Monthly Archives: July 2009

On garden pests

I thank my lucky stars, such as they are, that we’ve not been hit by late blight this year, and my heart and stomach go out to all of you disappointed East Coast gardeners.  It has been wacky weather all around, hasn’t it?  Our spring and summer have been cool and very, very dry.  While this means I simply water more than usual, and things are slower, it also means we have a lot less to worry about as far as insect pests in the garden.  So…there’s an upside after all!

Normally by mid- to late July we’re battling air squadrons of Japanese beetles, but it’s an off year for them.  I’ve picked a few off the grapes and our one wisteria tree looks like Spring Break, it’s so covered with the things, but honestly there’ve been too few of them to really call them “pests.”  (The wisteria disagrees.)  Bean beetles and potato bugs are likewise no-shows.

This is not the case for all insects, however.  It’s been a banner year for tomato hornworms.

P1000480Small bowl of yum!

Luckily, I have a skilled hunter to help find them, and hungry chickens to help eat them.

On balms

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There was a time when I had beautifully manicured nails.  That time has passed, as has the time of business attire and an obsession with shoes.  I don’t necessarily miss my dry cleaning bills or shoe habit, but my hands could use some help.

Our little Christmas gift experiment was fun:  we made lots of lip balm, bath salts and hand cream for friends.  The kitchen got messy, but canning season sees a lot more general untidiness and stickiness, so I knew I would eventually get back to making more salves and balms.  And vegetable preservation season (also known as Tomato Madness) has not begun in earnest, but the flowers and herbs are truly exploding out there.  Time to mess up the kitchen!

Calendula (pot marigold, Calendula officinalis) is one of those self-seeding wonders that I allow into the vegetable garden.  Their seedlings are readily identifiable in the early spring, and they’re easily removed and/or transplanted to where you might need more color.  They’re not quite the pollinator-attracting darlings that, say, borage is, but selfishly, I love gold and orange, so these guys are allowed to stay.  They have many wonderful properties, too:  the petals are edible, and they contain antimicrobial, anti-inflammatory, and rash-healing magic within them.  In fact, I had used a calendula-based diaper rash cream on our kid when she was a bulky cloth diaper-clad babe.  Huh!  Well, now, I D.I.Y., with an olive oil, shea butter and beeswax salve.

P1000441

Pretty, huh?  Will it bring me back to those lacquered nails and perfect cuticles of my city days?  Doubtful, but…it’s a step.

On small garden gifts

P1000391Tiny but good:  Year 3 of a home-grown seedling

“Mama, looook!  Here’s one that’s ready!”

Other than the beans, the squash, the potatoes, the cucumbers, the tomatoes/peppers/eggplants that populate the harvest baskets at this time of year, it’s quite fun to have something that is special.

Would that I lived in an area where I could get rootstock for artichokes!  Now THERE would be some tasty plants.  As it is, the globe artichokes grown from seed are tasty, but not the same.  Just don’t tell my daughter because she thinks they’re wonderful as they are.

On accepting help

P1000395

Meadow-encroached long bed now grass-free!

On Saturday, three of Tom’s students came to work in the gardens with me.  Considering my recent revelation of (duh!) how much more work gets done with help, I gladly, readily accepted!  And I am so thankful.

It took me a long time to come to this realization:  sometimes, I cannot do it all.  Sometimes, it’s quite nice to have help.

I would say my hesitancy to either ask for or accept help comes from that nagging sense of obligation that attends the help itself.   Would I be willing to return the favor, or would I always feel indebted?  I expect help, for example, with the school garden:  its objective is not so small (feeding the school) whereas my personal garden feeds my personal family.  And maybe that is it: my garden is selfishly mine, whose output feeds me and mine, plus a few other souls as serves my need for dispensing largesse.

We got a lot accomplished Saturday, whatever my feelings are toward accepting the help.  I will say I was rather surprised when a student made the offer, and even more surprised when two other students offered to join.  We shared a happy garden-supplied meal, ate a yard-supplied chicken, drank elderflower cordial and grape juice of the property, and finished with an egg-based dessert from the girls with our strawberries on top.  It was fun, we were dirty and sore.

Have you planted your fall garden yet?

P1000331Say hello to some January carrots

I don’t mean to be too much of a nag, but…have you considered your fall garden yet?

With the two greenhouses, I need to have seedlings planted in them by first frost.  Trouble is, they need to be of Goldilocks size:  not too big, not too small, just right.  Especially the lettuces.  Too big and the cold, once it comes to stay, really hits the leaves hard, turning them to mush; too small, I won’t see a harvest until March, just right, I can harvest them from November through February.

But not everyone has greenhouses to consider.  It is the perfect time to sow a row or three of cool-loving crops.  Have a trellis that’s empty?  Try fall peas.  Too scared to try the martian-spaceship of the vegetable world, kohlrabi?  It, likewise, loves the cool of the fall, and can take frosts too.  In fact, many of the brassica family (turnips, rutabaga, collards, broccoli) do quite well if you plant them now, and you can even harvest some of them from under the snow, like we do.

I haven’t planted the lettuces yet.  Because they sprout so readily, they’ll be too big for my overwintering needs; they’ll do fine as fall salad items now though.  But I have planted first crops of kohlrabi, lacinato (dinosaur) kale, and fennel, as they really appreciate coming into ripeness in October: they’re not pithy, or too big, and, in fennel’s case, it’s usually too cool for it to go to seed (which often happens, disappointingly, to spring-planted fennel).  And carrots, like those above, have been succession-planted every two weeks all summer long.  There is nothing as sweet as a winter-harvested carrot!

On good ideas

437

My garden guru has a new book.  It’s all about winter gardening, and I am so pleased he wrote it.

You have to understand one thing about me:  I am guru-less as a matter of principle.  I never quite could understand the need to follow, be it some kind of spiritual leader or some kind of money person or some kind of visionary politician:  good ideas speak to me, not the people who spout them.  Plus, I am a firm believer in the idea that the best shepherd follows his flock, leading from behind.

And Eliot Coleman is chock-full of good ideas, and very familiar with the phrase “you can do it.”  A born tinkerer, it has been his fervent goal to work with less and less inputs, growing the things that will best grow in the conditions they are given.  For this reason, he “discovered” the unheated winter greenhouses used in Europe for the last 100 years or so.  The northern half of the U.S. and southern Canada, though colder than Europe in the winter, have a lot more sunlight:  thus, we can also grow things in the winter, despite the cold.

This new book, however, is geared much more toward the small market grower, much like his first big published book, the New Organic Grower.  Sure, there are a ton of tips in it; in particular, he makes some fine distinctions regarding the methods his farm employs to grow their produce.  All his greenhouses, save one, are mobile.  To aerate the soil, he moves each greenhouse twice a year over a single rectangle of land:  dead in the middle of this land is an electrical hookup and a hose bibb so the structure always has access to both.  He has one greenhouse that stays in place, and is heated to just above freezing.  It is in this greenhouse that he and his workers clean their lettuces and produce year-round.

He also makes a fine labeling distinction between these greenhouses.  See, *I* call my own growing structures “greenhouses” because most people have no idea what a high tunnel, hoophouse or polytunnel are, and I don’t want to be so imperious as to school them on the distinction.  He thinks “greenhouse” is inaccurate because it is not the glassed-in, immovable enclosure filled with palms and orchids that most people know.  “Hot house” is accurate, but only for half the year.  So, his movable, unheated greenhouses?  He calls them “cold houses,” and the one where he’s got a propane heater in it a “cool house.”  I like this distinction.

For the average homeowner itching to perhaps extend their season beyond spring-summer-fall, this might not be the best book to own.  To really get dreaming on what’s possible in your back yard, Four-Season Harvest is your book.  He wrote this for just this kind of ambition, and it’s what got me noodling around with sketches and graphs years ago.  He details coldframes to low tunnels to the cold- and even cool houses above, including charts and lists of crops you can grow.

What I admire about the man is his extreme passion for fresh produce.  Everyone should have a farmer like him nearby:  wouldn’t that be a wonderful world?  Fresh produce year-round, local, and using “deep organic” methods…and that’s why he wrote this book:  it’s his dream too!

SO:  small market growers?  BUY THIS BOOK.

On using things up

P1000321-1

Banner year for the tomatillos

It’s an odd time in the garden and in our food storage systems.  We’re preparing for the onslaught that is the summer produce season, and we’re cleaning out our stored goods to make room for the new things.  And some things are ripening when others are not:  my peppers and tomatillos, for example, are going great guns whilst the tomatoes are only hinting at turning red.  And some stored goods are just plain GONE, like the all-important foostuff that is SALSA.

I took advantage of our daughter’s overnight trip to her grandparents’ to make a very hot and tasty soup that made use of both the new produce and the frozen/canned stuff that needed to be used up.  At the same time, I made an emergency quart or two of some mostly tomatillo salsa, with jalapenos and yellow Hungarian peppers, corn and canned green (color, not ripeness) tomatoes, garlic, cilantro, vinegar and fresh onions.   She won’t object to something spicy if she doesn’t get to eat it!  And both the soup and the salsa were nice and fiery.

This soup takes a while, both in prep and in time cooking it; if you are bound to spend your days in the kitchen anyway, this is a great soup to make while you’re doing other things.  You can skip the chicken if you want a vegetarian soup, but I would add some olive oil and some cooked white beans for fat and protein.

El’s Hellfire Tortilla Soup*

serves 4-6

Soup base:

  • 3-4 small jalapenos or other hot pepper
  • 7-8 cloves of garlic, unpeeled
  • 10 or so peppercorns
  • a 2″ piece of cinnamon stick
  • one medium yellow onion, cut into thin rings
  • one medium sweet red pepper, seeded and cut into thin rings

You are going to make a paste of these items, caramelized and roasted, above.  In one small cast-iron skillet, place the jalapenos, garlic, peppercorns and cinnamon stick on medium heat and roast until the peppers and garlic cloves are slightly blackened, turning frequently.  You can smash the peppers down with a spatula to ensure all sides get toasty, but don’t burst the pepper itself: it’s steaming nicely on the inside.  Set aside to cool.  Into the bowl of a mortar, squeeze the garlic out of its skin, add the peppercorns and crumble the cinnamon stick; pound to a grind and then add the seeded, lightly chopped peppers and pound to a paste.   In a large cast-iron pan or in a hot oven on a cookie sheet, caramelize the onions and the pepper (use no oil) until the onions are golden and the pepper is cooked through.  Add this and the contents of the mortar to the bowl of a food processor, whiz to a pulp.

Soup:

  • Chicken:  I used a very large (humongo) breast:  I blanched the breast in a bit of salted water until slightly cooked (about 20 minutes), then I cut the cooled breast into small-ish pieces, adding it back to the broth (about 2 cups of liquid)
  • 1 quart tomato sauce or stewed tomatoes
  • 2 bay leaves
  • 1 teaspoon each:  ground cumin, thyme, Mexican oregano
  • Salt and pepper to taste
  • Fresh corn:  about two ears’ worth, chopped off the cobs
  • 1 green or other mild-ish pepper, diced
  • 2-3 tomatillos, diced
  • 3 or so corn tortillas:  brown them individually in a cast-iron pan then slice into finger-sized pieces
  • minced parsley or cilantro
  • juice of one lime

Add the soup base, chicken, chicken stock, spices, salt and pepper into a large stockpot and bring to a boil; reduce to a very low heat and simmer gently for a couple of hours.  About an hour before serving, add the corn, pepper, and tomatillos and continue cooking.  Check for seasonings and adjust accordingly.   Immediately before serving, fish the bay leaves out of the soup and add the tortillas, parsley/cilantro and lime juice.

Garnishes:

  • Green onions
  • Cilantro
  • Sour cream
  • Queso blanco
  • Avocado
  • Lime
  • More roasted, chopped tortillas

*I got the beginnings of this recipe from somewhere but it’s gone in the sands of time.  I changed it enough, anyway, to probably claim it as my own, so that’s what I am doing!

On gardening friends

P10003162 of 8 garden zones, plus greenhouse, at my friend’s house

Having gardening friends is wonderful.  It is quite true, I do love all of you virtual friends, but having a flesh-and-blood person walk around your gardens with you “is so very much more better,” as my daughter might say.  I am quite envious of those of you who garden with partners, or have relatives or good friends with whom to weed and share tall gardening tales.  Gardening should be shared!

I have gardening buddy who has the idea that, between the two of us, we can figure out every single crop that can grow in southwest Michigan.  He’s got a few years up on me trying to figure this out.  He’s a weekender, coming in from Chicago; they bought their property in the dunes in the late 1980s and have been battling the deer, woodchucks, raccoons, and sandy soil ever since.  His gardens, frankly, are Fort Knox compared to my wide-open plain:  because he’s in the woods, he has 7’ high electrified chain link fencing running around each set of gardens.  I would guess he has twice my square footage under direct cultivation, all in raised beds.

He also has a greenhouse.  His is a “true” greenhouse, not a hoophouse but a proper building with supplemental heat.  Indoors he grows 16’ tall fig trees, as well as bushes of capers, bay, various citrus, curry, allspice, epazote, guavas. Outdoors, it’s much the same as I grow, plus a whole lot more fruit trees.

But before this year, he didn’t seed-save, and he didn’t use his greenhouse to grow salad stuff and vegetables in the winter!!  I will say I have shamed him into doing both these things now.  And soon, he’ll be putting in a hoophouse of his very own.

Because our gardening interests are different, they complement each other:  I am learning so much from him in terms of fruiting things, he from me in terms of…I don’t know, me being a stick in his side about using less energy and seed-saving.  But it is so fun to walk around and say, “has your zucchini ever done this?  What do you think it could be?” and getting a good answer.

I encourage you all to find someone with whom to garden, or at least from whom to learn.

P1000319Friends are also good for buckets full of poison:  rhubarb leaf tea, a general insecticide (oxalic acid kills sucking insects)

On perennial vegetables

There is a theory out there whose premise is, once global warming and Peak Oil collapse the world as we know it, we’ll all need to get back to the gardens, but we’ll need a boatload of perennial vegetables in there because we’re going to be so time-crunched taking care of the rest of our needs that we’ll have little time for annual vegetables.  I have two quibbles with this argument.  One, end of the world or no, we should ALL get back to the gardens, and two, if the world collapses, so too do our day jobs, so we’ll therefore have LOTS of time for any type of gardening, perennial or annual. How long does it take, really, to plant a few rows of beans?

But any time-crunched vegetable gardener likes the idea of perennial crops.  Trouble is, there are very few vegetable crops that are true perennials:  asparagus, artichokes, cardoon, rhubarb, Good King Henry, some onions; that’s about it.  However, many crops can become perennial if you let them reseed themselves! This actually rewards you two ways:  one, you don’t need to replant them, and two, your laziness actually finds reward.  I should also add point three:  Volunteers are Good.

P1000270

This picture shows Year #4 of a tomato crop.  Five years ago, my mother brought over some of those tiny annoying grape tomatoes because she was going out of town and figured we could use them.  Considering I am the only raw-tomato eater in the house and I find these tasteless things abhorrent, the majority of them made it to the compost.  And from the compost, the seeds found their way to this small patch of earth.  Granted, it will be the end of August when I get to harvest a tomato off of them, but look!  Perennial tomatoes!  And I should here mention these things taste so much better than my mother’s cast-offs.

So:  the moral of the story:  A bit of laziness is good!  Cold compost (that which does not kill all seeds) is a good thing to spread around the gardens.  So is letting a few things run to seed to self-sow.  It might just save you some time next year.

On dreaded tasks

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Goldie tomato with two suckers:  do you see them?

It is the time of year when I think I would save myself a lot of time if I simply used tomato stem-colored towels in my house.  As it is, all human towels (as opposed to dog or car or beach towels) in the house are white, thus, my personal one has the distinction of having a rather unpleasant sage-green cast to it.

Tomato tasks (trimming, staking, tying) are one of the least enjoyed of my garden repertoire.  I’ve opined on this issue probably every year I have been blogging, but it remains the same:  I do not like the work of tomatoes.  Perhaps it’s only because of the green sap that covers my arms and person; you’d think I was fastidious in my habits but let me assure you I am not.  And I don’t need to trim, stake or tie my tomatoes to get a harvest out of them but I do, because doing so encourages a better (bigger, less sickly) harvest.  And I do like a bit of tidiness in the gardens.

Ah well.  I can solve my problem easily by using those sage-colored dog towels in the basement.  But what would I complain about then?

On lettuce-free salads

P1000309Purslane, lamb’s quarters, some stray oakleaf lettuce, arugula, green onion and celery…with a few borage flowers

‘Tis the time of year our lettuce goes dormant.  (Actually, that is an untrue statement:  some of it is still there but is impossibly bitter as it has shot to seed and is now being harvested for goose food.)  Yet, we salad-lovers persevere!  Until the middle of August, our salads are usually made with weeds and flowers, or are some variation of slaw.

P1000249Purslane, in situ.  Our daughter can’t eat enough of this stuff.

Purslane is a happy weed found everywhere in my garden at this time of the year.  High in omega 3 fatty acids, its texture is reason enough to allow it to grow.  It’s succulently green, and my child can’t eat enough of it.  Likewise, the young shoots of lamb’s quarters are a great spinach substitute.  Watch the texture of its fuzzy leaves, though; for some, this is a turn-off. So, steam or braise it like spinach. And flowers:  borage, calendula, nasturtium, the blossoms of any herb, they’re all fair game for my weed salads.

And slaw.  Do you have a favorite dressing for slaw?  Don’t stop at cabbage, as any brassica can work, as can carrots, sweet peas, radicchio, etc.  Shredded kohlrabi or stems of broccoli, turnips, chopped celery:  all are fair game, all make wonderful slaw-y salads.

UPDATE, Tuesday evening at 5!  Oh my pounding heart:  from the girl:  “Mama, can I help you weed the garden?  I want more of that salad tonight for dinner.”

The Chicken Tractor, round two

Those little chicks I mentioned a while back are now between six and seven weeks old.  For the last two weeks, most of them have been living in the Chicken Tractor.

P1000288I’m still ambivalent about using this thing, feeling as I do that confinement is confinement and a perfect world would have them safe in their own enclosed pen, where they could scratch and dustbathe and in general do anything their chicken-y hearts desire.  This, however, is not a perfect world.  In my perfect world of the future, this is the last (knock wood) year I will be ordering chicks, ever, as I will now be handing the chick-rearing reins over to Chicken Patty, a husband, and a sister-wife.  Roosters likewise will be culled from our new egg-layers, as we have a rooster of the egg bird persuasion now too.

P1000294Hi!  You have treats for us?

But back to the tractor.  My concern for these birds makes me check up on them multiple times of the day.  I move it, then, three times a day to ensure they get their fill of fresh grass and clover.  I also verify that the tarp cover gives them at least 3/4 of their space in the shade:  it doesn’t get super hot here (highs at most in the low 80s) but I don’t want them to be uncomfortable. They get fed two times a day, with a two to three hour gap between feedings.  Unlike the first batch of meat blobbos that used the tractor last year, these slow-growing CornishX (the white ones) and some slower-growing red broilers move more, they perch, their poop is a lot more “processed” and they HATE lying in their own poo.  There are 35 birds in this tractor, for now.  Once they get to be about 12 weeks, half of them will be housed elsewhere (including the freezer) as I think they’d be too cramped in there when they’re all that big.  Full-grown birds should all be ready to go, then, at 16 weeks, though last year I waited longer than that.

P1000281Four of Patty’s babies in the grapevines

As a point of contrast, Chicken Patty’s adopted chicks are a lot smaller.  I attribute this to two things:  one, when the other meat birds had 24/7 feeding under the light of the heat lamp, the babies under Mama Patty got used to the idea of circadian rhythms.  And two, Chicken Patty’s six babies are running everywhere, all day long.  Patty did a wonderful job raising them until she didn’t, incidentally.  When they were just over a month old, her egg-laying cycle kicked back in, so she started roosting in the coop with the other egg girls, leaving her babies behind.  I am not sure if this is just nature or if Patty is just a flaky young teenaged mother, or what.  The babies sure can fend for themselves, though, doing a fine job foraging and dust-bathing and keeping themselves together.  There are three roos and three girls.  One of the boys will be Patty’s future husband…though not a blood relation, is this, uh, Oedipal?

On new pets v.2.0

Bunnies!

_DSC5270 They…

_DSC5264MULTIPLY!

When I came home from work Friday, our bunny had a new friend, another mini-Rex like himself, also a young bunny.  They’re getting along just fine.

On new pets

A week or so ago, the feed store yielded up another creature to add to the menagerie at this house.  Considering it was my birthday, I figured this bunny was for me.  I was mistaken.

bunny  036He’s a baby, too:  born at the end of March

Isn’t he cute?  He’s a mini-Rex rabbit, and oh so soft.

My daughter told a friend, “We didn’t get a girl one, because I don’t want my mama to eat her babies,” which I thought was hilarious, but slightly spot-on:  I do eat everyone else’s babies, apparently.  But this guy is lucky, he’s no eating rabbit.  And I am kind of laughing at the whole Pets or Meat thing, but then again, this is Michigan, where the economy (always) sucks, and I think Michael Moore is more spot-on than not.

P1000234Little Edie, our great huntress, oversees the new creature.  (Don’t worry:  the rabbit chases her, as well as the dog.)

And he’ll need a friend for warmth in the barn, so…we’ll be getting another (boy) rabbit soon.

P1000201sniffsniff!

On “not enough”

P1000253Only one lousy 4×16 bed of onions.  Normally, we have two such beds.

So I might be waxing poetic about my garlic harvest, but it has been a dud year for onions.

Onions are very important.  Yes, they’re an inexpensive, readily available crop to buy, and those who are space-crunched in their vegetable gardens do very well sticking them in the “why bother” category.  But I am not space crunched, and I am a tightwad, therefore, I grow my own.  And this year has not been kind to my onions.

Granted, I have plenty of onion-y alternatives around here, so our food won’t be achingly bland.  But a combination of factors out of my control means it’s very much an Onions = Gold year.  No pickled red onions, no splurging with the caramelized yellow ones on the bean dishes and pizza…just the “usual” use of them.  And that is okay.

You know, when you do grow your own stuff, you have a different relationship with your food.  I won’t say it’s all gold, but it is all precious. If you’re the gardener as well as the cook, you remember pulling that onion you’re eating:  you may not remember planting the seed or transferring the seedling into the ground but you do remember watching it fill out, thinking, “that’s a fine looking bulb.”  I will say we have very little wasted food around here, somewhat by design but mostly by the fact that all produce is precious.  I cannot say this was the case when we bought all our food, and that astounds me:  we paid good money for that stuff!  Now, what little money we spend is offset by a different kind of investment:  the investment of time, of concern for our patch of earth.  And the victuals finally rendered onto our plates are very dear.

So yes, those few onions, they’re gold to me.

On “enough”

P1000024You know you’ve had a successful harvest if you still have some of last year’s produce in storage when the new stuff needs to be pulled.  I still have about a pound, maybe more, of garlic from 2008 so I did the head-scratching routine of “was I stingy with garlic this last year?”  I answered that in the negative; we had our fair courses of garlic soup, and enough homemade aioli to keep any vampire far away.  There were also plenty of heads to replant.

“Enough,” or even “adequate,” are tough nuts to crack when you’re growing your own.  It will either be a while before you hit that goal, or you’ll overshoot it and will feel pangs of guilt every time you open the freezer and see all those bags of broccoli, broccoli your family picks at if you serve it to them.  There is a happy medium in there, one in which you don’t feel like the food is overly precious or overly expendable.  And it will take you a year or two of doing this before you discover that sweet spot.

P1000248All cleaned up and ready for eating

But back to the garlic.  It was another good year for garlic, a crop I discovered does best when grown in the greenhouse, last hardneck batches sown on New Year’s Day.  It’s an indispensable kitchen item in this house; it, and parsley, populate every supper dish, or near enough.  I am thankful for a good harvest.

(And yes, some of it will be available in the seed trade.)

On being food renegades

P1000178The U.S.D.A. in its infinite wisdom pays farmers to NOT produce food.  To keep the prices high, the consolidation of growers of (let’s give a relevant example) sour cherries all stick their fingers to the wind and decide how MUCH of their harvest to pick on a given year.  This year, it’s 60%, which means that 40% of your crop is not to be sold and must rot on the tree.

Rot on the tree!

Well, we fruit renegades did a bit of patriotic tea-dumping and picked 150 pounds of cherries on the Fourth of July for our school.  We in no way even dented that 40% of this particular farm’s trees. Having the full support of the farmers, we pickers had to be surreptitious about it, parking our cars way out of view and picking in the dead middle of the orchard early in the morning.  At one point a plane flew over and I had a true Goodfellas moment, getting somewhat paranoid.

P1000186About a third of our harvest

So for the price of pitting them at another farm, we have a nice huge stock of cherries to make into snacks for the school.

P1000193KathunkKathunkKathunk:  This 1937 pitter can process a ton of cherries in an hour

On drying fruit

P1000160Yay!  Another opportunity to show off my latent O.C.D.!

Drying fruit is a fairly straightforward affair.  Preserving vegetables, both as frozen and as dried, requires a few more steps for you but fruit, thankfully, is easy-peasy.  Most of us have an oven, therefore, most of us can dry some fruit, especially if you’d like to try fruit leather.  In point of fact, fruit leather is the only thing I had heretofore tried to preserve, as I didn’t have a dehydrator of my own, either plug-in or solar.  The picture above is one of the school’s 3 dehydrators, liberated by yours truly for the upcoming blueberry onslaught.  Today, though, it’s strawberries.

Evapotranspiration is a mighty big word but it includes a concept (transpiration) you are probably already familiar with, even if you don’t think you are, and evaporation, which you already know.  All produce, all plants, transpire (wick water) as part of “what they do,” and the extreme form of this otherwise natural occurrence is dried produce, dried leaves.  There’s a certain formula of heat plus wind plus relative humidity and soil moisture that farmers look to to see how their crops are growing. On a global scale, evapotranspiration is how water is exchanged in the world (rain to trees/plants and back again), but in your kitchen or in your back yard, you can use it to help preserve your fruit harvest.

I am all in favor as you know of things you DON’T plug in to an outlet, and there are plenty of sites for solar food dehydrators out there.  Here’s one dear to my heart as it’s similar to the chicken tractor, plus it geeks out on the whole process of how it best happens (I do loves me some engineering).  Try this at home!!  Me, I am time-crunched this summer so the plug-in is the way I will go, for now.  These strawberries dried in six hours, and will keep for six months.

On freezing fruits

P1000165Nothing like a little O.C.D. with your project to get you wound up!

SO:  it’s fruit season in this hemisphere:  gotta make hay while that sun shines!  The non-fresh-fruit season is entirely too long in my humble opinion.  Freezing is the best way to preserve any fruit’s nutrients if you can’t eat it fresh. But like anything, freezing has an expiration date:  it is best to eat all frozen fruit within six months of freezing it.

We *love* fruit smoothies around here.  In point of fact, smoothies are the primary way we eat our fruit in the off-season.  I make our own kefir and yogurt, and it’s very easy to just run downstairs with the blender and grab a handful of frozen berries to whiz up for a treat.

Strawberries, cranberries and blueberries freeze wonderfully “dry,” that is, by themselves.  Cherries do too but one should pit them beforehand as trying to do it afterward leads to a wad of cherry mush in your hand.  The best way to handle these berries  is to get fruit at its absolute height of freshness, wash, stem and sort them and place them on cookie sheets.   As you can see one can go a little nutty with the sorting part.  Stick them in the freezer until hard then bag them up, squeezing as much air out of the bags as possible.  You’re now able to open the bags at will this winter and grab what you need, leaving the rest behind.

I also slice fruits like peaches and nectarines and strawberries and coat them with a bit of honey before bagging them up.  You could also cover sliced fruit with a bit of sugar or superfine sugar.  Coating them with a sweetener tends to help them retain their color and their flavor.  Making a syrup of one part honey to four parts hot water also works well:  the fruit is stored “wet” this way and keeps most of its flavor and nutrients intact.  And indeed one can freeze mashed or pulped fruit “wet” too, without sugar.

You know, most thawed fruit is but a pale simulacrum of its fresh self, so for the most part all my frozen fruit ends up in smoothies or cooked items.  I also treat freezing as a form of suspended animation if I have a huge harvest (like, the 30 pounds of cherries from last Saturday) that I can’t get to immediately:  pulling out the bag to make jam or baked goods is a true time-saver.  And I am always looking for more time….