Garden Wind-Up

Our garden lulls at the moment, issuing a few tomatoes, peppers, watermelons, onions, carrots, parsnips, and herbs. Okay, not so bad, it's still offering most of our meals, though not enough at the moment to "put food by." Except -- we planned well this year, and have been eating sweet corn since early July, no slowdown in the corn category. I should be reaping two plantings for freezing or canning. A third is almost ready for picking.

Every year seems to star one vegetable. Last year, I called friends to pick an overwhelming abundance of peas. This year, green beans. 42 canned quarts and about 8 frozen gallons stock the basement. The squash seeds I threw into the mulch pile over in the field are yielding a pile of orange stuff we'll enjoy during the winter months.

I understand why many gardeners let up this time of year. They've worked hard since Spring and now the first frost approaches. I keep planting because I long to avoid a table lacking fresh vegetables. I have trouble calling food "fresh" after it has been shipped 1500 miles from somewhere I've never seen. It's amazing to reach down through the white stuff to pull beets and carrots.

Near the end of July, the fall garden began with green beans (may not make it but worth a try), lettuce, peas, beets, broccoli, kohlrabi. August added more lettuce, beets, spinach, kale, onions (fat chance), peas, rutabaga, carrots. September I've neglected, though my intentions have been good. Too much going on. The greenhouse awaits lettuces, peas, spinach, onions and more.

Now those late-July sugar snap peas are blossoming, a good sign that we may have little pods to harvest in a couple weeks. Sweet potatoes are growing underground, I hope. Last time we checked they were too small, as if most of their energy had gone into greenery. The fall and over-wintering beets have sprouted, while last spring's beets wait to be harvested for wine-making, roasting and canning. A fine stand of spinach has escaped rabbits (so far) and I'm hoping the rain predicted for tonight and tomorrow will coax up the carrots.

"It sounds as if you're winding up, not winding down," says Virginia.

We hope so.

Swallowing

As the candidates for president pluck each other’s words out of context and ignore the issues this country needs to face, I pick gobs of green beans and wonder how to squeeze more than 1% out of an investment. I know I should forget about the investment and focus on things that matter, such as relationships at home and in the nearby community, and green beans.

Hidden inside those little green things are tiny communities we ignore as we munch, as if it’s possible to be a vegan or vegetarian. We tend to overlook the things we’d rather not face, such as hugging our pets while eating animals bred and raised in hideous conditions -- or vegetables gathered by machines that squish baby deer and rabbits -- distributed and cooked as if they were industrial parts. Few of us take the time to nurture them, “harvest” them as humanely as we know how (as if we have any idea what it means to be raised for consumption and what it feels like to be terminated), and cook them with the tenderness they deserve, choosing instead industrial food from grocery freezers that can be zapped and eaten in less than 5 minutes, without taste and without tasting.

Meanwhile, the “bugs” that have resided in human stomachs for thousands of generations wonder what’s coming, something that doesn’t look at all like the food our ancestors ate and contains molecules, nay poisons, developed by firms that had to figure out what to make when the government no longer needed the bombs their founders designed (fertilizers and pesticides, bombs, same basic ingredients). Serfs to agricultural conglomerates buy expensive tractors that drive themselves with GPS systems so no one has to come close to the food parts that will be mixed without regard for nutrition and the tastes our grandparents enjoyed, no touchy, feely behavior, only meaningless platitudes, about caring for the land, water, air and future generations. We marched in the 1960s; that was then, this is now we give a few bucks to the Nature Conservancy and say we’ve done our share, let’s drive our grand-kids to McDonalds instead of cook them a fine dinner at home and nibble around a table while discussing matters of moment before playing a game of Scrabble.

“Hold on,” says Virginia. “I think you may have managed to alienate almost every reader.”

At least I stayed away from religion, didn’t I (for the most part)?

Minners, Polecats, Wineberries and Green Beans

A fellow with white hair leans on a walking stick and peers into Hopper Creek. I've met this smiley guy, so I take a break from running. "What are you watching?"

"Minners," says he, "not as many as they used to be. I'd leave my light burning out back to gather bugs, then bring 'em here to feed these guys. I knew exactly where two watersnakes'd be lying, over on the right under a couple rocks. They'd glide out, mouths open [he forms an "O" with his mouth] and swaller a couple minners. They're not here any more. One day, two polecats, biggest I ever seen, were lyin' there belly up [he points to the far bank], with a couple dead babies behind 'em. Now who'd do somethin' like that? They's some mighty crazy people 'round here. I used to fish every single day. Never kep' 'em, threw 'em back. Brook trout. Don't see many any more. There's a pool up thar by the cabin, used to have lots of trout. Haven't been in years. I lived in that brick house next to your'n, married to Frances 25 years. She still lives there, with her mother. She's somethin', about 90 now, still ridin' that mower with an umbrella on it. Duck and me, we used to gather up the road, the one that wanders by the Devil's Marbleyard, and drink home-made moonshine. I had a still back then. And beer. No trouble, just good fun. Another meetin' place was old man Marshall's farm. He had an old black buggy, you know the kind with the top rolls down, he loved that thing. We'd get together Sundays, drink a lil beer, and watch the college girls ride by nice and fancy. [He pretends he's holding reins and posting up and down, up and down.] 'Let's get those horses,' Marshall'd say, he loved that buggy, and we'd go tearin' after. His horse liked pullin' that thing, too. He'd stand up tall, proud-looking, in front of that buggy. I never got a DUI for driving horses. Not that I ain't been in jail. One night down in Fincastle, I called Frances and she got her dad to come for me. When he showed up to bond me, I said 'that's that, I'll never do this again.' Looking at him, I didn't want to ever see him come after me. Not that I haven't been in a couple times for other stuff."

About this time, he ambles over to his pickup. "Well, you have a good day," I say. "You, too," says he.

That was yesterday.

"I guess he didn't find out much about you," says Virginia.

Many blog visitors seem to be interested in two things this time of year -- wineberries and freezing green beans. This is a banner year for wineberries, thick as can be on our mountain. In 4 trips I've picked about 13 gallons, more to come. I made juice with the third picking because a shortage of jelly bags had maxed out Karen's winemaking capacity. She says she wants us many as I can find, so I'll keep picking. For hints on using wineberries, click on "Wineberries" on the right, under Labels. Some day maybe I'll show how to make juice: add water to cover, simmer about 10 minutes, mash, strain through a jelly bag or cheesecloth in a colander (not a flimsy plastic one), add sugar to taste, bring to simmer again, put in jars, then can in a water bath (30 minutes boiling for quarts).

A flag's waving for green beans, too. I've been picking them small, so each time I go out they seem to be making fun of me by ripening faster. I've stir-fried and frozen 6 gallons so far. For instructions on freezing green beans, my most popular blog posting ever, click on "Freezing Vegetables" on the right, under Labels, and go to June 3, 2011, "How to Freeze Green Beans and Sugar Snap Peas."

Beanucopia

We are now harvesting my last plantings of green beans for 2011. Today we cleaned a bucketful I picked this morning, plus some guys we'd stored in the refrigerator.

Here are the jars ready to go, filled with boiling water.

"So green!" says Virginia.

Yes, it's too bad canned beans turn such an ugly -- I'm not very good at this color thing, but after looking through a color chart I'd pick -- ooze.  Oh well, they're good in soup, and soup colors are almost always far from fresh.

Ending up with 14 quarts, I decided to put two pressure canners to work, including one we found a couple years ago in a Goodwill store. Perhaps that was a risky proposition since I haven't tested its pressure gauge. I basically ran them side-by-side, overdoing the pressure and the time on the unknown canner. So far so good.

A Fruitful Day

According to local lore, in the very early 1900s a large package of what looked like raspberry canes arrived at the post office.  No one claimed it and rather than letting it go to waste, the postmaster hiked around the county, planting canes hither, thither and yon.  Now, as July 4th approaches, wineberries ripen.  After the first husks pop open, we have a 2- or 3-week window to harvest them.  The wineberry is a non-native invasive, one person's flower and another's weed.  I claim it as a flower.

Today I awoke with a plan.  After rounding my garden to gather cucumbers and green beans, and after milking, I would hike up "our" mountain to see if "my" wineberry patches were close to ready.  Probably too early, I thought, but maybe I could guess how much longer, and besides, I didn't want to miss out.

Aha!  I lucked into the first picking of the season.  Any earlier would have been too early.

With more than a gallon in my backpack (in plastic containers), I headed straight to our basement kitchen, where we "put food by."  I heated 16 cups of berries, put them in a jelly bag, and hung the bag over a pot.  While the juice dripped, I stir-fried green beans and broccoli in olive oil and bagged them up for the freezer.

"May I taste the berry juice?" says Virginia.

Go ahead.

First, I made jelly strictly according to the recipe in a box of Sure-Jell, using 4 1/2 cups of juice.  Mix the pectin (Sure-Jell) with a quarter cup of the 3 cups of sugar and add it to the juice, then bring the juice to a rolling boil (the kind that can't be stirred down).  Add the rest of the sugar and bring to a rolling boil again.  Boil for 1 minute.  Pour into jars.

Then I had 7 3/4 cups left, too much for 1 batch, too little for 2.  Time to do what I usually do -- wing it, without store-bought pectin. 

Here's my standard recipe:  Measure juice into the pot (in this case 7 3/4 C.).  Bring to a rolling boil.  Add the same amount of sugar.  Bring to another rolling boil, then stick a thermometer in the juice and take it on up to 220 degrees F. (8 degrees F. above boiling).  When it hits 220, keep it there for 9 minutes.  Pour into jars and seal.

That's what I did, except for one thing.  Remembering the Sure-Jell instructions -- measure and follow these directions exactly -- I had a thought.  Another old package of the stuff waited in our cabinet.  Might as well experiment.  I tossed it into the juice, before the first boil.  I had picked a combination of very ripe red berries and some not so ripe, because, from what I've read, the not-so-ripe fellows have more natural pectin in them.  So I figured I didn't need to add any pectin.  But since I had some, I dropped in a little box, enough for less than half the recipe I was making.  Otherwise, I followed my standard recipe.

I figured if it failed, we'd at least have runny raspberry syrup, which tastes mighty fine on pancakes and waffles.  It turned out great, maybe not quite as stiff as the Sure-Jell batch, but that's okay, I prefer jelly that gives.

 First Boil

Second Boil

In the Can

See the white 1/2 cup measure?  It holds the froth I skimmed off before pouring the jelly into the jars, a special treat.  The white cup and the jar without a lid hold the extra jelly from each batch.  I can compare them for thickness and taste. 

"And where was your wife during this exercise?" says Macho Man.

"She was hunting around town for a new faucet to replace the one in our canning kitchen, which has a couple holes that spray its user and several leaky connections.  If she hadn't had to order one -- sometimes it's hard to find appropriate fixtures for a mid-18th century house -- she probably would have installed it while I 'put food by.'  Thank you, sir!"