Holy cow! I just got back home from my mother’s house and as I was opening the gate to the back garden I almost fainted. They home is sweet home – but this place is ridiculous. The confederate jasmine is in full honey scented bloom as it has been for a month. The sweet olive hedge surrounding Deidre’s patio is back in bloom with that luscious sweet apricot smell. The cloying scent of honeysuckle is drifting over from the bunny trail. That is three very strong very sweet smells and I have been used to them but tonight is different, tonight the gardenia has decided to open up its first blossom.
The gardenia is new to Shadows End – it was put next to the inside gate to replace a hibiscus I lost during the freeze. It has been doing very well and lately has put forth a dozen huge blooms. Well gee whiz; this is too much of a good thing. If the night blooming jasmine starts to bloom I will have to seek shelter.
I guess I should not complain – the honeysuckle blooms very sparingly since it is on the side fence in a very dim and dry area of the garden. I know it will eventually wreck the fence but I just love the smell of honeysuckle it reminds me of the vine outside my bedroom window as a small child. Now the sweet olive is probably only blooming because I am once again threatening to replace it with something a little more interested in putting on leaves. My sweet olives are twisted sticks scantily covered with leaves but every time I plan to replace them they burst into bloom.
Well to be alive you need to fully exercise all your senses and I think breakfast in the garden tomorrow will certainly be an experience in sweet smells. One of the greatest joys in simple living is breakfast in the garden. But tomorrow, I think I will skip the jam and just have biscuits and butter.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Life Returning to Normal in the Gardens of Shadows End
The back garden at Shadows End is normally packed with as many plants as I can squeeze in. The long freeze of this last winter put quite a dent in it however. Even though more and more it is coming back to life as the summer approaches, I still miss the great swaths of grape ivy that hung upon the fence. All the periwinkles that line the fence along the alley are gone and not yet replaced. Many old friends are gone.
The one that has me the most worried is the bleeding heart. She was from the old homestead plantings and I fancy her to be the spirit of the woman who along with her husband built the cottage I know call Shadows End in the 1920s. That bleeding heart has survived and prospered from the day I first began to bring the garden back to life. It has managed to force a coexistence with 2 confederate jasmines on the large arbor entryway to a side yard. It has always been so vital and strong – anything that can beat back confederate jasmine has to be vigorous and determined. No freeze ever touched her much until this year. So far, I have seen no sign of revival. I water and I pray.
But not all is bad news. The freeze killed so many plants that the soil in some areas is exposed to sun for the first time in years. Amazing visitors from the past have sprung up in surprise. The little patch of flowers right where I enter my car now has several successful wild primroses fluttering among the strangely unsuccessful thyme patch. The Swedish Ivy was on a big comeback until the hens discovered it. I really do have to do something with those girl’s feet. Native Florida violets are again peeking up in strange little places all over the yard. God I hope they spread again, I just love the shape of violet leaves and mine used to bloom very large and bold for violets. Again, the violets are a big hit with the hens - sigh. Even an old potted rose I had thrown out has burst back into renewed vigor and is back in a place of honor by the red gate..
So all in all, I guess we are slowly shaking off the disasters of those 11 days of freezing. I worried so much when it was over. My garden looked horrible. I had just lost a long battle to keep the school I ran alive and it was a most depressing time. Mood and money were missing for a big start over and I just reconciled myself to a smaller plainer garden. But William Alexander Percy (uncle of Will Percy) once wrote of his preference for old fashioned gardens that thrived versus the hybridized over colored spectaculars of modern breeding. As he put it “After all, life is a primary color”.
The realities of deeper shade every year from 4 major trees all within spitting distance of each other and the depredations of my killer hens notwithstanding, it seems Shadows End will continue to have her gardens. She is bringing them back on her own, without my money and despite my mourning. I really only have to sit and watch in awe. Well, and do something about those two wrecking machines Millie and Abby.
The one that has me the most worried is the bleeding heart. She was from the old homestead plantings and I fancy her to be the spirit of the woman who along with her husband built the cottage I know call Shadows End in the 1920s. That bleeding heart has survived and prospered from the day I first began to bring the garden back to life. It has managed to force a coexistence with 2 confederate jasmines on the large arbor entryway to a side yard. It has always been so vital and strong – anything that can beat back confederate jasmine has to be vigorous and determined. No freeze ever touched her much until this year. So far, I have seen no sign of revival. I water and I pray.
But not all is bad news. The freeze killed so many plants that the soil in some areas is exposed to sun for the first time in years. Amazing visitors from the past have sprung up in surprise. The little patch of flowers right where I enter my car now has several successful wild primroses fluttering among the strangely unsuccessful thyme patch. The Swedish Ivy was on a big comeback until the hens discovered it. I really do have to do something with those girl’s feet. Native Florida violets are again peeking up in strange little places all over the yard. God I hope they spread again, I just love the shape of violet leaves and mine used to bloom very large and bold for violets. Again, the violets are a big hit with the hens - sigh. Even an old potted rose I had thrown out has burst back into renewed vigor and is back in a place of honor by the red gate..
So all in all, I guess we are slowly shaking off the disasters of those 11 days of freezing. I worried so much when it was over. My garden looked horrible. I had just lost a long battle to keep the school I ran alive and it was a most depressing time. Mood and money were missing for a big start over and I just reconciled myself to a smaller plainer garden. But William Alexander Percy (uncle of Will Percy) once wrote of his preference for old fashioned gardens that thrived versus the hybridized over colored spectaculars of modern breeding. As he put it “After all, life is a primary color”.
The realities of deeper shade every year from 4 major trees all within spitting distance of each other and the depredations of my killer hens notwithstanding, it seems Shadows End will continue to have her gardens. She is bringing them back on her own, without my money and despite my mourning. I really only have to sit and watch in awe. Well, and do something about those two wrecking machines Millie and Abby.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Buttered Eggs - Heirloom Skill From County Cork
This is an intriguing way to help keep eggs fresh. It is an heirloom skill from the homesteads of county Cork in Ireland. The small farmers of Ireland had to be extra careful with every resource they had at hand. Chickens have always been the best friend to anyone trying to be self reliant. They are an excellent and cheap source of ready protein both as eggs and “that other way” (I’m writing this in the garden and Millie doesn’t like to hear the word ).
But even with the best efforts of our hens we sometimes run through dry spots where they just do not lay as well as usual. This may be associated with extremes of weather, age or sickness. But whatever the reason, a sudden drop in egg production can leave a small farmer in a real fix if they depend on eggs for a food source.
The grand old ladies of county Cork found a simple and elegant way to solve this problem by stretching the amount of times that eggs can be kept fresh. They would take their eggs – preferably still warm from the hen and rub them with butter. This coat of butter would seal the pores in the eggshell and thereby reduce the exchange of air in and out of the shell. This worked to slow day the natural aging process. The original purpose of buttered eggs was to preserve eggs without refrigeration; but I see no reason why it would not work in modern kitchens. In fact the constant drying flow of air in a refrigerator is almost as bad for eggs as keeping them cool is good for them. Many people never refrigerate their eggs at all – but I wager they don’t live in Florida.
Butter really is a wonderful thing – it has amazing abilities to seal and protect. Do not underestimate the ability of this to help a small homestead in its search for self reliance. The original concept of potted meats came from medieval cooks mincing up meat into fine pieces, packing them tightly into small crocks and then sealing them in with a thick layer of butter. Before the modern hygienist in you begins to rebel - listen to this – butter is highly resistant to bacterial growth. That was the reason old people used to put butter on burns – not to act as a lotion, but to act as a barrier to infection.
The best way to use butter in this type of role is to clarify it. Clarified butter is simply the clear yellow part of butter separated from the little bit of white that shows when it begins to melt -think pancakes. In fact clarified butter called Ghee in Indian cooking is a stable in their cuisine and will remain good even in tropical heat. To produce clarified butter, you simply slowly melt butter and skim off all the solids, leaving only the clear yellow liquid. This is Ghee or clarified butter. The solids are loose proteins and they are what can allow butter to spoil. Remove them and butter is sterile and will last indefinitely.
I cannot imagine a better way to merge heirloom traditions with modern needs. Honestly, I am not sure how often I would use this idea since I get more eggs than I can possibly eat. But even if you are not trying to extend the shelf life of your eggs further into the future, delaying the aging process would mean eggs stay fresh tasting longer. The artisan food movement is huge in modern Ireland and the people there report a big return to this tradition. The claim is not only do eggs stay fresh longer, but that the butter imparts a subtle flavor to the eggs.
An heirloom trick to eat better for longer– that’s sounds like a win/win to me. I am going to try buttering my first batch of eggs this week. I will have to set up a simple experiment. I will butter 8 eggs, and then cook them 2 at a time in 2 week intervals. This way I should be able to compare 2, 4, 6 and 8 week old buttered eggs against eggs laid that very day and compare freshness. I will report back to you on how it fares. So science marches backwards to the Middle Ages in search of simple living here at Shadows End.
But even with the best efforts of our hens we sometimes run through dry spots where they just do not lay as well as usual. This may be associated with extremes of weather, age or sickness. But whatever the reason, a sudden drop in egg production can leave a small farmer in a real fix if they depend on eggs for a food source.
The grand old ladies of county Cork found a simple and elegant way to solve this problem by stretching the amount of times that eggs can be kept fresh. They would take their eggs – preferably still warm from the hen and rub them with butter. This coat of butter would seal the pores in the eggshell and thereby reduce the exchange of air in and out of the shell. This worked to slow day the natural aging process. The original purpose of buttered eggs was to preserve eggs without refrigeration; but I see no reason why it would not work in modern kitchens. In fact the constant drying flow of air in a refrigerator is almost as bad for eggs as keeping them cool is good for them. Many people never refrigerate their eggs at all – but I wager they don’t live in Florida.
Butter really is a wonderful thing – it has amazing abilities to seal and protect. Do not underestimate the ability of this to help a small homestead in its search for self reliance. The original concept of potted meats came from medieval cooks mincing up meat into fine pieces, packing them tightly into small crocks and then sealing them in with a thick layer of butter. Before the modern hygienist in you begins to rebel - listen to this – butter is highly resistant to bacterial growth. That was the reason old people used to put butter on burns – not to act as a lotion, but to act as a barrier to infection.
The best way to use butter in this type of role is to clarify it. Clarified butter is simply the clear yellow part of butter separated from the little bit of white that shows when it begins to melt -think pancakes. In fact clarified butter called Ghee in Indian cooking is a stable in their cuisine and will remain good even in tropical heat. To produce clarified butter, you simply slowly melt butter and skim off all the solids, leaving only the clear yellow liquid. This is Ghee or clarified butter. The solids are loose proteins and they are what can allow butter to spoil. Remove them and butter is sterile and will last indefinitely.
I cannot imagine a better way to merge heirloom traditions with modern needs. Honestly, I am not sure how often I would use this idea since I get more eggs than I can possibly eat. But even if you are not trying to extend the shelf life of your eggs further into the future, delaying the aging process would mean eggs stay fresh tasting longer. The artisan food movement is huge in modern Ireland and the people there report a big return to this tradition. The claim is not only do eggs stay fresh longer, but that the butter imparts a subtle flavor to the eggs.
An heirloom trick to eat better for longer– that’s sounds like a win/win to me. I am going to try buttering my first batch of eggs this week. I will have to set up a simple experiment. I will butter 8 eggs, and then cook them 2 at a time in 2 week intervals. This way I should be able to compare 2, 4, 6 and 8 week old buttered eggs against eggs laid that very day and compare freshness. I will report back to you on how it fares. So science marches backwards to the Middle Ages in search of simple living here at Shadows End.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Richilieu Gets A Girlfriend
I have known Richelieu (don’t laugh - his parents were exotic), since he was first born. Heck I helped his mom out all the time when she was pregnant and I helped his dad get into their first house. I had known his dad for years and years and I watched as he and his mom raised Richie. They we over at my place practically all the time, so it sort of seemed like Rich was my little one too. Recently, mom and dad have not been around as much, they moved to a new place last year. But now Richie has moved back here into their old place and I have been looking after him a little while they are away.
Well, this may be silly- but I am worried about Richie's new girlfriend. She seems awful old for him. Richie is barely out of adolescence. Sure he was raised by two very careful and diligent parents. Certainly, he has shown great maturity in sticking close to home and places he knows and understands. But lately, he has gotten, well let’s just say colorful. No, no tattoos or piercings yet but that hair! He wears it in a giant upswept mound that reminds me of Flock of Seagulls from the 1980s. Also he has changed it from a nice normal brown to bright red. Not golden or auburn or even just Irish red – but god awful Chinese firecracker red.
Mind you Richie is a very attractive young male and I am sure he would be sought after by many females. He has many talents, he is quick witted and diligent, and he gets up very early to go to work each day. He does spend a lot of time hanging out and singing - but only after he is back from work. Actually he sings very well and really much better than his mom who was the one who taught him to appreciate a good song years ago.
Maybe that was what attracted – “her”. Certain women have always been attracted to the boys in the band. Richie definitely croons a good love tune. But this new lady in his life just doesn’t feel right to me. Heck I do not even now her name even though she has come over dozens of times lately. One day I walked in and she was just helping herself to everything she could find to eat. I mean I always say make yourself at home – but gee whiz. Richie had brought her over because his place never has any food and he knows I’m always stocked up. But still, who start rummaging through your snacks without at least saying: Hi – I’m so and so.
Plus, I just really think she is much older than he is. She still has a nice face but she has already started fading a little here and there. Oh and god knows her tail end has definitely started to spread. Oh yeah, ok now here is the clincher – she is constantly nagging Richie to take her out to eat all the time and she is a total pig. I do not know how she is in public, but she was eating some sunflower seeds at my place and just spit shells everywhere. Of course so did Richie, but I mean what else does a 2 year old cardinal do?
I dunno maybe I am over reacting. But I still think that hussy is too old for him. Just wait till I see his parents.
Well, this may be silly- but I am worried about Richie's new girlfriend. She seems awful old for him. Richie is barely out of adolescence. Sure he was raised by two very careful and diligent parents. Certainly, he has shown great maturity in sticking close to home and places he knows and understands. But lately, he has gotten, well let’s just say colorful. No, no tattoos or piercings yet but that hair! He wears it in a giant upswept mound that reminds me of Flock of Seagulls from the 1980s. Also he has changed it from a nice normal brown to bright red. Not golden or auburn or even just Irish red – but god awful Chinese firecracker red.
Mind you Richie is a very attractive young male and I am sure he would be sought after by many females. He has many talents, he is quick witted and diligent, and he gets up very early to go to work each day. He does spend a lot of time hanging out and singing - but only after he is back from work. Actually he sings very well and really much better than his mom who was the one who taught him to appreciate a good song years ago.
Maybe that was what attracted – “her”. Certain women have always been attracted to the boys in the band. Richie definitely croons a good love tune. But this new lady in his life just doesn’t feel right to me. Heck I do not even now her name even though she has come over dozens of times lately. One day I walked in and she was just helping herself to everything she could find to eat. I mean I always say make yourself at home – but gee whiz. Richie had brought her over because his place never has any food and he knows I’m always stocked up. But still, who start rummaging through your snacks without at least saying: Hi – I’m so and so.
Plus, I just really think she is much older than he is. She still has a nice face but she has already started fading a little here and there. Oh and god knows her tail end has definitely started to spread. Oh yeah, ok now here is the clincher – she is constantly nagging Richie to take her out to eat all the time and she is a total pig. I do not know how she is in public, but she was eating some sunflower seeds at my place and just spit shells everywhere. Of course so did Richie, but I mean what else does a 2 year old cardinal do?
I dunno maybe I am over reacting. But I still think that hussy is too old for him. Just wait till I see his parents.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
PROOF OF HIGHER POWER FOUND!
I finally planted my radishes while the moon was waning ( declining from full moon to new) as I was instructed to do by my grandfather ages ago. I never followed any lunar cycles in planting and have generally been a blessed gardener. The one glaring exception to that has been root crops. Year after year, I've planted onions, carrots, leeks and even radishes and been stunningly unsuccessful. This year I planted with the waning moon and by golly - success. Today i noticed real live swelling at the base of my leeks and I ate my first home grown french breakfast radish.
The plan is simple: plant above ground producers like pepper during the waxing (rising from new to full moon) phase. Conversely, you plant below ground producers like radishes during the waning (declining from full moon to new) phase. Simple, clear and precise - I should have listened to all those old people all these years.
Pappa was right and I finally get to break a decade long drought on root crops. I love all types of root crops and this will lead me to retry beets and turnips this fall. Obviously, my sweet little radish is clear proof that higher powers do exist and will work with you if you will work with them. I am going to set out a bowl of cream for the faeries and see if I cannot get a house brownie to ignore my 23 pound cat.
The debate over diety is resolved. Praise be to the shining ones and all the spirits of the soil! At least for me - I mean dammit radishes don't just pop out of the ground. Well, I mean - well you know what I mean. Go get a farmer's almanac and plan on fine meals of roasted beet and onions in the first cold nights of winter.
Homestead wisdom, or folk tale - it does not matter to me. All I want is root crops in my home garden. One cannot be self reliant with lettuce and tomatoes only. Simple living can mean taking the simple way out and it looks like planting by the moon is the way to go for me.
In faith, from Shadows End
The plan is simple: plant above ground producers like pepper during the waxing (rising from new to full moon) phase. Conversely, you plant below ground producers like radishes during the waning (declining from full moon to new) phase. Simple, clear and precise - I should have listened to all those old people all these years.
Pappa was right and I finally get to break a decade long drought on root crops. I love all types of root crops and this will lead me to retry beets and turnips this fall. Obviously, my sweet little radish is clear proof that higher powers do exist and will work with you if you will work with them. I am going to set out a bowl of cream for the faeries and see if I cannot get a house brownie to ignore my 23 pound cat.
The debate over diety is resolved. Praise be to the shining ones and all the spirits of the soil! At least for me - I mean dammit radishes don't just pop out of the ground. Well, I mean - well you know what I mean. Go get a farmer's almanac and plan on fine meals of roasted beet and onions in the first cold nights of winter.
Homestead wisdom, or folk tale - it does not matter to me. All I want is root crops in my home garden. One cannot be self reliant with lettuce and tomatoes only. Simple living can mean taking the simple way out and it looks like planting by the moon is the way to go for me.
In faith, from Shadows End
Monday, May 3, 2010
A Mayday Tomato Celebration and Confession
Well, Saturday was Mayday 2010. I celebrated but weeding my home garden. May 1st is not only associated with Mayday celebrations in their modern form but it is the ancient Gaelic celebration of Beltane. Beltane is a cross quarter day, that is it marks the transition halfway from Spring Equinox and Summer Solstice. This made it the very heart of the growing season for the ancient Celts. The day varied from year to year but May 1st is close enough.
Unfortunately, I think this May 1st marked the very last of our pleasant and cool spring and the beginning of hot humid Summer here in Florida. But that is not the reason for celebration, I would think the heart of growing season is best marked by the very first fresh tomato of the season. On Saturday evening as the bonfires of Beltane were being lit I picked two crisp scarlet grape tomatoes and fed them to Abigail and Millicent. They seemed to enjoy them immensely and the feeling of first harvest was really extraordinary. Sure I have had some salad greens and radishes already but the first tomato seems a serious start to the harvest season here in my tiny homestead.
So that was the celebration of tomatoes as harbingers of the garden season. Probably this would be a good time to make my confession. I grow tomatoes very well; I grow a wide variety and usually get good to excellent results. I have canned them, dried them, sauce and juiced them, I have feed them to worms, chickens, and birds. I have grown them in water, pots and in all kinds of soil. I have grown huge ones, thick Italian one, green one and even some purplish ones – and I have hated every single bite I ever took of any fresh tomato I ever ate.
I cannot help it. I like the taste of tomatoes and will consume them in any way they can be processed. I love ketchup, tomato sauce and paste – heck I even like the taste of tomato juice. But biting directly into a fresh tomato will send chills down my back. The flavor is not the problem – it is the texture. Fresh tomatoes feel exactly like rotten fruit and that is exactly the way I register them every single time I have ever tried to eat one.
Shocking confession and one I regret to make. Tomatoes are such a homestead staple it is a shame to waste them at their peak of flavor. Believe me I have tried, from a tiny boy at my Nanny’s table to a grown man staring down his own fears, I have clinched by jaw and bit into them. Uck - yuck - pooey – I real am sorry but no way. I love the simple life and I’ll keep on growing tomatoes, but I’ll be eating them over pasta or in soups and not fresh from the vine with salt and pepper.
Unfortunately, I think this May 1st marked the very last of our pleasant and cool spring and the beginning of hot humid Summer here in Florida. But that is not the reason for celebration, I would think the heart of growing season is best marked by the very first fresh tomato of the season. On Saturday evening as the bonfires of Beltane were being lit I picked two crisp scarlet grape tomatoes and fed them to Abigail and Millicent. They seemed to enjoy them immensely and the feeling of first harvest was really extraordinary. Sure I have had some salad greens and radishes already but the first tomato seems a serious start to the harvest season here in my tiny homestead.
So that was the celebration of tomatoes as harbingers of the garden season. Probably this would be a good time to make my confession. I grow tomatoes very well; I grow a wide variety and usually get good to excellent results. I have canned them, dried them, sauce and juiced them, I have feed them to worms, chickens, and birds. I have grown them in water, pots and in all kinds of soil. I have grown huge ones, thick Italian one, green one and even some purplish ones – and I have hated every single bite I ever took of any fresh tomato I ever ate.
I cannot help it. I like the taste of tomatoes and will consume them in any way they can be processed. I love ketchup, tomato sauce and paste – heck I even like the taste of tomato juice. But biting directly into a fresh tomato will send chills down my back. The flavor is not the problem – it is the texture. Fresh tomatoes feel exactly like rotten fruit and that is exactly the way I register them every single time I have ever tried to eat one.
Shocking confession and one I regret to make. Tomatoes are such a homestead staple it is a shame to waste them at their peak of flavor. Believe me I have tried, from a tiny boy at my Nanny’s table to a grown man staring down his own fears, I have clinched by jaw and bit into them. Uck - yuck - pooey – I real am sorry but no way. I love the simple life and I’ll keep on growing tomatoes, but I’ll be eating them over pasta or in soups and not fresh from the vine with salt and pepper.
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