View from the Loft

Proud parents

This morning Jim heard the sandhill cranes making a racket and rushed downstairs just in time to shoot this photo of the proud parents taking their new little one out for a stroll. We'd been expecting to see the chick any day, as we knew the cranes were nesting nearby.

Signs of spring amidst the cold

Although it's blustery and gray, and the temperature has dropped almost twenty degrees since I got up this morning, spring--not just official spring--is definitely here.

The local maple syrup producers have taken in their sap-collecting equipment after what we were told by one sugar-bush owner was a good season, better than last year. Most of the collection is done the modern way, using plastic tubing strung from tree to tree and sometimes a vacuum pump--you can see what the collecting tubes look like here--but one stand of maples we drove by had old-fashioned buckets with curved lids. If you look closely at the photo, you can see that the sap is up to the lip of the pail; in fact, it was running over when Jim took the photo.

In the photo below, you get a sense of the woods and of how old these maples are:

One of the things we most look forward to each spring is the return of the sandhill cranes. This year we first noticed them on March 6, when Jim heard them call. They often come into our back yard, particularly appreciating the bit of water that runs out of the geothermal system's drain.

And while I can't get a good photo of the waterfowl on our small lake--they're too far away for our camera--it's worth noting that migratory season for Canada geese and several species of ducks has begun in earnest. Yesterday, in addition to the geese that have been around for a while now, Jim spotted mallards, mergansers, buffleheads, ring-necked ducks, and a wood duck--this despite the fact that there was no open water, only ice, on our lake.

The male redwing blackbirds are also back (the females join them some weeks later), and the robins have been about for a few weeks. The male goldfinches are beginning to get their brilliant yellow color back, slowly but surely, after a winter of olive drab.

Before you know it, the spring peepers will be singing their jingle-bells song. Ah, spring! Eventually the weather will catch up with the animal world.

Another sunrise

We're incredibly fortunate to have Nature putting on such a show, day after day! Here's another sunrise I had to photograph.

Random photos

Technical difficulties kept me from putting up this photo of our tamaracks in their autumn glory. Tamaracks look like evergreens but their needles change color and fall off in the fall--in other words, they're deciduous. This year, our tamaracks looked, from our window, like flames.

Here's a closeup of the needles.

And, in an entirely unrelated matter, here's a recent visitor to our back yard, possibly escaping the bloodthirstiness of the mighty hunters (the deer know they're safe here, if often vilified for their destructiveness!):

Outside some very extreme circumstances, I just don't think I could ever shoot one, no matter that they've destroyed our vineyard and would-be orchard. I still enjoy seeing them come right into the yard to browse.

Sunrise, sunset

Quite something to wake up to.

And this was a recent sunset:

Nature never bores; no two events are ever alike.

An embarrassment of riches

Guess what I'll be doing this weekend?

The above is a day's harvest, minus the 3 or 4 quarts of cherry tomatoes, the plastic grocery bag full of tomatillos, and the green beans I also picked. The summer squash is nearly at an end, but I've got lots of it in the freezer (I've read that summer squash and zucchini don't freeze well, but I used sliced or cubed frozen squash in soups and stews, and even as a side dish mixed with tomatoes and green beans, and I think they're fine). I've got plenty of green beans in the freezer, too.

And I've got about 60 pounds of tomatoes in the freezer, plus three batches of dehydrated cherry tomatoes and one of sliced roma tomatoes. Tomorrow we're canning tomato juice.

If you have abundant tomatoes, or want to take advantage of fresh tomatoes in quantity at your local farmer's market, try Roasted Tomato Sauce, Pasta with Fresh Tomato Sauce, Fresh Tomato Soup, Cherry Tomato Salad, and/or Sliced Tomatoes with Basil Dressing. Of course there's always your favorite spaghetti sauce recipe. And when all else fails, just place whole fresh tomatoes in a freezer bag and throw them in the freezer until you need them--or you get time to deal with them.

And see all those eggplants? I'll slice, blanch, and freeze some for use later in eggplant dishes like Eggplant Parmesan; others I'll roast for such uses as Baba Ghanoush. Like baba ghanoush, Eggplant Bruschetta makes a great appetizer, as does Eggplant Caviar. I have also been known to roast fairly thick slices of eggplant and simply treat them as if they were miniature pizza crusts, perhaps putting a slice of tomato, some fresh herbs, and plenty of shredded mozzarella on top, heating in the oven until the cheese is golden. 

I love pickled hot peppers--especially the Hungarian yellow wax you see in the photo amidst the darker, larger Anaheims--but I've discovered, after much research and experimentation, that it's almost impossible to pickle them at home and still have crisp peppers. I say "almost" only because peppers naturally fermented (like kosher pickles) and kept in the fridge for the short term are very tasty indeed. With peppers, I like to can homemade salsa (especially jalapeno salsa) or a few jars of soft but somehow acceptable jalapenos (good in cooking, at least).

If you want to take advantage of peppers during their season, there are a couple of easy ways to store them. One is to simply wash them and place them whole, like tomatoes, into a freezer bag (I've already got a couple of gallon-sized bags of jalapenos in my freezer). You can even do this with bell peppers, although if they're large, I like to halve and seed them; sometimes I even dice bell peppers before freezing so they're ready to add to various recipes (not salads, though, to my mind). You can also make stuffed peppers and freeze them. As for peppers like poblanos and Anaheims, I like to roast them before freezing; they're excellent in various Mexican recipes. We have taken to doing big batches of them on the grill, but they can also be roasted under the broiler. Don't skin them after roasting--when you thaw them, the skins will come off easily. I've also roasted sweet peppers, skinned them, and cut them into strips for roasted pepper salad or to saute quickly for fajitas and other recipes.

Do take advantage of your local farmer's market, especially if you have a chest freezer. It's a great way to use the abundance of the season and support your local farmers and gardeners at the same time.

Well, off to wash and trim some veggies ...

[top photo by Kris; pepper close-up by Jim]

What I've been doing instead of blogging, June '07 edition

Oh, I've been keeping up with current events, the perfidy and evil that is Dick Cheney, the mostly inane yattering of various Presidential primary contestants, the horror of Iraq ... but I haven't really wanted to write about any of it. And besides, I've been busy.

I've been working on my bread-making (and am actually seeing some improvement). I've been checking out bagel recipes on the web. After buying 8 quarts of strawberries, I made a batch of jam and some strawberry sauce for the freezer. The garden has sucked up a lot of time and effort as we labored to reclaim it from the weeds that somehow got out of control. We've had to re-plant some things that simply didn't germinate, with plans too for a mid-July planting that will give us a fall crop of some veggies. I've harvested and dried herbs (herb-infused vinegars are yet to come). Now and then the pool has beckoned. I re-read books 5 and 6 of the Harry Potter series in preparation for the seventh and final book, out next month. I've gotten hooked on the series Six Feet Under and have been watching episodes obsessively.

Trips to our local farmer's market have been weekly, so far mainly to buy organic eggs laid by pasture-raised chickens. Connecting with the seller of said eggs allowed me to order some of the chickens, which we'll be getting in late July or early August. Ah, yes, we're spending some time checking out larger freezers to accommodate a dozen chickens, a turkey, and the side of grass-fed beef we're about to order. Finding a supplier of grass-fed beef and communicating with him--asking lots of questions, trying to figure out the cuts of meat we want, and so on--has also been rather time-consuming (though not unpleasant).

All in all, I haven't been idle, but I haven't been able to write about the consistently gloomy state of affairs. Recent decisions by the Supreme Court and the continued shredding of the Constitution by the Bush-Cheney cabal have added to the distress I regularly feel over the nation's descent into fascism--or if not outright fascism, some form of tyranny. The future I regard with some despair, and daily I see evidence that justifies despair. Who wants to write about that?

Add into the mix global warming, avian flu, peak oil ... it's hard to feel hopeful about much of anything. And I used to think of myself as an optimist.

So I've been concentrating on immediate, practical aspects of daily life to keep me sane. I hope to post soon on You Are What You Eat, so check that out in a few days if you're interested.

Now I'm going to find the coolest spot in the house (wouldn't you know it, ninety degrees and our air conditioning is out) and do some light reading. I'll be back one of these days ... Meanwhile, do enjoy the summer (which, in my opinion, doesn't include enough weekends).

Spring flowers

(Photos by James)

Rain

I'm sitting here wondering if it's going to rain again, hoping it isn't, because we have seeds to get into the ground.

We've had a lot of rain lately. A few nights ago, we got an inch of it in about four hours. That makes the garden mighty mucky and impossible to work in, even if we hadn't had more sprinkles and drizzles in the next couple of days.

Anyone who grows things, whether flowers or vegetables, knows that too much rain can be as problematic as too little. Around here, the farmers who haven't gotten their corn planted are impatiently waiting for the fields--some of them not only muddy but pooled with water--to dry. Last fall, rain made the harvest late.

For suburbanites, rain can mean cancelling a golf outing, or having to postpone mowing the lawn, or having a picnic spoiled. Lack of rain means brown lawns. For us rural types, rain has a different, more elemental meaning. If we don't get it, the crops will suffer. If we get too much--as we did last year--the crops will suffer. If we get it at the wrong time, planting and harvesting can be delayed until we worry about losses. We're talking here about livelihoods and food.

Often when we worry about rain, I think about the days when farmers depended on themselves to feed their families, not just through cash crops, but by supplying the grains and vegetables their own families would eat. To grow the food that sustains life makes a person very much aware of the weather. Back then, there were no weather forecasts: a farmer had to know the signs and scan the skies to get information.

Today most people are disconnected from the elements, other than to be annoyed or pleased by the weather. Barbara Kingsolver draws a comparison in Animal, Vegetable, Mineral (I told you this book would figure in future blog posts, and don't think this is the last time!) that demonstrates the difference in perception of the non-farmer and the farmer. As the family is leaving Tucson, which has seen only one inch of rain between Thanksgiving and the end of May, they stop at a convenience store. The cashier, a young woman, scowls as a cloud passes overhead and remarks that it had better not rain--she's getting her first day off in two weeks. This despite the fact that, as Kingsolver says, "the desert was dying." Days later, after they've arrived at their farm in the southern Appalachians, they go to a diner. When a crack of thunder is heard, their waitress, also a young woman--but, significantly, the daughter of farmers--reacts:

"Listen at that," she clucked. "Don't we need it?"

We do, we agreed. The hayfields aren't half what they should be.

"Let's hope it's a good long one," she said, pausing with our plates balanced on her arm, continuing to watch out the window for a good long minute. "And that it's not so hard it washes everything out."

Jim and I aren't actual farmers, of course, but just having a large garden that we depend on to fill our freezer and our home-canned-goods shelves creates a connectedness to the natural world far deeper than we've ever had. And living among farmers also makes us more sharply observant of the weather and the changing of seasons--and the changes within seasons. We can't help but note the fields and whether they're bare or stippled with new green or golden with ripening grain or bare again after the harvest; whether they're dusty or muddy; whether they're waiting, perhaps too long, to be planted or to be harvested.

It's very simple: no rain, no food. Too much rain, no food. Similarly, a frost at the wrong time means no food; withering heat at the wrong time, no food; punishing wind at the wrong time, no food. But this simple connection between weather and our food supply is one that has no reality for most of us, because we just zip down to the supermarket for our food, which is always there in great abundance. We forget where that food comes from, and that it depends on rain, sunshine, earth--and, of course, farmers--for its appearance in the produce aisle and on the shelves and in the meat and dairy cases.

Ah, the sky is brightening. Perhaps there will be no rain today, and we can get those seeds planted, get the rest of the leeks transplanted, put the parsley, rosemary, and bay plants into the herb garden. I'm sure there are plenty of farmers around here looking at the sky, too, and hoping today will be the day they can get their corn in--and that the surfeit of rain won't be compensated for by long dry spells down the road. 

What I've been doing instead of blogging

Ah, spring!

Green is exploding everywhere, and the lushness of it all is balm to a Bush-weary heart. The herb garden is looking good after some vigorous weeding and pruning, the garden is ready for planting, and best of all, we've been cutting asparagus. Really, everyone who can ought to have an asparagus bed; the tender green spears are the only fresh vegetables available right now (unless one has a cold frame or a greenhouse). In her new book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, Barbara Kingsolver has a whole chapter on asparagus and her enthusiasm for it.

That's a book I can most heartily recommend. I wish everyone, especially everyone in a position of power who has an ounce of empathy for us commoners, would read it and, more importantly, act upon its insights.  Kingsolver's argument for locally grown, cooked-from-scratch food converges with the way I've been thinking about food, but it must surely be convincing even for those readers who haven't thought much about the topic. I'll have more to say about this book in the near future; stay tuned.

Our daughter and grandkids were here for a few days while my son-in-law was out of town. It's always such a joy to have them here. We had lunch at the restaurant Tristan favors for its automobile decor; we visited a local nursery and bought some plants; we played many games of Yahtzee and Parchesi, with grandma being very impressed by six-year-old Anya's math skills as revealed by those games. Probability, strategy, addition and subtraction all come into play, especially in Yahtzee. For the home schooled, educational possibilities are infinite and almost always fun. At the nursery Anya looked for a perennial with a red flower, and finally found a variety of lupine that met the criteria. Her mom and I bought pepper, tomato, parsley, and rosemary plants. Hannah's already started her own herb garden in a burst of new-found interest, so we dug up some chives for her, along with a lovage plant that had sprung up on its own out in the garden (James and I did this yesterday, wearing our raincoats and tall rubber boots; it had been a stormy morning).

Hannah and I also baked some sourdough bread and I gave her some of my starter (and, of course, a loaf of the final product). In recent weeks I've been trying to perfect my bread baking, with mixed success. The flavor of the sourdough rye is usually excellent, even if the loaves don't always rise as much as I think they should or tear because I've proofed them too long. Jim bought some European bread proofing baskets that I love. The final rise of the dough occurs in these cane baskets, thoroughly dusted with flour, so that the breads are imprinted with a floury pattern that looks very cool.

There's always bug- and rock-collecting at grandma's, too, and this time was no exception. Anya's even getting her two-year-old brother interested--well, somewhat interested, as his first love is anything with four wheels. He does know the word "fossil," although I'm pretty sure he doesn't really know what that means. And he is definitely interested in bugs. We had a couple of bug and spider rescues, courtesy of Anya.

So that's how I've been spending my time--very pleasantly, with little time and no inclination to read about political scandals, government incompetence, impending economic disaster, or the apparently unending war in Iraq. It's been a lovely break.