October 2015 by Mountain Home

E E R F he wind

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A Man’s Gotta Brew ...What a Man’s Gotta Brew, and Nobody Does It Like Prize-Winning Landscaper-TurnedRestaurateur Chris Kozuhowski By Maggie Barnes

Apples of My Eye Art at Rose Valley Lake Kimchi, the New Kale www.mountainhomemag.com

OCTOBER 20151

Volume 10 Issue 10

A Man’s Gotta Brew What a Man’s Gotta Brew

Fall Into the Arts By Linda Roller

On the shores of Rose Valley Lake, you’re invited to do just that.

Korea’s Kimchi— the New Kale

By Cornelius O’Donnell

And a more local recipe (Ah, Italy!) for caponatina.

By Maggie Barnes ...and nobody does it like prize-winning landscaper-turnedrestaurateur Chris Kozuhowski.

Going to the Dogs

By Don Knaus Of turkeys, trout, and fine autumn sports atop the Marcellus.

Back of the Mountain By Roger Kingsley The divine grape.

16 The Old Family Tree By Melissa Bravo More than just pie in the sky, there’s fruitful ancestry in those apple branches (maybe yours, too).

Cover by Tucker Worthington; cover photo by Elizabeth Young. This page (from top): Elizabeth Young; Mark Taylor; and Melissa Bravo.

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C o n t r i b u t i n g P h o t o g r ap h e r s Mia Lisa Anderson, Melissa Bravo, Bernadette ChiaramonteBrown, Bill Crowell, Bruce Dart, Ann Kamzelski, Jan Keck, Nigel P. Kent, Roger Kingsley, Ken Meyer, Tina Tolins, Sarah Wagaman, Curt Weinhold, Terry Wild S a l e s R ep r e s e n t a t i v e s Michael Banik, Curt Fuhrman, Linda Roller Administrative Assistant Amy Packard T h e B ea g l e Cosmo (1996-2014) Yogi (Assistant) ABOUT US: Mountain Home is the award-winning regional magazine of PA and NY with more than 100,000 readers. The magazine has been published monthly, since 2005, by Beagle Media, LLC, 25 Main St., 2nd Floor, Wellsboro, Pennsylvania, 16901, and online at www.mountainhomemag.com. Copyright © 2010 Beagle Media, LLC. All rights reserved. E-mail story ideas to editorial@mountainhomemag. com, or call (570) 724-3838. TO ADVERTISE: E-mail info@mountainhomemag.com, or call us at (570) 724-3838. AWARDS: Mountain Home has won 66 international and statewide journalism awards from the International Regional Magazine Association and the Pennsylvania NewsMedia Association for excellence in writing, photography, and design. DISTRIBUTION: Mountain Home is available “Free as the Wind” at hundreds of locations in Tioga, Potter, Bradford, Lycoming, Union, and Clinton counties in PA and Steuben, Chemung, Schuyler, Yates, Seneca, Tioga, and Ontario counties in NY. SUBSCRIPTIONS: For a one-year subscription (12 issues), send $24.95, payable to Beagle Media LLC, 25 Main St., 2nd Floor, Wellsboro, PA 16901 or visit www.mountainhomemag.com.

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Elizabeth Young Team effort: When Chris Kozuhowski picked up his 2015 Governor’s ImPAct Award, he was sorry his was the only face on the stage. He says of his crew at The Wellsboro House Restaurant and Brewery, “I have an incredible staff, and they are the ones who make it work every day.”

What a Man’s Gotta Brew

Elizabeth Young

A Man’s Gotta Brew ...and Nobody Does It Like Prize-Winning Landscaper-Turned-Restaurateur Chris Kozuhowski

By Maggie Barnes

hen a guest at The Wellsboro House Restaurant and Brewery remarks that he has never had birch beer, owner Chris Kozuhowski is immediately on a mission to make introductions. “I’m gonna get you a sip of this. You’re gonna freak out!” Chris’s exuberant personality is limitless and it serves as the philosophical center of the restaurant. The rebirth of The Wellsboro House Restaurant and Brewery has sprung from the simple mission of his family: to turn strangers into friends and an ordinary evening out into something special. With his tattoos, squared off haircut, and penchant for hugging people at the first meeting, Chris seems an unlikely champion of Wellsboro revitalization. But he has the place, the plans, and the prizes to prove a genuine love of his adopted hometown. More than that, he and his team have built up a hefty balance sheet of sweat equity that backs up his vision. And when the Governor’s office took notice, Chris felt an affirmation of what he holds dear. More about that later. First, let’s spend a balmy fall evening at the new-old Wellsboro House. See A Man’s Gotta Brew on page 8

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ountain Home is the premier monthly magazine for the Twin Tiers region and beyond. We are a multiple award-winning publication that has been providing our readers the very best in local content for nearly a decade. And we provide an excellent platform in print and online to assist our advertising partners in growing their businesses. The successful candidate must demonstrate the following: • An outgoing, customer-centric attitude towards sales • An ability to work in a fast-paced, detail oriented environment • A drive to succeed and achieve through a strong work ethic If you possess these qualities and are self-motivated, results oriented, and possess good communication skills then submit your resume today! We offer a generous commission plan ($35,000 - $50,000+ annually for high achievers) and benefits including paid vacations and mileage reimbursement. A reliable means of transportation and a clean driving record is required and we are an equal opportunity employer.

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Here’s to you: Chris Kozuhowski’s acquisition of the old Wellsboro train station helped win his company the 2015 Governor’s ImPAct Award. A Man’s Gotta Brew continued from page 7

On a recent Monday, folks assembled in the bar and dining areas, sitting only after researching the specialty beer boards and televisions to select flavors of both drink and sports viewing. There is much to look at. The décor is an eclectic grab bag of sports memorabilia, local history highlights, and family mementos. Dozens of signed photos of Philadelphia sports heroes, each with a story. A wall of musical tributes. Football and fire department helmets. Even a rare, autographed poster from Mr. Yuengling himself, a thanks for being a great partner. “See that?” Chris says, pointing to a framed poster. “Best burger in the state. Beat out the big guys from the cities, too!” One table hosts a young man in a t-shirt emblazoned with “University of Alaska at Anchorage” having a detailed discussion with the waitress about the beer selections. “Do you like an ale with more of a sweet taste? I can recommend something.” The staff really knows their stuff, chatting easily about lagers and food pairings. Chris knows nearly everyone who comes in and assures a newcomer, “I know everyone by the time they leave!” A visit to the Wellsboro House feels more like crashing at a friend’s home to debate football and brew. The menu is pages long, with a fresh seafood selection impressive for landlocked Wellsboro. One popular appetizer is the lightly breaded calamari, which, forty-eight hours before, had been minding its own business off the coast of Rhode Island. (Chris’s daughter has perfected the squid prep.) If you prefer something warm water never fear,

Fresh off the boat: Chris Kozuhowski’s daughter cleans the Atlantic squid that make for some tender calamari at The Wellsboro House.

See A Man’s Gotta Brew on page 10

NEW!

Maggie Barnes

Chris has an “affiliation with a guy in Hawaii.” Steak, chicken, salad, a kid’s menu, a Sunday menu—the offerings broaden the potential audience to include just about anyone. While the entire concept of professional sports is embraced at The Wellsboro House, the true place of honor belongs to the Philadelphia Eagles. Chris is a thirty-year holder of season tickets and is such a devotee of the team his Sunday hours in the restaurant completely hinge on the length of the Eagles’ season. If they don’t make the playoffs, don’t plan to watch post-season football here. “Man, I hope I’m open on Sundays in January,” he says with the passion of a disciple. Monday nights can be a bit sluggish for the owner, as he still hosts an early live radio sports show called “Monday Night This Morning” from Mansfield. But even fatigue has to bend to Chris K’s schedule, especially

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Elizabeth Young Bevy of beauties: flights of house-made beers and ales are available at the Wellsboro House Restaurant and Brewery. A Man’s Gotta Brew continued from page 8

when people still want to talk about Sunday’s gridiron action. “That game was ugly.” He sighs over the Eagles twenty-ten loss to Dallas. Any reference to the Philly-based pro team and late season play inevitably leads to Chris’s archived frustration about the Big Game. “Guess when was the last time the Eagles won the championship game? The last year before they called it the Super Bowl! One more year and they would have been Super Bowl Champs! Who remembers who won the last of the old game?” Keep in mind, we are talking about 1966 here. A nearby waitress observed the flailing and raised an eyebrow. “The Eagles in ’66? Yeah, that will take the volume up to ten pretty quick.” What is really fun is the genuine affection with which she says that. An atmosphere of teamwork permeates the Wellsboro House. There is much chatter 10

across the staff members, an easy sense of togetherness that would be difficult to fake. Chris is quick to point out that he, and his business, would be nothing without his employees. He admits to being picky over hiring and a challenge to work for. But, he is adamant about sharing the credit for his success. You get the impression that, if there is someone out there Chris cannot develop a conversation with, he hasn’t met them yet. He roams the tables with high fives, hugs, and razzing as a standard part of the experience. Stories sprinkled with names from all walks of life flow from him like water from a spring. One could comfortably assume that his is the behavior of a long-time tavern owner. One would be wrong. Chris was a landscaper before his knees betrayed him. It was 2005 when he and wife Laura took a breath-

stealing plunge and bought the 100year old building on the verge of being condemned. Driven by a passion for preserving not only the building, but also a way of life, they were unfazed by their complete lack of any previous food service experience. First order of business was to reclaim the facility, a project that took three years to complete. The basement level required an entire year to stabilize. They sourced all local lumber, mostly white ash, to capture an early 1900s look. The details are not to be ignored. Rosettes adorn the elongated window frames, and a massive carved mirror anchors the private dining room. When asked what he regrets about the process of opening the restaurant, he shrugs. “I hardly have enough time to make the decisions I need to make. I sure as hell don’t have time to waste second-guessing myself.” Part of a large Polish family with a solid blue-collar work ethic, Chris takes his hosting cues from the memory of his family meals. The table always had room for one more and the welcome was always warm. “A place like this, where you want people to sit and stay awhile, to talk and laugh as well as eat a good meal, it has to be a reflection of the owners. We set the tone.” He speaks warmly of his father, who taught him how to work, and whose countenance beams down from framed wall photos. The stories behind the building itself were a huge part of the appeal for Chris and Laura. Directly across Charleston Street from the Wellsboro train station, the original Wellsboro House was the first stop for passengers disembarking. They would check in at the hotel and take a horse and buggy into the village center. In describing the history of the House, Chris allows a pause pregnant enough for twins and then pronounces it “dubious.” “It was a place of its time.” He says, light eyes twinkling. “There was a card room and a smoking room. Lots of stories of alleged misbehavior by prominent people. Look, if you had the

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choice between a place with a boring past and one with some character to it, there’s no contest, right?” One of those “alleged” incidents involved Teddy Roosevelt, the mourning train that came through town after the assassination of President McKinley, and an unidentified local woman. The world will never be sure of the details, but suffice to say that, shortly after, the inn was renamed The Roosevelt Hotel, complete with the motto, “Where jolly good fellows meet.” Character, indeed. Comfortably situated on Charleston, a couple of blocks off the main thoroughfare, the current Wellsboro House presents a dining option a tad less visible than the eateries on the main drag. Perhaps it is the location that leads to the lopsided division of clientele. Chris estimates that 80 percent of his customers are locals, as opposed to out-of-towners spending time at one of Wellsboro’s famed events. But the owner is grateful for the support of the businesses that refer traffic his way. “There is a certain vibe to Wellsboro, and it attracts a lot of people. I’m not sure we strike the exact same chord, but we have definitely found our place in the community.” Not one for traditional advertising methods, Chris advocates for “putting your money into your product.” Apparently, the efforts of the Kozuhowski family have also found a place in the mind of the Governor of Pennsylvania. This part of the story begins with beer. A Southern Tioga School District teacher named Rob Kathcart shares Chris’s passion for good beer. A home brewer in his spare time, Rob brought samples to the Wellsboro House, and the discussion got serious quickly. The two teamed up to use the restaurant as the brew spot and sales location. The variety changes frequently, thus the use of chalkboards to list current offerings. Enter that epic Kozuhowski vision and the energy to fuel it, and the empty Wellsboro train station across the street is reborn as a brewery. To his mind, expanding to include beer making is supremely logical, if only because it returns the art of brewing back to the same hunk of land that carried it 100 years ago. Chris reams off details like a tour guide. “A lot of the German immigrants, that was their talent to use in their new country. They could really brew beer!” The building is rehabbed, the gleaming tanks are in place, and the deal is inked with the state to be an approved beer supplier. If all goes according to plan, and it had better if the plan knows what’s good for it, the first of the year will bring the froth to a head. Mr. Yuengling should be pleased. The Wellsboro House is the chosen site for unveiling their classic Ground Hog Day beer. Perhaps he would also like sampling the house craft beer specialty, Wynken, Blynken and Nod Out IPA. The smart money says Chris would be happy to stroll up

Elizabeth Young

All aboard: Wellsboro’s iconic train station, across the street from The Wellsboro House, has been reborn as the restaurant’s brewery.

to the village green and point out the Wynken, Blynken, and Nod statue to Mr. Y. This level of buy-in and faith in a community is worthy of recognition, and Chris, Laura, and their staff were recipients of a formal pat on the back when they were named winners of the 2015 Governor’s ImPAct Award. The honor spotlights businesses who make a significant contribution to the economic and cultural health of their communities. Chris beams when he talks about the award ceremony. “It was like Oscar night!” In the next breath, “But, I felt bad that I was

the only face up there. None of this happens because of just me. I have an incredible staff, and they are the ones who make it work every day. I need to thank them, my current folks, and all the ones from the beginning.” He refers to his kitchen as a “democracy” with ample cross-training and a subdued sense of ego. “My best chef is just as willing to wash dishes, and that’s the only way we can work. There is a feeling of ease I want to convey here. The bar closes at a sensible hour. There are nights when there are more kids in here than at Chucky Cheese’s. A lady can be here on her

own without worrying. There is a very deliberate effort to get that feeling.” As disconnected as it may sound, the proprietor draws some of his inspiration from his former occupation. When laying out a new building on a busy campus, say Harvard University, smart landscapers don’t even design walkways until after the building is up and open and the traffic begins. Then they study the wear patterns in the grass and let human preference dictate where pathways should be placed. • Chris carries a similar philosophy about his business. What should his See A Man’s Gotta Brew on page 14

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Two down: The old train station is now the shiny new home of The Wellsboro House’s brewing operation. Next up—transforming the old hotel’s second floor back into an inn. A Man’s Gotta Brew continued from page 13

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hours be? Wait and see when it is busy. How about serving lunch? Let’s try it and if it doesn’t fly—and it didn’t— take the cue from your customers and don’t do it. He is surprisingly zen-like in his decision-making, often waiting for input from sources he cannot control and meeting them way beyond halfway. Still, grand gestures seem to be Chris’s bread and butter. He talks fast, he’s decisive, and he trusts his instincts. Consider Exhibit Three: after the restaurant and the brewery, naturally the Wellsboro House needs to regain its status as an inn. The second floor is gutted, awaiting the renovation that will bring twelve rooms back to life. Once again, people will enter Wellsboro near the train station, be warmly welcomed with a local brew sample, then saunter across

the narrow road for a stellar meal and place to rest. That sort of historical symmetry makes Chris Kuzuhowski’s face split into a grin that bounces around the room. Ask him if this—renovating old buildings and running a restaurant, a brewery, and an inn—is this what he is supposed to be doing? Is this why he was put on the Earth? Not to plant trees, not to pontificate on ESPN, not to be the coolest history teacher ever? This? “Yes.” Possibly the only one word answer he has ever offered in his life. Maggie Barnes works in health care marketing and is a resident of Waverly, New York. She is a 2015 recipient of the Keystone Press Award for her columns in Mountain Home.

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Don Knaus

After the case: turkey dog guide Rob Mucinski and his pack, under camo cover after flushing a flock.

Going to the Dogs

Of Turkeys, Trout, and Fine Autumn Sports Atop the Marcellus By Don Knaus

he flock of turkeys had been broken up. To my right, the guide was sounding reassembly. Several turkeys answered with plaintive calls and began sneaking toward the kee-oak and clucks of our guide. When the first bird came in, I had the beads of my shotgun on it for what seemed like an eternity. It was right in front of fellow hunter Paula Piatt, who sat hidden in camouflage to the right of our guide. My mind screamed, “Shoot, Paula, shoot!” I had held my shotgun up so long that, even with my elbow resting on my knee, my muscles began to quiver. The turkey was at thirty yards. My arm 16

was screaming for relief. My shaking was almost imperceptible, but maybe that’s what spooked the bird. It took flight back down the mountain. I really, really wanted Paula to take a turkey. She, after all, had scouted all week and located this flock. Discussion afterwards indicated that, angles being what they are in the woods, she couldn’t see the clucking hen. I was on a hunt sponsored by Trout Unlimited (TU), and Paula is the Eastern Sportsmen Organizer for TU. At the invite of TU, four outdoor writers got to hunt with turkey dogs and their handlers. I had never hunted bronze birds with dogs, and I jumped

at the chance. Turkey dogs run wideranging circles, listening and sniffing. When they find a flock, they race in and bark, breaking up the flock. The dogs’ collars are equipped with GPS devices. When the dogs barked, the owners pointed, “They’re 500 yards that way.” Off we went, collecting the dogs along the way. We posted up and the dogs crawled into camouflage bags where they lay while their masters called. Our guide for the morning was Ron “Turkey Dog” Magnano of Olean, New York. Ron’s dog, Curley, nestled in his sack. Will Elliot, outdoor columnist for The Buffalo News, was to the right of Paula.

Mark Taylor, the Eastern Communications Director for TU, had set up the hunt, and he was around the mountain with our other turkey dog guide, Rob Mucinski of Limerick, Pennsylvania. Near him were writers Micah Sargent from Wellsboro and Matt Reilly, hailing from Charlottesville, Virginia. A second bird responded to Ron’s call and came within fifty yards only to take flight. I saw it for a split second after it took wing— out of range. Within minutes, a third bird answered and cautiously snuck near, working directly toward me. I feared that it would spot me and vamoose, so, at forty-five yards, I pulled the trigger. It dropped and flopped. All my life, whenever I’ve hunted turkeys with experts, they always said, “If you knock one down and it’s flopping, run to it as fast as you can. You don’t want it to get up and run.” So I did. Ron had whispered, “If you shoot one, just sit still. Sometimes another turkey will be just behind it and keep coming in.” Hard of hearing, I never heard that. As I was running to the downed turkey, I heard something indistinguishable and then the word “DOWN!” I thought Ron was saying, “Got one down!” Nope. He was telling me to sit down. I felt bad, but…a filled tag for Don. I experienced a dichotomy of emotions on the hunt. While we were hiking up the mountain, someone asked, “How old are you, Don?” I answered, and I suddenly felt old. I was hunting with thirty- and forty-somethings, and I knew that, when I was that age, I would have thought someone my age was really old. There was the exhilaration of hearing the dogs bark, signaling a break-up of the flock. There was the relaxing sit while waiting for birds. Adrenaline See Going to the Dogs on page 18

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Quite a catch: fishing guide Julie Szur on Slate Run with Charlottesville, Virginia, writer Matt Reilly.

Don Knaus

Going to the Dogs continued from page 17

pumped on the first bird. Then I shot a bird…a longer shot than the one that I passed on. Later, the hunters offered high fives to my success. No other birds responded, and the group chose to spend the afternoon lazing at Bear Mountain Lodge. Katy Dunlap, TU Eastern Water Project Director presented a lecture and slide show focusing on local Marcellus Shale activity. I know it’s her job, but Katy rattled off statistics and figures from memory that I bet Marcellus insiders couldn’t cite. She listed the number of gas wells in Pennsylvania. That was mind-boggling. But when she popped up a slide showing the wells as red dots on a map…whew! Trout Unlimited is a major sponsor of Sportsmen Alliance for Marcellus Conservation, and the group regularly updates members on shale gas concerns on the East Coast and sportsmen’s continued efforts to address these issues. Trout Unlimited’s member sportsmen are at the forefront of the battle for clean water and are working to ensure that large interstate pipelines avoid or are minimally intrusive on Pennsylvania’s cold water streams. Volunteer monitors act as the eyes and ears on the ground. TU is doing the right thing in employing concerned citizens to monitor water quality in the streams of the Keystone State. Locally, the Pine Creek Headwaters Protection Group aids the monitoring of streams and the group has stepped up activity with the advent of Marcellus Shale drilling. Tioga County, Pennsylvania, Planning Director Jim Weaver trained volunteers who keep an eye on local water quality. They call themselves “Water Dogs.” On Sunday, we toured several drill pad sights, one on private land, one near Wellsboro’s municipal water supply, and one wholly within Pennsylvania State Game Lands 75. Katy and Paula explained drilling and extraction activity throughout

the expedition. Paula travels to TU events and offers presentations like “Shared Habitat in the Eastern Shale Gas Region” or “Heads Up! Protecting Our Headwaters and Trout Habitat.” To top off the weekend, we hit Slate Run and fished. TU had arranged for a guide from Slate Run Tackle Shop to take us fishing. The guide was the personable and professional Julie Szur, and she got the guys into trout immediately. I was able to get some

nice photos of fly-caught brown trout. The weekend was a great experience, one gone to the dogs…turkey dogs and water dogs. Retired teacher, principal, coach, and life-long sportsman Don Knaus is an award-winning outdoor writer and author of Of Woods and Wild Things, a collection of short stories on hunting, fishing, and the outdoors.

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Melissa Bravo

Apple of his eye: the author’s father, Guy Bravo, planted this tree, possibly a Rome, forty-plus years ago on his farm outside Wellsboro.

The Old Family Tree

More Than Just Pie in the Sky, There’s Fruitful Ancestry in Those Apple Branches (Maybe Yours, Too) By Melissa Bravo

ou know you have seen one while out and about. Twisted and wizened, these old trees personify the memories of days gone by. Speckled with brown splotches that mar their yellow skins, you might think twice about eating one of them. But rest assured, these forgotten remnants of our forefather’s best apple pie are

just as sumptuous as the grafted kind. These grannies of old have names—but not ones we’d recognize today. If you are so fortunate as to have either a copy of the coveted 1905 publication by the United States Department of Agriculture Nomenclature of the Apple: A Catalog of the Known Varieties Referred to in

American Publications from 1804 to 1904, or the two-volume series published in 1905 by the New York Experimental Station entitled Apples of New York, containing color plates galore, you might recognize the fruit from that misshapen old maid. They named apple varieties back then by the name of the man who grew See In the Shade on page 23

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See In the Shade on page 25

Ageless beauty: one hundred years later, these descendants of Granny Smith apples are still dotting the landscape on Calkins Road outside Wellsboro. Farms may change hands, but the apple trees remain behind, bridging owners across the decades.

Melissa Bravo

In the Shade continued from page 21

them. (This seems rather odd to me, since it was women who made them into a dish most delicious, wasn’t it?) Aaron, Abbott, Aberdeen, Abernathy, Abraham, and Ackerman are just a few of the apple cultivars that were available 110 years ago. Most befittingly, and foresightedly, the 350 pages of names in the USDA bulletin ends with an apple variety called Young America. All told, this particular publication mentions over 14,000 apple variety names. Including derivative spellings of the same name, it’s entirely possible one of your ancestor’s grew one. If you’ve ever wondered how your last name was really spelled, this just might be the genealogy record you’ve been missing! If you could be so lucky, you might even know of an apple tree of more antiquity. When we arrived here, oh, say about 500 years ago, there were already three distinct apple varieties considered indigenous to this country. They are a type of Rosacea in the order Pomea in the genus Pyrus, otherwise known as crab apples, and they are fragrant little trees. But the fruit: wow, is it sour! You’ll pucker your lips for sure! Just one inch around, these latematuring little bites of fiber make great fruit preserve. Because of their natural pectin these apple jams set up just fine. (Pectin is a natural fiber found in fruits like apples with the highest concentrations in the skins, cores, and seeds—to make your own liquid pectin, boil up some tart green apples with a little bit of lemon juice, reducing it as you go, and you won’t have to go buy it at the grocery store.) When our forefathers arrived, it did not take them long to hybridize their favorite European apple with these native trees, and out of those

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Keeping on: dozens of apple trees still put forth their seasonal bounty at the former Paul Grego homestead on Oregon Hill. In the Shade continued from page 23

pollinator-induced matings came the first cultivated cider-making hybrids known as Soulard, Howard, Mercer, and Kentucky Mammoth. You might recognize their descendants as the apples that donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t ripen until winter. Not many of us make cider anymore, but if you do, look for these â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;after the frostâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; hangers-on to make your own particular concoction of fermented hard cider next time. The modern apple we have today, Pyrus malus, is actually a cross between a Malus domestica apple and the Siberian crab Pyrus baccata. No one really knows when See In the Shade on page 37 25

Courtesy Fall into the Arts Lake Fest The jury is in: on the shores of Rose Valley Lake in October, the region’s fine artists put on a show.

Fall Into the Arts

On the Shores of Rose Valley Lake, You’re Invited to Do Just That By Linda Roller

here’s more than a bit of artistry on display at Rose Valley Lake in October, when the jewel tones of the fall leaves are reflected in the crystal lake set among the rolling hills. It’s just the setting for a very special art show, the second annual “Fall Into the Arts Lake Fest” on October 10 and 11. With over twenty-five regionally and nationally recognized artisans, this is an exclusive juried art show. But one of the most interesting things about this show is that all the artists are our friends and neighbors, for all these folks live right here in Northern Pennsylvania and Southern New York. And it’s a special setting, too. For it’s the brainchild of Bobby Maguire,

who has opened his ninety-acre farm on the shores of Rose Valley Lake for this event. Bobby has long been a collector of fine art, and many sculptures from noted artists are installed at the farm. For him, the road to this art show started in the major metropolitan shows that he attended. He saw wonderful things, but he also knew people right here who were creating art of equal caliber. He talked about this to a number of people, and one of them was Deb Parsons. Deb works in many mediums, but is best known for her lamp-worked glass jewelry and, as an artist, knew the grueling hours needed for people from this area to travel to exhibit. It took years of talking about

a show right here in North Central Pennsylvania, and in those years, Deb was organizing and promoting events, gaining the experience needed for such a large event. By 2014, the thought and the experience of these two people merged into this special event. Initially, they thought about a summer show, but that conflicted with the shows that artists travel to for exposure to a larger world. And so, Bobby and Deb looked at mid-October. That time was a good fit for artisans, and many of those invited were excited to attend. All they needed was a tent, some local food vendors, live music, and some advertising for an event. No one knew how many people would come See Fall into the Arts on page 28

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Fall into the Arts continued from page 26

for a combination of a metropolitan show and a small country fair. But, the magic was there, and hundreds of people came. And no wonder. Here was a “big city” show, but more than that. For the people invited worked in many different mediums. And they were not only exhibiting, but they had the time and space to talk to people, to describe special techniques they used. For the browser and serious art collector alike, this was a golden opportunity to interact with both the art and the artist. For the artists, they had the chance to really talk to other artists. As Linda Campbell, who creates pottery in the slab method said, “In most shows, you’re stuck in your little tent. Not here.” And the artists invited tended to be people that are willing to talk, to demonstrate what they do. It is both an exhibition/sale and the gathering of people that create a space where art is 28

happening now. This year, the tents have grown to two large tents, and more fine artists have accepted the invitation to merge large city talent in a serene country setting. Whether it’s the pastel paintings of Theresa Spitler, the wood sculptures of Mark Robbins, the photography of Nadine Sapiente, the upscaled furniture of Ann Hudak, or even the handsculpted papermache of Sally Cohick, there will be so much to see. Pleinair will be there all day, painting on site. Laura Roan, who creates masks and bittersweet wreaths will be doing face painting with the kids. You’re invited...to bring a picnic lunch or a bottle of wine and a blanket. Enjoy the lake, the view, the artists, and the crisp autumn air. There will be music, courtesy of Pepper Street and Fatman. Many tempting treats await at the food booths. Walk the grounds, sit on an Adirondack chair,

and just drink in the lake. Explore the many well-groomed trails throughout the farm (and animals are welcome on leashes). Bring your mountain bike, or even a registered kayak. Parking is easy and free, and the event is handicapaccessible. A warm, artistic welcome awaits. Fall into the Arts Lake Fest Saturday, October 10, 2015: 10 a.m. to 4 p.m.; Sunday, October 11, 2015: 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. Rain or Shine Event 939 Trimble Road, Trout Run, PA 17771. (South end of Rose Valley Lake. Watch for Signs along the road.)

Mountain Home contributor Linda Roller is a bookseller, appraiser, and writer in Avis, Pennsylvania.

Courtesy Fall into the Arts Lake Fest

Artistic views: Bobby Maguire hosts the Fall into the Arts Lake Fest on the grounds of his Rose Valley Lake farm.

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Move over kale: Korea’s kimchi is hot in more ways than one.

Korea’s Kimchi—the New Kale And a More Local Recipe (Ah, Italy!) for Caponatina By Cornelius O’Donnell

o doubt about it, we’re in an era of food fads—perhaps we always have been, but this one seemed so sudden: overnight every new recipe book, food magazine, blog, and newspaper article I scanned somehow managed to include recipes that incorporated that leafy green called

kale. Why, it almost nudged cupcakes off the top of the current “gastronomic darlings” heap. Maybe it’s because this vegetable’s many nutritional benefits have been widely touted. I can see editors and food writers rushing to their computers to hail kale. Me? I can take it or leave it. I usually toss it in a bean

soup, or shred it and add to cooked lentils and sausages. If I still have some on hand I cut the kale in smaller pieces, then add it to just wilt in an otherwise rich pasta dish. When I leave it, it’s because an article has urged me to use kale-in-the-raw as a salad ingredient. It’s okay, I guess, with a creamy salad See Korea’s Kimchi on page 33

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Korea’s Kimchi continued from page 30

dressing but that, for me, is it. I’d even choose iceberg over it at a salad bar. Kimchi and Moi So when I read about the new darling of the food-forwards, called kimchi, I was transported back to when I was a Forward—a Forward Observer (Artillery) that is—in Korea circa 1958-60. The Seventh Division was headquartered just south of the Demilitarized Zone (the 38th parallel for you history buffs) and our “home” was a clutch of Quonset huts without indoor plumbing. (I gratefully accept your sympathy.) One great perk for us peacekeepers were the houseboys, the base’s tailor, barber, and— most notable—the bartender at the Officer’s Club. (That plus the fact that a bottle of good gin set you back seventy-five cents!) When lunchtime rolled around our Korean friends would open their receptacles and the air was suddenly permeated with the pungent smells of kimchi; no surprise, it’s the Korean national dish. Back then I never really knew all the ingredients, but I do know there were two types of kimchi: “winter” kimchi was made during the waning days of summer/ autumn when fresh produce was still on hand. It was cooked, placed in a receptacle, and then buried in the soil to preserve it. (“My Dinner’s in the Cold, Cold Ground” could be the theme song here.) Since most of Korea was offlimits to the G.I.s then, and we were strongly encouraged not to sample the local fare at all, I never tasted “authentic” summer or winter kimchi. Who knew that in 2015 kimchi recipes would be popping up everywhere and that you would find them on so many restaurant menus?

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See Korea’s Kimchi on page 34

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Mellowing, not fermenting: with eggplant as its muse, Italy’s caponatina is a luxurious melding of autumn flavors. Korea’s Kimchi continued from page 33

Dealing with the “Aura” of Kimchi Imagine a barber leaning close to your face and asking, “How you like it?” or the tailor adjusting the lapel on your Army fatigues or khakis (always worn fitted over there) and, literally, breathing down your neck? I took evasive action in order to deal with “kimchi breath” in everyday confrontations with the otherwise devoted, charming, and talented Koreans. Our division’s PX was a short walk away. Unfortunately, the only aftershave lotion in the place was Aqua Velva—a scent that still haunts me, and not in a good way. Mom had sent me some of the Irish linen handkerchiefs I invariably received at Christmas over the years. I would sprinkle one of them with the accursed AV and, fearing a breath-taking experience, I’d feign a cold and hold the hanky to my nose during the trim or 34

the altering or the close conversation. (Thank goodness I’d seen the technique with Garbo in Camille.) Thus I survived the worst of the wafts. Ideas for concocting kimchi at home can now be found in new cookbooks, online, in blogs—all over. As I said, suddenly it’s hot. Figuratively and actually. To make it: start with shredded Napa cabbage, lots (I emphasize lots) of chopped garlic, minced ginger root, fish sauce, daikon radish, green onions, Korean chili powder (if you can find it), sugar, dark sesame oil, and (also if you can find it) Korean salted shrimp. Naturally there are variations, but imagine what the dish would taste like. I’ll bet most of what we read now are Americanized versions but, either way, it really packs a punch. Caponatina I rather like the idea of a versatile condiment this time of year, especially

if fresh eggplant, tomatoes, and even celery are still around. This may not be Italy’s National Dish, but versions of it pop up in most good Italian cookbooks. Like kimchi, it’s better made ahead and allowed to mellow—for a day or two versus kimchi’s months of fermenting. Just think—no need to dig holes or get crock-ed up. This recipe is from The Loaves and Fishes Cookbook, circa 1980. It’s timeless and a great thing to have on hand to accompany grilled anything, or roast anything, or just as a topping for a cracker. I’ve adapted this and you can, too, adding canned chopped fennel, (canned) white beans, zucchini, basil, tarragon—go wild! 4 medium eggplants 2 Tbsp. sea or kosher salt 2 Tbsp. lemon juice 1 ½ c. extra-virgin olive oil 4 yellow onions sliced (I use a mandolin on these,

or a very sharp knife) 2 cloves of garlic, finely minced 1 (16 oz.) can whole tomatoes such as Muir Glen or the equivalent fresh tomatoes 4 stalks celery (coarse strings removed with a peeler), diced 12 green olives in pieces (from the deli bar) ½ c. pine nuts* 1 Tbsp. dried oregano, crushed between your fingers ½ c. red wine vinegar ¼ c. sugar More salt and freshly ground pepper to taste Chopped parsley, preferably Italian, for garnish Preheat the oven to 250 degrees. Peel the eggplants and cut them into cubes. Toss them with the coarse salt and lemon juice and put them in a colander balanced over a bowl. Cover the eggplants with a plate and top with a 5-pound weight (unopened flour or sugar are my choices). Let the eggplant stand for 30 to 45 minutes to extract the extra water and remove any bitter taste. Heat about ¼ cup of the oil in a large skillet and sauté the eggplant one layer at a time, for 1 to 2 minutes on each side to barely brown the cubes. Continue to add more oil to the skillet as necessary. You may need as much as 1 cup. Transfer the eggplant to a large shallow baking dish. In the same skillet add the remaining ½ cup of oil and, over low heat, sauté the onion for about 10 minutes until limp but not brown. Add the garlic and cook about 2 minutes until fragrant—the dish, not you. Break up the tomatoes with your impeccably clean hands and add them, with their liquid. Or simply chop the fresh tomatoes and add. Then add the celery and continue cooking until the celery is tender. Add a little water if necessary to prevent sticking. Scrape into the baking dish along with the olives, pine nuts, and oregano. Mix with the eggplant. Set aside. In a 4-cup glass measure, mix the vinegar and salt. Microwave for 1 to 2 minutes and then stir until the salt dissolves. Stir this into the eggplant mixture. Pop the baking dish into the preheated oven and cook for about 2 hours at a slow simmer (adjust the oven heat if necessary and stir several times). Correct the seasoning. Serve warm or at room temperature sprinkled with chopped parsley. *For even more flavor, add the pine nuts to a skillet and heat on medium low, stirring constantly until the nuts just begin to brown. Chef, teacher, author, and award-winning columnist Cornelius O’Donnell lives in Elmira, New York.

Melissa Bravo

A time-honored view: an old apple tree crowns a hill overlooking the village of Morris, Pennsylvania.

In the Shade continued from page 25

this cross occurred when it came to America. Its native range since prehistoric times is the Caucasus Mountains of Eurasia. There are also other old world apple varieties in the Malus genus, thirty or so, to be exact. Just order some rootstock and plant an orchard of these and you will be amazed at the differences within this genus of fruit trees. It’s highly possible that your apple orchard, or the remnants of that gnarled old tree, date back to the early 1700s when settlers planted apple seeds everywhere they went, as did the Indians, who valued their sweet scent. It’s even harder to believe that something could remain alive for that long, but another Pyrus species known as the Endicott Pear in Danvers, Massachusetts, is still alive after 380-plus years. It was planted back around 1633. When vandals cut off its branches and left nothing but an amputated stump, it grew back again, bearing identical fruit. So it’s quite possible that your old grove of twisted, knotty, Pyrus malus scrubs are truly Colonial in origin. Keep in mind though, our modern apple cultivars are not carbon copies of their parents like the Endicott Pear. In fact, plant a handful of apple seeds and none might look the same, perhaps because of their dependency on pollination by flying things moving from one pistillate flower to another, mixing different anther pollen—tree by tree by tree. But, whatever the cause, their extreme heterozygosity in reproduction is why we have so many different apple varieties today. If you are game to tackle an investment orchard of enormous magnitude you’ll need forty acres or more for all 7,500 different apple cultivars available today. Just See In the Shade on page 40 37

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Melissa Bravo

Fruitful bower: this mammoth apple tree on Oregon Hill is as tall as the brick chimney of the house beside it. In the Shade continued from page 37

imagine the money you could make selling the option to name the new cultivars to all of your friends out in cyberspace as their own personal identifier! Since every apple seed is more unique than our septuagenarian social security system could ever hope to be, this might be the ultimate fraud prevention plan! Hmm. I might just try this myself. Link your name to a seed and lock it away in a Bravo Seed Vault for all eternity! Clone it as needed when your identity is in doubt (like the next time you go to register to vote a politician out). Just remember the math: it takes 3 medium apples to make a 9-inch pie and about 126 will make a bushel weight of 46. At 12 to 25 cents per apple that seems a fair trade (the interest will accrue beginning immediately!). Just think, your family could have lived off the interest alone if your ancestor had planted his very own apple tree. And then sold personalized seed-stockoptions from each and every crate, instead of investing in the tulip bulb debacle of 1638! (Really, that did happen.) Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s sound advice, I tell ya! Click here to invest in your very own apple tree today!! First-time Mountain Home contributor Melissa Bravo, a former botanist for the Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture, writes both technical and humorous agriculture stories. When she is not writing she is consulting as a certified crop advisor, livestock, and land management consultant. She lives and farms in Tioga County, Pennsylvania.

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