Happy Hatch-Day!

After faithfully sitting for 21 days, Mama hen hatched all six of her eggs!!!

May Moments

How the time does fly!  I have been so consumed by all the projects I have failed to stop and share them.  Since a picture is worth a thousand words . . .

The Birthday girl holding a bouquet of beautiful roses sent by her sister.

 

Bob, the crow master.

My big chickies!

They are getting so beautiful.

Cucumber cage.

Corn cage (left) sugar snap peas (right).

Basically everything on this side of the yard has to be caged off or it becomes chicken snacks.

My over-achieving radish.

Tiny salad sprouts!

Baby basil.

Melons enjoying the sun.

Greenhouse!

I can't wait to get everything in the ground!

Tomato.

Freshly-tilled (we got a rototiller!!!) earth ready for planting.

Yaaaaaaaawn!

Homer is an Anna Hummingbird who lives here all year round.  Someday I hope to get a picture of him in the sun where his bright green body and deep pink face really sparkle and shine.

Happy May Everyone!!!

Delightful Digging Day!

What a wonderful day!  My mind and soul are refreshed from digging, raking, and shoveling (though I must admit my muscles and back do not share the same enthusiasm).   

Around midday the sun steadily shone through the cloudy sky, drying the night's dew and warming the temperature enough for the chicks to go outside.  As their confidence (and size) grows, they have become very discontent living in the brooder.   

As I watched them run around chasing bugs and scratching the dirt, I was inspired to do the same . . .   

If you show up for a visit while I am working outside, 85% of the time I would be wearing this:  Boots, worn-out green hoodie, $1.00 thrift-store jeans (made back in the days when denim was real hardy stuff!), and work gloves, of course.

Rachel, my hardworking helper

Two of the Marans

All of the chicks found our digging a strange activity; 

but they really enjoyed munching on the bugs and worms we unearthed.

One of the not-so-little earthworms we dug up 

We also uncovered two Southern Alligator Lizards.  We have them all over the yard.  They hang out on sunny pathways and leafy/rocky areas.  We even have one that lives fulltime under an artificial rock protecting an outdoor outlet. 

Break time!

The day’s final product

This still has a couple days of tilling needed, but a grand improvement from when we started.  

Hopefully the next update will show a beautiful vegetable garden where this barren spot now resides. 

  

Quite a productive day, though I think I will rest the body tomorrow and prepare for a full workday again on Thursday!              

Cabin Fever.

Clouds, clouds, clouds; grey, grey, grey.  Winter’s cold cloudy grasp is starting to wear away the hope of spring, and I have contracted a case of cabin fever.  This ailment has been affecting the bigger chicks as well as the human inhabitants of our home.  They have taken to playing peck-the-little-one, not a game I approve of at all.  So Rachel and I hauled them outside for some run around time . . .   

 

They had a fun time, and we certainly enjoyed watching and laughing at their bathing rituals, just proves rolling around (or digging in) the dirt is a great cure for winter weariness.

Happy Sunday!

Elizabeth :)

Spring?

With the family’s return and the arrival of warm weather, Rachel and I sat down to my laptop to place our chick order.  Gasp!  Oh no!  The one breed I really wanted, the old-fashioned, excellent, chocolate-brown egg layer Marans, had been sold out for the entire 2011 season!!!  After moments of disbelief on my part, and some quick thinking on mom’s, she called the local feed store and discovered they still had Marans, so off we went before they too were gone.  We returned home with our new brood of five twelve-day-old Marans, and five twenty-one-day-old Red Sex Links.  Unfortunately, the Americanas mom wanted (and has been wanting for a couple years) were sold out locally, so back to the laptop we went and ordered five Americana pullets which should be arriving via post sometime in the next two weeks.  :) 

Chicks first visit outside.

Black chicks, Marans.  Yellow chicks, Red Sex Links.

In addition to expanding our poultry population, the girls and I have filled our greenhouse with seedlings.  Well, actually they are pots of dirt with seeds in them, but they hold all the hope and promise of turning into tomatoes, onions, peppers, and many other delicious things.  So with the chicks warm in their brooder and the seeds snug in their greenhouse, what a perfect time for a little . . . snow!  While the calendar declares spring has arrived, Mother Nature calmly refutes with fluffy white flakes.  Now I wait, and send fervent pleas heavenward for the fruit trees; if the blossoms freeze, we will have another fruitless season.  :( 

For now, I will retrieve the sweaters, read about living in sunny Italy, and pray for spring!!! 

Elizabeth 

Spring?

Beyond Fried Green Tomatoes

“Snowfall possible this weekend!” Gary cries out.

“Yippee!” goes up a chorus.

Gasp!  “Tomatoes!” pipes up Elizabeth, turning to Rachel, “Tomorrow we harvest the rest, okay?”

Rachel nods enthusiastically; Lydia looks on without a shred of interest, preferring to write a poem or play a tune – both involve clean hands.  ; )

And so the gardeners head out after all hearth chores have been completed.  I set to pruning yet another stand of roses, while the girls swarm about the heavy laden tomato plants. 

“So many that didn’t ripen,” sighs Elizabeth.

“We’ll find a use for them,” I sing out in the warmth of an autumn afternoon bathed in jewel-toned hues of gold and pink and fierce hot reds and oranges blazing a beautiful farewell.

Later as we sort and wash colander upon colander of green, orange, yellow, and red tomatoes.  I toss out ideas. 

“We could have fried green tomatoes,” I say, looking over the smallish globes with a skeptical eye.  “On second thought, maybe not,” I add as I calculate how many hours I will be standing over a HOT stove frying up finger-tip sized green tomato slices.

I dry my hands and make my way to the cookbook section of our library and plop down within easy access to every “country” cookbook I own.  (Please don’t ask . . . it’s MANY!)  Questing for fried green tomato recipes would have found me immediately victorious.  Every home-making cook and a fair portion of “chefs” offer a favorite way to bread and fry the immature tomatoes abundant at season’s end, but very few move beyond the frying thereof.  I pull out my trusty copy of American Country Cook by Pat Katz (purchased as a bride scouring a sale table at a discount chain).  This ranks as my favorite “basics” cookbook.  She covers an abundance of veggies, fruits, meats, and all the ways to prep and save them.  Pat has been a true blue kitchen mentor for me.  

I settle down and read away, “Hmmmmm, a whole section entitled ‘Tomatoes, Green.’  Excellent!  Let’s see . . . Green Tomato Curry, Green Tomato Hot Sauce, Green Tomato Cookies – hey, that looks interesting!”

“What!” gasps Rachel.  “Are you serious?”

I nod and read on, “The recipe calls for Green Tomato Mincemeat.  What is that?” I say as I begin flipping back a page or two in search of the earlier recipe.  By now the girls are blanching a bit at the thought of green tomatoes, raisins, etc. put into a cookie and passed off as dessert.

“Well,” I sum up, “I don’t like raisins (don’t have any either), don’t care for those fruit peels either, so I’m going to have to modify this whole recipe.”  And back to the kitchen I dance with cookbook in hand to stand before an audience of mild skeptics who were really hoping for some dessert tonight.

After sorting the tomatoes into categories: ready to ripen on the counter, suitable for frying, and "other"

I heft the big bowl of “other” and load it into the food processor for chopping.  Two batches in my 16-cup bowl, lightly pulsed until evenly chopped but mush-free,

and then I set about chopping a batch of apples (peeled and cored) to the same texture.  Combining the 2:1 mixture of chopped “stuff” I add a cup of blackstrap molasses, ¼ cup lemon juice, and ¾ cup apple cider vinegar.  Now for the spices . . .

I look at the quantities and KNOW instinctively that this will not have the deep spicy tang I seek, so I add the requisite 1 Tb cinnamon, ¼ tsp allspice, ¼ tsp cloves and then add some more (I nearly doubled the quantities).  I stir and taste this rather unattractive glop, and opt to add a generous dollop of strong bourbon vanilla.  I taste.  It still tastes . . . ummmmm . . . ODD with a touch of bitterness.

“Only time will tell,” I shrug as I turn on the heat.  I bring it to a boil, and then return it to a simmer for about an hour.  In the final minutes of cooking I turn up the heat to reduce the mixture to a nice thickness.

By now the house smells absolutely Holiday-Fantastic and everyone “MMMMMs” and “AAaaaahs!” their way to the kitchen.  Gary even walks in from next door (his office resides in the guest house) saying, “It sure smells good in here!”  And it does!

Now, I have a vat of “Tomato Mincemeat” simmered to perfection, but I am out of time for cookie baking as I really need to top the chicken stew with herbed dumplings so that we can eat around six.  What to do with this mincemeat?

“Let’s do some canning!” pipes up Elizabeth.

“Okay,” I respond, less than certain that my mere four-burners can adequately accommodate a pot of chicken stew, a pot of chicken-bone broth simmering, a pot of mincemeat, AND the GIGANTIC canning pot.  But, we give it a try and it fits . . . barely.  So she sets to boiling the water whilst I ladle out one heaping cup of mincemeat for a pudding, ladling the rest into sterilized pint-sized canning jars.  I fill five jars and she processes them while I set about adapting my persimmon pudding recipe for the mincemeat.

I reach for my trusty copper recipe box (a wedding gift) and dig out the “family” recipe for persimmon pudding.  (I admit this came from my sister-in-law’s grandma – sadly, my mom always baked a Mrs. Smith’s Apple Pie from a box, hence she neither needed nor had a recipe box.)  2/3 cup sugar, 2/3 cup milk (I use up the last of the cream in the bottle and add whole milk for the balance), 1 cup green tomato mincemeat, 1 tsp (or so) vanilla, and one egg all whisked together.  In goes ¼ cup shortening and since the mince is still warm it melts into tiny pellets; usually I have to whisk a bit to disperse the shortening.  Now to add the dry ingredients: 1 cup flour (I use freshly-ground whole-wheat pastry), 1 tsp baking powder, 1 tsp baking soda, ½ tsp salt, 1 tsp cinnamon (or so – we are cinnamon lovers around here).  Mix all together and pour into greased pudding bowl (or any baking dish – you decide what shape you desire, but keep in mind a shallow dish will bake faster than a deeper pudding bowl) and bake uncovered at 350 F for about 50-60 minutes.  Underbaking yields a gooey pudding, longer bake times result in a moist steamy cake – you decide.

While the pudding bakes away I whip up a batch of herbed dumplings (just a biscuit recipe with a handful of herbes d’Provence tossed in for fabulous flavor).  I top the bubbling stew with dough globes and replace the heavy lid on that gently steaming pot.

Whew!  Now I turn back to watch Elizabeth hover over the waterbath canner for the requisite 10 minutes and then hoist out her first batch of canned goodies.  She worries and thumps tops and frets a wee bit more before setting them to rest for 12 hours.  I tell her to stop worrying for we will gladly eat up any non-sealed jars.  (As I write this I count 100% success!  Way to go Elizabeth!)

Finally we sit down to a lovely dinner of chicken stew with herb-a-licious dumplings

followed by the most amazingly flavorful Green Tomato Mincemeat Pudding!!! 

I have adapted that persimmon pudding recipe to make gingerbread pudding, sweet potato pudding, pumpkin pudding, and more, but I have to say the spicy kick of that green tomato mincemeat wins the prize.  The family begs me to WRITE DOWN the recipe immediately so there’s no chance of forgetting it.  (Elizabeth gets up from the table amid mouthfuls and runs for pen and paper.)  I decline, preferring to savor my portion of pudding in the moment, vowing to record the recipe here on my blog in hopes of inspiring y’all to move beyond fried green tomatoes into the realm of Green Tomato Mincemeat and more. 

What do you do with a bounty of green tomatoes at season’s end?  I’ve got another lot waiting and I’m thinking green tomato relish.  What would you do?

* * *

P.S.

The comments you have been leaving are so precious!  Thank you!  I intended to reply individually via email but Yahoo refused to take my text.  Hrmph!  But then I figured you’d all like to share in the newsy bits. 

As for the pot of soup simmering away at the top of my last post, that would be a Stuff 'n Nonsense soup that came from leftovers in my fridge – some rice, a few carrots, some collards, a zucchini, half a package of bacon, some leftover butternut squash pasta sauce (you can find it on the shelf made by Dave’s Gourmet If you don’t want to process the squash yourself – I bought a 3-pak at Costco on a lark and now it is a staple in my pantry), an apple, a can of diced tomatoes, half an onion, some thyme, and that’s about all I remember.  It was DELICIOUS!  Pair this with a good whole grain muffin like carrot/zucchini and a few slices of sharp cheddar cheese and you have quite a delicious feast on a cold evening.

Dear Miss Hostage (Jeri), thanks for introducing me to Jamie Oliver’s Revolution.  Clearly, I’m a kindred!  Yes, let’s cook and share, and teach, and inspire!  I have reserved the book at the library.  I’ve only seen one Jamie Oliver program years ago.  I thought he was adorable as he cooked a feast for his expectant sister in his slim-sized kitchen.  I look forward to reading more.  I was a big fan of the Slow Food movement when it emerged on the scene several years ago, but sadly it got too bogged down in politics for my tastes.  I wish Jamie success in his revolution and I have my wooden spoon and whisk at the ready!

And finally, as for the fungi study:

 It continues around here.  I have some of the oddest bits of “growth” littering my counters and tabletops.  Rachel “nature walks” daily with her eyes glued to the undersides of leaves and the earth-level bark of trees. We have watched dvds and perused books.  They all agree:  Nobody wants to be the one to say, “This is safe to eat.”  They all balk and say, “Many of these varieties are edible and delicious,” but they fail to pinpoint the safe ones, begging off with the disclaimer that videos, photos, and even YouTube fail to accurately depict the specimen and therefore it is dicey to decipher the green-spored cap of culinary delight from the green-spored cap of emergency-room invite.  When I find an expert I’ll be inviting him for a walk and a dinner . . . until then we’ll seek, study, and photograph the mitochondrial wonders, but I shall NOT be serving anything that didn’t pass through the watchful eyes of David, my green grocer.   : D

Taking the FUN Out of Fungi

 Crisp.  It is definitely "crisp" around here these days.  Chilly nights demand a blazing fire, yet afternoons of golden sunshine entice me to believe in the "option" of a sweater.  Last week we left for Disneyland in a torrent of rain, returning days later to clear and crunchy whispers announcing, "Fall has come . . . let's celebrate."

And celebrate we have.

Before my sweet sister departed we whipped up an early Thanksgiving meal and reveled in overly-filled plates of herb-y stuffing, creamy mashed potatoes, "sweet" potatoes, and all the rest.  Naturally we followed the plenteous meal with pumpkin pie topped with silky whipped cream.  What a way to spend a Saturday!

Games, games, and more games filled the day into evening.  We even made a game (tried anyway . . .) of tidying up the kitchen.  While the glutted dishwasher hummed we played Mexican Train Dominoes and Phase Ten cards and "Ultimate" Sorry (our ruthless reworking of the traditional rules), all the while laughing ourselves silly.  Laughter burns calories, right?  We needed to work off that lavish feast somehow and it was too cold for a walk.

For years I dreamed of walking the property in search of edible fungi to add to our Thanksgiving feast.  And every year my family groaned and voted "No" when I waved the business card of some fungi-expert-for-hire.  "Where's your sense of adventure?"  I pouted.

* * *

Now, leaves litter my deck in tattle-tale fashion.  "All dining indoors!" they seem to herald.  *sigh*   The glorious gem-colored leaves number fewer after each succeeding blustery day, hinting that soon the barren limbs will eclipse the riot of color, offering space for memories and dreams in the emptiness.  Winter time:  hibernation, slumbering thoughts, and nurturing ideas -- that time fast approaches, so run and play and jump in these rich afternoons while they last.


And so the dance of autumn picks up the pace around here, with all those ideas and traditions of the pending holidays rushing to greet me.  Absent among the traditions is the mushroom walk.  I gave that idea up years ago.  But . . .

Yesterday Elizabeth gleefully announced the return of the fungi as she proffered a big, brown mushroom for all to admire.  Her reading of Michael Pollen's The Omnivore's Dilemma has inspired her to hunt for edibles in the woodlands around our cottage.  (Sound familiar?)  Recently she unearthed a nodule-like growth while digging and wondered if she had found an elusive truffle.  Since it was beneath a pine tree rather than the requisite oak and smelled decidedly un-truffly, she cast it aside and kept digging . . . but the idea of foraging for food continued simmering in her fertile mind.

* * *

[Setting:  Crisp fall afternoon.  Day's end complete with chores like putting the chickens to bed and taking that final sweeping view of the beauty of these homelands.  Pink-cheeked, my agri-fairy daughter bounds in.]

"Doesn't it look good?  Do you think it is edible?"  She queries most excitedly as she shows off a large brown mushroomy growth newly plucked from the plush carpets surrounding our cottage.  "Dad said he wouldn't want to eat it, but that it is probably of the edible sort."

I curl back my lips and shake my head.  "Nope!  That looks decidedly like a toadstool to me.  Get it out of here!"

"What does a toadstool look like?" she persists.

"That!" I shoot back abruptly.  "Out with that!  Ick!"

"Oh . . ." she grumbles as she leaves me to sterilize my kitchen.

* * *

Later, she returns with "fungi" still in hand.

"Isn't there a place I can verify whether this is edible?  Didn't you have the name of a guy who specializes in fungus walks followed by a feast of hunted treasures?"

"I did have that guy's name, but last I read in the paper his nature hike with clients landed some in the hospital with poisoning."  I reply.  "I tossed his card and gave up on that idea."

"Hmmmmmm . . . " she retreats.

* * *  

Entering with said brown morsel (I did not say "Morel," mind you, as I am well aware of their appearance and deliciously edible nature -- this was no morel, I assure you), she persists:

"Do you have any reference books about mushrooms and foraging?"

I direct her to the appropriate shelf and she peruses, only to come away with the firm caveat to VERIFY before eating.  Ho hum . . . back to square one.  In the meantime she is potentially dusting my house with poisonous mitochondrial spores.  I grimace.

* * *
I remember a dvd Gary purchased on one of our trips to the coast.

"Dad bought a dvd years ago all about mushrooms and fungi.  See if it is out in the cabinet."

Elizabeth dashes away.

* * *
She and Rachel absorb every detail from the screen while I hear Lydia rattling around upstairs -- completely uninterested in The Case of the Mysterious Mushroom.

* * *

Later I open the trash compactor and find the lone mushroom cast away.  I gawk and shudder.

Elizabeth walks in casually, "Yeah, you were right.  The video said that was probably one of the most poisonous mushrooms around.  Guess that's why the chickens haven't eaten them.  It starts out as a cute white button mushroom . . ."

"Like those cute fairy rings all over the place?" I interrupt.

"Yep, just like those, but then it grows tall and spreads out into this brown cap with a veil hanging down on the underside,"  she says as she retrieves the brown blop from the bin.  "I wasn't sure this was poisonous 'til I saw this veil thing.  See it?"  She points to a rotten bit of sludge draped on the underside of the rapidly rotting thing.

I nod and turn away.  "Get that out of my kitchen!"  I gasp. 

End of story.

* * *

Not the end of the story, after all.

Later she is once again parading around with that deadly bit of slime (it had begun to look quite frightful by this time) intending to take some sort of  "silhouette" of its spores AND IT WAS LAYING RIGHT ON MY NEWLY CLEANED COUNTER!!!

"Don't worry," she says dryly, "The video guy said you can't get hurt by touching the mushroom."

"Yeah," chimes in Rachel, "Just relax mom."

I stand there staring at a deadly mushroom on my counter -- a counter whereupon I recently prepped veggies and meat for a delicious dinnertime stew (with chocolate in the sauce: yummy!); a counter whereupon burritos are often crafted and eaten by the dozens on Matthew's "hungry" days; a counter whereupon bread is kneaded.  I abruptly order this woodland sprite and her unsavory growth from my kitchen!

Amidst the rolling of eyes and the groaning I return to the counters and wash them again, all the while reminding myself that homeschooling comes in all shapes and sizes . . . and potencies.

*sigh*

Now, where were those cute button mushrooms I bought the other day?

Sunday Wonder

. . . a time to plant . . .

Ecclesiastes 3:2

Just Pottering About

I smile as I sit here with teacup at hand and my trusty computer back in my lap eager to lap up the onslaught of words spilling forth. My photo program has vanished in the melee of recent computer follies but I can adjust to that in time. (and post without a new photo treat as blogger stubbornly refuses to recognize input from my stockpile of photos -- hrmph!  All fixed now.  *smile*) For now I sing and dance with joy at the touch of familiar keys answering my every command. Simple pleasures, indeed!

In my blogging-free days of late I have wandered into so many delightful pursuits. I finished off nearly a dozen books that lay around my choice spots of repose. I also managed to order dozens more (or so it seems as my dear husband staggers through the doorway with “the mail” for the day – oh my!). I recently happened upon a sequel to Rosanna of the Amish, a favorite of mine. The original book by Yoder relays the delightful account of a young girl adopted into the Amish ways when left as a foundling among the Amish by a devastated Irish Catholic family. It reads like a sweet novel/fairytale with so much Amish flavoring for those intrigued by simpler ways and unique expressions of faith and family. The sequel by Yoder, entitled Rosanna’s Boys, should arrive any day now. I will see it come through the door, admonish myself to walk calmly toward it, and resist all temptation to cast aside the daily doings for an enraptured and furious read-thru. Bibliophiles and read-a-holic kindreds know exactly what I mean, right?

Amongst the many reading hours offered by my computer-free spate and a steady string of rainy days (the most I can ever recall in my life, it seems) I have pursued many a new project in the kitchen, like homemade ice cream from raw dairy – delicious and easily digestible by those here that lack lactase. Sourdough muffins, biscuits, and waffles graced our table often with most unexpected beauty and scrumptious taste. I keep finding ways to substitute and “play” with this gooey “sour” friend. I’ve also come near to fully replacing canned refried beans with homemade. Sadly, we must adjust our palate to the less salty flavor of these delicious and more nutritious beans as the saltiness of the familiar processed beans captured our taste buds in a grip. With the addition of a few herbs and a bit more “spice,” along with some inspiring Mexican music and a colorful table setting, I’ve brought everyone onboard with eager smiles when I announce “Taco Salad” night!

I try to make every meal a celebration with candles and music and seats for all around the family table, but sometimes the somber details of life challenge me. This past week I pulled out the “Taco Salad” trick but got little enthusiasm. The beans weren’t to blame; our hearts lay heavy as we had buried one of our precious kitties that day. Mr. Darcy will no longer frolic in the grass and pounce on us playfully; he met his demise by the bumper of a vehicle on a nearby roadway. The kitty who had never strayed far from home and obediently came in each night recently developed a sense of adolescent rebellion and began to run away to play when we closed the doors at night. Each morning the naughty but neutered cat greeted us . . . until one morning. While leaving for an errand I spotted the loveable fluff by the road side . . . and wept aloud. We buried him in a special place he loved and now he joins the list of kitties we have loved but no longer cuddle.

Life journeys on despite loss and pain . . . new beginnings spring up with each step if we can see through the tears. Of late, our gardens dance full force with daffodils, camellias, hyacinth, and so many more, with the added delight of an indoor ball springing to life in the greenhouse. The tiny broccoli seeds have proven the first to accept invite to dance. Our early starts tremble toward the sun in a warm and cozy house of green. Truly a miracle abounds at every turn. Each day more progress excites conversation. The girls squeal with delight in between working hard to clear land and lay out the lasagna beds or rearrange the potager garden for maximum yield of foods from our lands planted by our hands. Likewise the egg gathering each day spurs us toward new projects and plans for a simply wonderful life from the land. I’ve dreamed dreams galore my whole life and each new project brings greater delight thus encouraging more dreaming. I’ve infused my children with the same gift, it seems. Lately Elizabeth has begun researching the keeping of a dairy cow. From our lands; from our hands . . . the blessed journey continues.

And so I’ve prattled on and on again. It’s a wonder anyone muddles through all my circuitous rambles . . . but you do. And each one of your comments and emails warms my heart so. I am trying desperately to “catch up” with all of you now that I have a computer again, but please be patient. My new found love of blogging without obligation has blossomed with an ease in my heart that I am not wont to lose. I shall simply wander and chat with simplicity and joy, for that’s the best part of blogging – the friendly chats and deepening bonds we share.

Now I must be off to tidy the kitchen, load some laundry into the favored machine that makes the job so simple, and of course I must find a moment or two for some reading. Now where did I put that new book on the midwife among the Amish . . . or should I read the latest from my growing collection of Elizabeth Goudge . . . hmmmmm?

Happy Monday!

: D