Three years and counting

Today marks the 3-year anniversary of my hemorrhagic stroke.  It has become a day of reflection for me each year.

It’s been hard to focus on the good things for me this past year, despite how much good there was and is.  Depression and anxiety are words I never thought would find their way into my life, but they have; it happens and you just have to deal with it. I’m ok, but some days are harder than others.  I retreat into the safety of solitude and prayer when I’m not sure which way to go.

At three years post-stroke, my recovery is still ongoing but I’m physically strong and the damaged part of my brain is stable.  My left foot and lower leg are a constant reminder to me that I’m not the same, but I’ve learned and am still learning how best to care for them.  The biggest thing is to keep moving, strengthening, and stretching.  All. The. Time. New people I meet have no idea what happened to me, which is a great compliment they can’t tell. Words come easier, the brain fog is lifting a bit (when I can get enough sleep), and I’m strong from a lot of physical exercise and weight training.  I’m not cycling at this point; I tried it a few times and although I can do it, it takes so much focus it’s just not fun right now.  Maybe with some more time.

What I realized during the night though (another sleepless night, thanks #wyomingwind) is how remarkable it is that many of my movements and actions are completely automatic again.  There are hundreds of muscle movements in my left hand, arm, and leg that just happen now without my having to “tell” my brain what to do.  When I remember what a breakthrough it was for me to have enough wrist and finger movement to stack a couple of cones during PT at the rehab unit, under such intense concentration I was immediately exhausted, it’s pretty mind-blowing that I’m typing this at normal speed just like I used to pre-stroke.  Our bodies are incredible!

I can’t end my yearly reflection without thanking the love of my life for his undying  and constant support and encouragement.  He is my absolute, unequivocal rock.  Thank you Mark, my sweet love.

“This being human is a guest house. Every morning is a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor…Welcome and entertain them all. Treat each guest honorably. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.”  -Rumi

Me at the Grand Canyon April 2015.  I did a 9-mile hike down and back up the Bright Angel Trail, a feat a brain hemorrhage survivor like me doesn’t take for granted.
Posted in Stroke Recovery | 4 Comments

Chained Together

Mike and Paula have been friends of ours since our kids were preschoolers.  We really missed them when they moved to Worland, WY some years ago. We’ve always kept in touch and see each other on occasion.  They are treasured friends.

Their nest has emptied and, with both their kids now in college at the University of Wyoming, they are off on a transcontinental tandem cycling adventure, crossing the United States from Anacortes, Washington to Brunswick, Maine.  I’m very excited for them and wanted to share a link to their blog, so you can follow them too!  They will be posting updates as they go, and you can sign up for email alerts when new posts are added.

Mike and Paula begin their journey tomorrow, May 27, 2015.  Follow them here, at Chained Together : Paula and Mike’s transcontinental tandem tour

Mike and Paula, best of luck to you both.  Here is my wish for you:

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand. (-an old Irish blessing)

Stay in touch, cycling friends!

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How many shades of gray?

When I was a child in the 70’s and teen in the 80’s, being supermodel-thin wasn’t a desirable body shape.  I grew up hating my very skinny body, freckly face, and most of all, the misshapen nose I received as the result of a break that didn’t heal right.  My crooked, lumpy nose, which I still tend to hide with well-placed glasses, was the butt of more ugly jokes and taunting than I care to remember.   Add in my awkward social skills and second-hand clothes, and my bad self-image was a sealed deal until after I graduated from high school. The one thing I discovered I had going for me was my hair.

I have great hair, my husband of nearly 24 years, tells me. (He’s also been telling me I’m beautiful for all these years too, but I don’t believe him yet.)   I’m a naturally dark brunette, and I wore my hair long with bangs when we met.  That was 1989, and girls like me spent nearly 1 1/2 hours a day with Clairol hot rollers and a 1” iron getting every curl just so.  These were the post-Aquanet days, but big and plentiful hair was still the look many desired.  The more Playboy it looked, the better.  My self-image became rooted in my hairstyle.  I felt like my soft brown hair was the one pretty thing about me, so I played it up.  Over the years I’ve worn my hair long, layered, bobbed, pulled back, braided, up-doed, curled, pinned, headbanded, and straight.  I love to trend current styles and imitate them.  Over the years, the compliments I’ve received on my hair and/or hairstyles have finally outnumbered the ugly comments from peers that left their mark years ago.

I remember noticing my first gray hair when I was 19.  It wasn’t until I was in my 30’s though, that I started coloring my hair.  I’ve either colored my own or had a stylist dye my hair for probably 10 years or so.  Underneath that color, I am almost completely gray, my stylist told me recently, as she looked at the new growth on my scalp.  I’m 45 years old.

Can I just say how much I have grown to loathe coloring my hair?  I hate the time it takes, and the expense.  The color, even when done by the last awesome stylist who did my color, never looks quite right to me, through no fault of hers.  It fades, I have to worry constantly about getting exposed to the sun, have to touch up roots every couple of weeks.  The home chemicals burn my scalp, getting it done at the salon is great but can be expensive, I have to wait to shampoo for a couple of days, the list goes on.  But that’s for sure, no one knew I was gray!

In the last couple of years, my beautiful sister, 10 years my senior, has let her hair go natural.  She had nearly black hair when she was younger; a thick, coarse hair that looked absolutely stunning on her.  But now, with her naturally gray hair and eyebrows that are still dark, the contrast is still stunning!  I love how she looks.  She is a role model for going gray with tons of style.

Then I saw an article on Facebook a few weeks ago, posted by another friend who doesn’t color and has beautiful naturally graying hair.  I’m guessing she’s also about my age.  It was about middle-aged women (and older) who didn’t color their hair.  Some are celebrities, notably Emmy Lou Harris and Jamie Lee Curtis.  I was stunned by the pictures of these women.  They are beautiful!  They don’t look old to me.  They look natural but not unkempt, down-to-earth but not ‘earthy’, elegant, and real.  I was sitting in the choir loft at Easter Mass and saw a lady below who was gray.  The patterns and ombre blend she had from her gray to the dark brown she had underneath could probably not be replicated in a salon.  And nobody else has exactly her hair color; it was unique only to her!

I began to read a little more and cruise the internet looking at pictures of women with gray hair.  I was curious on how to accomplish this transition without looking like I have a skunk stripe in the middle of my head for a year or more.  Some of the articles I didn’t like.  They recommended cutting off one’s colored hair when the natural growth was long enough, leaving a short cut that is not desirable to me.  I decided that if I’m going actually going to do this thing, I am NOT cutting my long hair.  It was time to see my stylist.

I went in for a trim and talked to my stylist about the best approach.  Turns out, I am deciding to do this at a very good time.  Gray hair is in style!  Celebrities such as Kelly Osbourne, Lady Gaga, and Pink are dying their hair gray.  My stylist suggested letting my hair grow out until I couldn’t stand the look of the skunk stripe any longer, then she will begin adding gray highlights, incorporating and blending the natural gray in with what’s left of the color.  So it’s settled.  I’m going to give it a try.  Yes, I’ll still be coloring for awhile yet, but this will be a means to an end.

My decision to attempt this has been met with mixed reviews.  When mentioning my plan to friends and some family, I’ve received everything from strange looks (daughter) to polite smiles, to a private email from a friend telling me to go for it.  “It’s so freeing,” she said.  She is a few years older than me, has naturally curly pepper-and-a-little-salt hair, and it’s lovely.

Now, my perspective about the age-old battle against age is starting to change and I’m seeing things in a new light.  So many of us have grown up in a culture that emphasizes the unacceptability of showing one’s age.  I see ads for the “real housewives” series and it strikes me how silly some of those women look, with their big fake boobs, botoxed faces and fat lips.  I mean for heaven’s sake, who do they think they’re fooling? They still look their age, only done up like sad caricatures trying to hold on to something that’s not meant to be. In the process, I think they’ve lost some of their dignity.  Why has this constant quest for the fountain of youth become acceptable in our culture, and what are we ultimately teaching our children?

That is not to say that all of a sudden I’ve become anti-hair dyeing!  I help our teen daughter color her hair; she is a beautiful “red velvet” right now.  Most of my friends color, and they look great.  Both my mom and mother-in-law, both in their 70’s, still color and they’ve chosen colors that compliment their skin tones and age.  But for ME, right now, in 2015, I just want to try being the natural, gray, me.  I would like for it to be ok that I want to be my natural self if I want to, without modern culture looking down its nose at me for “looking too old”.

And I’m curious.  What have I got under the faded red-brown?  There’s some history on my head, the history of me!  As my roots are growing out, I’m starting to see a lot of white, which is scary only because it’s so shockingly different.  But I’m also starting to see my natural, more ash-brown color in there too.  I’ve missed that color, and it’s still there, some of it.  I’ve got a distinct white streak, which I know I’ve had for some time, starting to show just above my left temple.  My cousins in France have the same streak, and I’m curious to see how this grows out and whether or not the “streak” is in fact a family trait or a fluke.   A few years of health problems, two teenagers and all the ups and downs of raising them, an active lifestyle, healthy eating, and some unhealthy eating too, have certainly affected what my natural hair color is now.  Exactly how many shades of gray will I have?

I hope to continue to update you on my progress and transition to the natural-colored me.  I may change my mind again, I don’t know.  Right now, I’m pretty stoked about giving it a try.

Here's a view of my hair from the back.  I'm still having a hard time imagining what it will look like naturally gray.

Here’s a view of my hair from the back. I’m still having a hard time imagining what it will look like naturally gray.

Well here they are, about two-three weeks worth of roots that I would not have let show before.  There's still a few strands of my natural brown in there!

Well here they are, about two-three weeks worth of roots that I would never have let show before. There’s still a few strands of my natural brown in there!

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Then and Again

In the spring of 1987, I was an awkward junior in high school. On a blustery day probably in April or May, I took a road trip with my mom from our hometown of Sheridan, Wyoming, to Laramie, Wyoming, to visit my older brother, who was attending the University of Wyoming. At the time, I was delving into the world of photography for the first time, taking a photography elective at school and learning to see the world from a different perspective.  My school-owned 35mm film camera went everywhere I did.  It was on this particular trip that Mom stopped along a desolate patch of Interstate 25 near mile marker 228 so I could run up the side of the hill to photograph an old homestead.

I-25 runs north-south beginning in Buffalo, Wyoming, and continues south until its exit into Colorado just south of Cheyenne, Wyoming.  I’m just old enough to remember the construction of the interstate, and what it was like to make the 8-hour trip from Sheridan to Denver, CO on the “old” two-lane highway when I was a child.  Throughout the state, many sections of the “new” highway re-routed drivers to new landscapes and away from small towns previously reliant on business from travelers; notably, the small oil town of Midwest.  Today, just before reaching the southbound exit for Midwest at about mile marker 228, lies the remains of the old homestead.  It’s easily noticeable from the road because of the two cottonwood trees planted on either side of the house, the only two trees for miles around.  But you have stop, get out of the car, and walk to the top of the hill before the old house can really be seen.

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View of the homestead as seen from I-25. Photo courtesy of Google Maps

I took one or two rolls of film that trip.  In those days, film was expensive and shots were planned.  You didn’t waste film, because bad shots couldn’t simply be deleted.  I processed and printed the pictures myself in the darkroom at my high school.  The picture of the house became part of a photo essay about Wyoming landscapes (I got an A), and afterward, was packed away in an accordion folder with most of my other high school photography work for many years.

I now live in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and have made the trip between my home back to Sheridan, where my Mom and old friends still live, many times over many years.  Each time, I see the old homestead and have watched with equal parts sadness and fascination as it deteriorates.  One year, the porch roof finally fell, and the front door was obscured by the roof blocking the entrance.  Several years later, the back wall of the house fell in, and the two side walls remained, precariously holding up what was left of the roof.  A few years ago, the tree on the north side of the house died, but remains standing.  Finally, in the last year or two, the remaining walls collapsed, leaving a sad reminder of someone’s history at the mercy of the harsh Wyoming elements.

And who’s history is it?  The old homestead has sparked discussion between me and my husband over the years as we drove by.  Who lived there?  Someone once took pride in the old place.  It’s fenced, complete with welded pipe gates at the front and back of the house.  I seem to recall there used to be a clothesline, or the remains of one, in the yard.  When was it settled?  Why did they leave?  Were they ranchers?  Did children grow up there? Did they go into Midwest, which is several miles east of the property, to shop and interact with the community? Does someone still own the property?  Do they go visit the homestead? Interestingly, although I-25 now runs quite close to the homestead, the older roads do not go near it.  The home had to have been accessed from its own road or trail which most likely connected to a local county road.

As I look at the picture of the homestead in its current condition, I’m struck by the profound changes of time.  Yes, it’s sad that the old house has fallen and one of the trees has died.  After all, I can only imagine what kinds of memories were made within the tar-papered walls.  Maybe some were good memories, maybe some were not.  Perhaps the rooms were lit with oil lamps and warmed with a coal stove as the notorious Wyoming wind shrieked outside during winter.  Possibly, hand-sewn cotton-print curtains hung in the windows and billowed softly as a summer breeze cooled the home on hot days. Conceivably, all those memories are still alive in someone’s mind, but they may also be gone forever with the passing of whomever lived there.

There’s something kind of beautiful about how this place, and hundreds of other abandoned places around our state, have reached the end of their lives naturally.  Not razed by loud, dusty yellow iron making way for new progress, not remodeled into something newer but not quite its old self, not burned, dismantled, or otherwise assisted into decay by people.  There it all lays, naked and barren, a pile of lumber and nails not terribly unlike the pile of lumber and nails it began as.  It’s not morbid, it’s just the circle of life, Wyoming style. Windblown, cold, and forever West.

The homestead, photographed in 1987 and 2015.

The homestead, photographed in 1987 and 2015.

Postscript: Just out of curiosity, does anyone know anything about the old homestead?  I’m most interested in learning something about its history or the people that once lived there.

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The Reluctant Cyclist

Our daughter Lauren was first introduced to life in a family of cyclists by riding in our old yellow and red Burley, which is a pull-behind trailer, snugly fastened in her baby carrier.   She soon grew into toddlerhood, and the baby carrier was replaced with pillows, books, stuffed Beanie Baby cats, juice, and snacks.  All these items had to be present in order for her to be agreeable about getting in the Burley.  If any ingredient was missing, we might be far away from home and hear an insistent little voice coming from behind her Dad’s bicycle, “I’m hungry!”  or  “I want something to drink!” The insistent little voice had no patience for the fact that her father had to find a safe place to stop, pull over, and meet her important demands.  It was just easier to have everything packed in the elastic Burley pockets so she could help herself.  The pinnacle of her Burley experience occurred one year we participated in the Moonlight Classic ride, a night ride beginning and ending in downtown Denver.  We packed the Burley as usual so she’d be happy, with the addition of a lantern hanging from one of the interior support bars of the Burley.  She got a lot of attention in the middle of the night from fellow riders and onlookers as she happily snacked on goldfish crackers and read her books by lantern light while we pedaled along.  She was in love with this arrangement.

But growing too big for the Burley meant that it was time for Lauren to learn to ride her own bike.  This was not exactly how she planned to participate in her family’s favorite activity.  Pedal on her own?  Keep up with her older brother?  Impossible! (The latter is certainly true, none of us can keep up with him).  That would mean exercise and (gasp) work!

We collectively set out to try to teach and encourage Lauren to ride her bike.  We bought her the quintessential pink sparkly girly bike with training wheels, which she liked to look at and play with, filling the polka dot basket with either stuffed cats or real cats. As long as she didn’t have to get on the bike herself, she liked it just fine, thank you very much.   Her brother Dan, who was about 8 at the time, did his best to cheer her on, running alongside her on the patio, and even helping her push her foot down on the pedals when she couldn’t get going. Teaching her wasn’t easy.  There were a few tears.  There was even more whining.  But mostly there was a lot of just-not-interested.  We lamented to ourselves that she might not really get the hang of it and if she did, she probably wouldn’t be joining us on rides.

It was ok with us if she didn’t want to be a cyclist like the rest of us; to each his own after all.  We finally decided we only wanted her to simply learn how, just as a life skill she should have.  What she did after that was up to her.  She reluctantly did learn how, and that was the end of her bike-riding days for several years.

Lauren watched her brother become immersed in cycling throughout his high school years.  He got a job at a bike shop at 15, and continued to work there until he graduated.  He commuted to work and school year-round, defying weather and gas prices.  He mountain-biked several times a week, raced a little bit, and talked a lot about bikes in general, all the time.  A running joke at our house was, “Dan says, if  [insert personal or world problem here], ride your fixed gear.”  In other words, riding was the solution to everything.  This constant barrage of bike talk and culture between her brother and parents must’ve rubbed off on her.  Last summer she decided she wanted to dip her toes into the world of bikes, so she started to ride a bit with him.  First it was just around the neighborhood, then maybe to the nearby gas station, then to the grocery store.  It soon became clear that the years of worn-out hand-me-down bikes from Dan were over and Lauren needed her own bike.

We surprised her last summer with her very own, brand-new Trek 7.2 city bike, a perfect all-around choice for her, and found on sale, easy on our wallet in case things didn’t work out.  Suddenly, a whole new world opened up for her.   She discovered she could ride by herself to the store to get her own snacks anytime she wanted (some things never change).  She discovered she didn’t have to wait for someone to give her a ride somewhere, she could just go.  She discovered that sweet taste of freedom that is so very unique to cycling.

Recently, Lauren, now 16 and on the cusp of getting her driver’s license, was at our church helping her youth group when I received a text asking to ride to a friends’ house.  I OK’d the trip and asked her to text me when she got there, knowing that she had a couple of busy streets to cross.  My phone beeped upon her arrival and she wrote, “It was fun!”  I re-read those words several times, smiled, and jokingly replied, “Who is this and where is my daughter?”

Turns out she discovered the very best thing of all about cycling.  It was fun.  That’s the beautiful, simple joy about being on one’s bike that we never expected she would experience, and we’re so happy for her.  She tells me she wants to keep riding even after she gets her driver’s license.  I hope she does; for either transportation, enjoyment, or both.

Welcome to cycling, Lauren.  It IS fun. And you can have snacks.

Lauren and Dan (in front) on her maiden ride with her new bike.

Lauren and Dan (in front) on her maiden ride with her new bike.


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Non-dairy Fruit Smoothie

_MG_1778I’ve been enjoying a wonderful smoothie almost every morning for a couple of years now, and it occurred to me that this might be a great recipe to share with others.  It’s my own recipe, based on advice from a nutritionist and my own experimentation.

This smoothie is so simple and tastes great.  A perfect way to start the morning, especially if, like me, you don’t want to have a heavy breakfast but know you should eat something.

Get at least 3 servings of fruit, more than 4g of protein, 1130 mg potassium, and 13g fiber in each smoothie!  And at about 500 calories per smoothie, this is a smoothie that will hold you over until you have a sensible lunch.  Research shows that a breakfasts of 400-500 calories  and extra protein make it easier to stick to a diet.(1)

Avocado? In a smoothie?  The avocado does a nice job of balancing out the sweetness of all the fruit.  It’s also the ingredient that makes the smoothie so creamy, in place of yogurt or other thickeners.  Avocados are also an excellent source of protein, helping make this smoothie more of a meal than a fruit drink.

Juicing is very popular right now, and there are advantages and disadvantage to juicing vs. whole blending.  With this recipe, I like getting the benefits of the entire fruit, fiber and nutrients combined.  Like most everything in life, it’s best to either juice or blend in moderation.  Neither method can make up an entire diet and be healthy. For some helpful information on juicing vs. blending, read these articles:

But now on to the recipe!  Here’s how I make mine – amounts are approximate.  Experiment with your own frozen or fresh fruits.  Sometimes if I’m out of avocado I’ll add spinach or kale for that green kick.  Enjoy!

1-2 C Blue Diamond Unsweetened Almond Milk: 1C (100 g) = 40 calories, 1g fat, 1g carb, 0g cholesterol, 0g sugar

1 med banana = 105 calories, go fat, 21g fat, 27g carb, 0g cholesterol, 14g sugar

1/2 avocado = 113 cal, 12g carb, 0g cholesterol, 0g sugar

3/4 C frozen peaches 3/4 c = 50 cal, 0g fat, 13g carb, 0g cholesterol, 10g sugar

3/4 C frozen mixed berries 1c = 80 cal, 0 fat, 0g cholesterol, 21g carb, 9g sugar

1.  No More Excuses: Breakfast Recipes for Every Morning,
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Seven ways to get more super-healing turmeric in your diet

I love learning about new superfoods that have anti-inflammatory benefits.  Here is an article (based on information from several sources) I found about Turmeric and easy ways to add it to your diet.  I’m going to try it out!

 Seven ways to get more super-healing turmeric in your diet.

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Talking cycling with stroke survivor and Paralympian Steven Peace |

This guy is a hero to me.  Doesn’t let anything stop him.  Ride on!

Talking cycling with stroke survivor and Paralympian Steven Peace |.

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World Stroke Day

Today, October 29, 2013, is World Stroke Day.  In my own effort to bring awareness, I wanted to post a great infographic I saw yesterday on Facebook, via the National Stroke Association.  

Stroke is preventable in many cases, but not mine.  While heart problems, poor diet, and lack of exercise can be contributors to Stroke, this is not the case for me.  There is actually very little regarding cause that I have in common with my fellow stroke survivors. But the thing I do have on common is the effects on my mind and body. That’s why I like this infographic so much.

The reason I want to post this information is to help people understand a little bit what it’s like to live with Stroke.   I’m incredibly blessed, my brain has healed a lot and I’ve recovered so much function that most people who meet me don’t know this ever happened to me.  So many other Stroke survivors are not as lucky.

Everything that is listed in this infographic has happened to me.  Some effects lasted a few days, or a few weeks, then I recovered function.  Other effects persist to some degree, as I approach my 11-month anniversary.  My point is, you can’t always see Stroke right away.  If you know someone who has had a stroke, (or you know me!) please be aware: things that might seem “not quite right” with your friend or loved one are most likely just an effect of the stroke.  They are still the same person they’ve always been on the inside, no matter what manifestations the Stroke has presented.  



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Tomato-less, Potato-less Beef Stew

One of the most inconvenient things about changing to an anti-inflammatory diet a couple of years ago is not being able to enjoy the chili, soups, and other delicious tomato-based, potato-ful comfort foods my family enjoys during the fall and winter.  It’s not fair to the rest of the family to eliminate those favorite dishes from their diet too.  Tonight, feeling creative and not really wanting to make two different dinners, my husband and I decided to create a stew that I could eat; no tomatoes, potatoes, peppers.  Luckily, I had the presence of mind to write it down so I can share it with you.  It was so tasty, we will be adding it to our regular comfort food repertoire!

A word about ingredients used: We used pearled barley, so this is not a gluten-free recipe.  This makes a large batch in the crockpot.  I’m all about freezing leftovers for quick meals later on.  I used veggies we had from our garden, except for the green beans.  I think using what you have on hand that’s fresh is the way to go…have fun experimenting!

 Tomato-less, Potato-less Beef Stew


1/2 c flour

Olive oil to coat skillet

1 1/2 lbs. beef stew meat

5 1/2 c beef broth

2 small white onions, chopped

2 c (1/2 small) butternut squash, diced into 1” pieces

1/2 c celery, chopped

12 oz. frozen green beans

1T minced garlic

3 carrots, sliced into coins

1c pearled barley, uncooked

2 bay leaves

1 1/2 t thyme

1 t fennel seeds

1/2 t coriander

  1. Place flour and stew meat in gallon ziploc bag.  Shake to coat, adding more flour if necessary.
  2. Add stew meat to lightly oiled non-stick skillet and brown. Remove from skillet and add to crockpot.
  3. Add remaining ingredients to crockpot.  Cook 3-6 hours.  Before serving, remove bay leaves and salt and pepper to taste.

I hope you enjoy this stew as much as we did, my first time publishing my own recipe!  We loved how the squash and barley made the stew creamy and rich.  No one missed the tomatoes or potatoes. The spices added just the right amount of highlight to make all the flavors come together.

If you make my stew, please come back and comment.  I’d love to know if you liked it, tried substitutions, etc.

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