TASHA  TUDOR  & FAMILY

Some chickens are real individuals. The most notable chicken Tasha ever knew was Chickahominy. His mother was a bearded Belgium bantam that started her clutch of eggs early in spring, and failed to hatch any save one, at which point she abandoned the effort. Rescued by Tasha from the cold, and thawed atop the double boiler on the woodstove, Chickahominy soon demonstrated his penchant for woodstoves, tea, gardening, scrambled eggs, traveling and people, especially Tasha.

On a partly-sunny day, when the skies are heavy with impending rain, but the sun refuses to be entirely hidden, the greens around Tasha's house are stunning. The leaves offer a hundred shades of green when the sunlight teases us and catches the dew.

Though the snow is on the ground spring is near. The trees are budding against the full moon, and the days are longer. Yet spring in the hills of New England is relative. It is near, only in that it may be seen from afar, rather than not at all.

With great delight, we introduce you to Taproot Magazine, a quarterly publication "celebrating food, farm, family and craft through writing, photography and the arts, both fine and domestic." Our very own Amy Tudor(Tasha's granddaughter-in-law) had the pleasure of writing a piece about the Tudor Family's way of life titled "At Home with Tasha Tudor" for their twenty-first issue Weave.  

In the late 1940’s, about the time when many American homes were being outfitted with the newest modern conveniences, Tasha Tudor moved to a run-down (one could say, dilapidated) 1789 New Hampshire farmhouse with no electricity, no running water, and no heat besides a few wood stoves. She was also a mother of two small children. While to some, this combination of circumstances might sound harrowing, for Tasha it was a dream realized.

Tasha Tudor started her garden in Vermont nearly fifty years ago, yet brought to it many decades of prior knowledge and experience. It is a very old garden created with much wisdom. Pleasing to the eye, it possesses plants and a purpose beyond visual appeal. She called it “just a good messy garden.” 

Winter evenings brought to Tasha a quiet expanse of hours between the end of evening chores and bedtime. After the dishes were washed, dried and put away, the goats and chickens fed and watered, corgis walked and the canaries' cage covered with an old grey apron to diminish drafts, Tasha sat in her wooden rocker with the blue wool checked blanket over the back, put her feet up on a chair near the cook stove fender, and wrote letters. She wrote to family, friends, publishers and people she had not met but whose lives and endeavors were of interest to her. 

In the fullness of summer, on the longest day of the year, Tasha threw a party. Late June was always peak flower season so at this time of year Tasha invariably heard from friends and admirers requesting a visit to her exquisite garden. Always one for mixing efficiency with pleasure, Tasha decided to host an event every year on the summer Solstice where friends, family, and admirers could come marvel at her vibrant garden while also enjoying live music, dancing, food, and more!

I remember hearing someone ask my grandmother which season she preferred best. She explained she liked them all, and that when one ended she looked forward to the next. I don’t recall her exact words in answer to that question, but imagine it was a good explanation of her views on the matter. In any event, by the time winter ended she was always ready for spring. 

I assembled the Tasha Tudor and Family Cookbook: Heirloom Recipes and Warm Memories from Corgi Cottage with the idea that although the receipts are straight-forward enough, the cook and baker's philosophy sometimes is not. My grandmother generally used the same type of food that had been available in her youth: seasonal and pretty basic. I think some of what made her meals so memorable was the care she took to provide an attractive setting for it.

By January the snow on the ground at Tasha’s home in Vermont is here to stay until spring. Tasha was always grateful for the snow and the cold. Her perennials were far more likely to come back in the spring if able to sleep beneath the snow, and the cold killed some of the diseases and troublesome insects that haunt all gardens. Her barn, house and animals were warmer when a nor’easter banked two feet of snow around the foundations and on the roof. She always commented on the beauty of blue shadowed snow immediately after a storm. 

By this time of year the garden has been weeded for the last time, cleared of dried stems and brown leaves, and compost spread upon the beds. The ground will soon be frozen, and the long shadows that shield the frost on the grass for much of the day, arrive late and depart early. In between it is dark, for winter is here.