieces he selected. His granddaughter, Ellen Coolidge, noted that it was not unusual for Jefferson to have his plate changed several times during the course of his dinner.  Some of the surviving pieces of porcelain at Monticello are decorated with gilt bands and small springs of flowers.

It is indeed very satisfying to experience the same taste that Jefferson favored so much in his English peas.  Prince Albert is a very different pea from those to which we have become accustomed today.  Modern varieties are far sweeter than these heirlooms.  This heritage pea can best be described as starchier and more akin to beans than peas.  Delicious to be sure, when simply dressed with a good dollop of creamy butter, but an altogether different taste experience. 

Prince Albert peas come to table on June 4, 2014 ready to be devoured as part of our dinner

Photo: Chronica Domus

If you too are interested in growing heirloom peas, or even hosting your very own pea growing competition, Monticello now sells their seeds via their web site.  Of course, if you are as fortunate as I was and have an opportunity to visit the house and gardens in person, I believe you too will come away inspired and in awe of how well the man lived and gardened.  It is, indeed, a most fascinating look into his world.

I hope I've inspired you to try your hand at sowing a few seeds which may afford you the experience of sampling the earth born flavors of late eighteenth and early nineteenth century vegetables.

Nota bene: I am neither paid nor do I receive recompense in exchange for applauding products or services within my blog.  I do so because I enjoy them.  If you are a kindred spirit, you too enjoy recommending nice things to fellow good eggs.

Pennies From Heaven

No, this is not my tip for serving dinner to my family, this is a tally of found coins for the year

Photo: Chronica Domus

I have always been a walker, at least as far back as my failing mind can recall.  My mother doesn't quite remember when exactly I found my legs as a toddler, but I'm sure that when I did, I ambled and sashayed with abandon.  I recall early sturdy and sensible walking shoes always being purchased at Clarks' flagship store on Regent Street in London.  This was certainly a fun adventure for us children being that our feet were always measured using their innovative electronic sizing machine.  The contraption insured the best possible fit in terms of width and length and assured my mother that we children would be kitted out in the best quality shoes she could afford.

As a child Chronica Domus was very familiar with these styles of shoe

Source

I am convinced my love of walking has something to do with the fact that I was born in England, a nation that claims walking as its most popular outdoor recreational activity. Walkers in Britain are even granted special walkers' rights enabling them to cross footpaths on both public and private lands.

The British walk for the sheer joy of it, taking in the air and sights of both city and countryside, decked out in their comfortable walking shoes and perhaps a waterproof jacket. Americans, at least in my part of the country, walk for sport in their yoga togs, hurriedly traversing their ground, and constantly checking their heart monitors or pedometers between refreshing sips of water from their bottles.  It is all very exhausting!

My first post-college job required that I travel to London from my home in Kent.  This was a grueling daily commute involving a motor coach and several trains operated by London Underground, as well as walks in between the two modes of transportation.  All this before I even reached my office at 8.45 a.m.  The entire commute was done in reverse during the evening mad rush to get home.  I probably walked at least four miles per day during both journeys to and from work.

The Embankment tube station, part of my daily commute into the office

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My honeymoon was spent walking for a week in the pristine Emigrant Wilderness, situated in the Sierra Nevada mountains.  This was an entirely new experience for me and one that meant I had to negotiate the terrain of steep granite ridges and mountains (a rare sight in England), verdant meadows and lakes.  That was probably the toughest and longest walk I had ever undertaken, a fact that stands true to this day over two decades later.

When I adopted my first dog upon moving to my new country, I undertook the pleasures of exercising her twice a day.  A short walk in the morning, before leaving for the office, and a more leisurely one at the conclusion of the day.

During my lifetime of walks I have often spotted coins laying about in the streets and roadways, a penny here or a penny there.  I instinctively pick them up.  Will these pennies bring me luck, as the rhyme states?  "Find a penny, pick it up, all day long you'll have good luck".

The first time I came across found money I was no more than a child of nine, playing at the local park.  I recall the fiver wrapped around a scrunched up hand-written note instructing the fishmonger to fulfill "four orders of cod and chips, please".  Surely, a child on an errand for his mother must have dropped the note and money on his way to buy dinner for the family. I felt a sense of sadness for the child. Dinner would not be served in the form of fish and chips that evening but I had no way of knowing to whom I might return the money.

A view of Main Street, Jackson, California where we found our loot (note: not much has changed since the 1930's, apart from the motor cars)

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The greatest amount of money I ever found was an astonishing nine-hundred dollars, located just outside the door of a small bank in the gold rush town of Jackson, California.  I was with my husband and some friends, and we had traveled to Amador county to spend the weekend at a bed and breakfast and to enjoy countryside walks and nearby towns. Obviously, it did not take us long to conclude that a customer of the bank had withdrawn the money and accidentally dropped it as they were leaving the building.  We stepped inside the bank and made inquiries of the tellers.  We were told an elderly gentleman had taken the money from his account and had only just left the establishment.  We thanked the tellers and set out to find the man in hopes of returning the cash.  It was an easy task as we immediately spotted the gentleman looking bewildered and upset.  We approached him and asked if he needed assistance.  The poor dear explained that he had just lost his son in a tragic motor car accident and had come to the town of Jackson to make funeral arrangements.  The money we had found was intended to help with those costs.  We were all dumbfounded upon hearing his unfortunate tale, but felt terribly satisfied we were able to return the money to the rightful owner.

Last June, I finally decided to seek the answer to a nagging question; precisely how much money do I come across during my day-to-day walks.  I set myself the task of picking up every coin or note I found for exactly one year.  At the end of it, I would have my answer.

At first, I found the odd penny strewn about on the pavements of my regular dog walking route.  Then, I noticed that shortly after the local schools had closed for the duration of the summer holiday, the coins I found were of larger denominations.  Quarters, dimes, and nickels had been dropped from the pockets and little hands of excited school-aged children on their way to the local shops, or perhaps a friend's  home, or to spend the day playing at the local park.  Incidentally, June was the month I found the most coins, followed by July and August.  After the schools were once again in session, my luck had run dry and I was back to picking up the occasional penny.  I did not find any notes during my twelve month experiment, although I did find eleven single dollar bills that were bundled together in a parking garage right before I started my experiment (so those don't count). 

I have just tallied the coins, exactly twelve months to the day after starting my experiment, and found I had collected a grand total of one dollar and fifty-five cents.  This was not exactly a windfall, I'll admit, but it was enough (barely) to buy a small cup of coffee from the local coffee shop.  And, as for luck, I'm not sure if finding all of those pennies has made me a luckier girl or not.  It has certainly trained my eyes to dart about obsessively upon the ground I tread.  I must stop that now.

Do you enjoy walking, and have you found anything of value during your everyday comings and goings?