Now Norma Knits

Still Eating From My Garden

This weekend was full of good eating from the garden. Since it's almost the end of November, I can hardly believe it. Mind you, if I had a larger garden and more storage, it would not be all that unusual to still be eating root vegetables, winter squashes, and maybe even some cabbages if special care had been taken in their storage, even this far up in Vermont. But for me, with my tiny little patch and the lazy methods of storage I employ, it is quite something.

Friday evening I made a spicy bean and kale soup. I didn't use a recipe, but just followed my instincts, using the ingredients I had on hand. I used the wonderful Dolloff beans that I grew and dried. These were my first-ever attempt at growing a dried bean, and not only that, the seeds were a gift from a fellow Northern Vermont (but on the other side of the mountain) gardener. I loved these beans and am very excited to grow more next year from the beans I saved for seed.  I only ended up with enough this year for one pot of soup, because it was my first experiment with them and I didn't give them a whole lot of space in the garden. Next year I will devote three bean towers' worth of space to them.  In the wonderful soup pot were onions and garlic and kale and canned tomatoes, all from my garden. I spiced it up with some Liquid Smoke and cayenne pepper, and because I was a bit too heavy-handed on the cayenne, I added a small splash of sherry and a small splash of half-and-half cream right at the end to cool the cayenne down a bit. 

It was delicious and different, and as I'm writing this I wish I had more, but it's all gone. And I forgot to photograph it for the blog.  

Then, because my kale is still growing and I know I will kick myself later if I don't use it while it's here, for lunch on Saturday I made a kind of kale pesto. I chopped and steamed two dino leaves (as Manise calls them) of Lacinato kale, then I put it in a blender with some walnut oil, pecorino cheese, pine nuts, and garlic, and poured the pesto over an omelet and sprinkled it with a little more cheese.  

At the risk of sounding repetitive, I'll say it was......

.....delicious.

And different.

And holy cow.  

At the risk of sounding repetitive again, I wish I had some more!

And I forgot to photograph it. 

I was too busy devouring it.

Then Saturday evening I made chicken stew.  In the stew pot were onions, garlic, parsley, and carrots -- all from the garden -- and the one bag of peas I froze from the garden this year. I added mushrooms, celery, sherry, frozen corn and some herbs, and let the whole thing simmer for a long afternoon while I did my studying and knitting. I treated myself to some miniature parsley dumplings on the top of the stew. 

Delicious.

And yes..... different.  And we feasted on that for two days. 

And we saw that It Was Good.

All the better because so much of it came from our own backyard. 

The inventory of riches from this year's garden is dwindling. There are a few carrots left -- enough for another stew or another two meals of buttered or roasted carrots, or the addition of grated carrots to several salads.  There is a gallon-size bag of beets. There are four bulbs of garlic. There is a basketful of yellow and red onions. There are about nine pints of canned tomatoes, and a quart of frozen zucchini and two quarts of frozen green beans. There are two jars of pickled beets, and about six small jars of rose petal jam, and one quart of frozen asparagus, and two big buttercup squashes. The kale is still growing, as is the parsley. The broccoli is, too, but it's producing hardly any florets -- still, a handful once in a while is better than nothing. And the Swiss chard is still limping along, as well. 

I'm thankful for what is there, and I treat it with great reverence. But if we had to survive on this, it wouldn't take us very far.  I wish there were some parsnips with those carrots and beets in the crisper bin. Next year I will plant parsnips. Please remind me.

I forgot to photograph all the bounty of the weekend's table, so I'll give you a sneak preview of something I'm knitting.  

Heh.  I took about 20 photos under the Ott Lite, but this is the only one that accurately reflects the colors. So there you have it. Quite the sneak preview, eh?
 

A November 8 Salad From My Northwestern Vermont Garden

I just devoured it (it's a dinner plateful) with a nice hunk of Vermont goat cheese and homemade maple vinaigrette.

I picked it from my garden not more than a half hour ago. Unbelievable.

Welcome November

On this first day of November, the sun rises behind the pin oak... 

 

Most of our trees shed all their leaves yesterday in the wind and rains, so it truly looks like November around here, but the pin oak still holds onto hers.

...and Mr. Jefferies invites you to play a game of tug of war (one of his favorites) while modeling his newest sweater in Buffalo Brownski Peace Fleece.

 

(Don't tell him the real name of this game is "flossing his teeth.")

---------------------

Now I have to get back to my studying. The test date looms.

Unheard Of

 

A giant salad composed entirely of vegetables from my garden.  

All right, I hear you.  I put those in my blog all the time; it's no big deal.

But not on October 8th.  

This salad, from my garden, on October 8th?  

Crazy talk!

(This is northwestern Vermont, need I remind you?)

But it's true.  

In the salad we have:  baby spinach, microgreens (various mystery baby greens from a seed mix I planted in September), sprouted sunflower seeds that fell from the sunflowers I grew this summer, baby kale, baby Swiss chard, broccoli, carrots, red onions, tomatoes (there are now only THREE left from my summer pickings -- I'm stunned and thrilled that they've lasted this well), parsley, chervil; and believe it or not I found some blueberries on a bush that were still edible and delicious, and a great addition to the salad.  In order to gather the ingredients for the salad, I felt like quite the forager, and looking at my garden in its end-of-the-season state, I had my doubts that I'd end up with enough for a decent salad.  Au contraire!

We enjoyed this salad on Thursday with maple vinaigrette and a nice little piece of steak from a local farm. It was arguably even more fabulous than a salad in the dead of summer, given that it is such an unexpected treat for this time of year, and it was packed with the freshest of flavors, antioxidants, vitamins, minerals & phytochemicals. 

-------

Hey, maybe you'll spot me on the NYC Yarn Crawl this weekend.  At the very last minute, it turns out I am delivering Mr. Jefferies for visitation with his parents, and they are very busy, so I need to keep myself entertained in the city for the weekend.  Aw, darn.

One (Perfect) Salad At A Time -- And A Red Scarf Fund Raffle

And there I was, thinking that my fall crops were going to amount to nothing. Oh ye (I) of little faith.  

I went out to the garden yesterday, and granted, we have been having unseasonably delicious weather.  But out of nowhere, these little greens had appeared -- enough for a very large and spectacular luncheon salad.  I've got everything in this bowl from lettuce (only one plant made it out of an entire packet of seeds, what with marauding critters and lack of watering and such), to lots of baby spinach, kale, beet greens, (I don't know what the curly thing is that is from the French Market mix -- the one that tastes of anise, but it's in there), parsley, and broccoli (the little broccoli florets were terribly camera-shy for some reason).  I put an ounce of local goat cheese on it, and a half a can of tuna (not local, heh), and dressed it with a vinaigrette I made of my own garlic, Vermont apple cider vinegar, Vermont sunflower oil, and maple syrup.  I should have remembered the scrumptious red onions I have, but I was so anxious to eat this that I forgot them until it was already gone, and I had one of those V-8 moments, slapped my forehead, and say, "Wow. I could have had ...."  

While I was outside, I planted the packet of microgreen seeds that I mentioned yesterday.  Hopefully we won't go into the deep-freeze too soon for them to sprout and grow enough to have on a sandwich or salad or something in the 25 days it promises on the packet.  

I like to think I'm saving the world -- or at least myself -- one perfect salad at a time.  

--------------------------------------------------

And so how would you like the chance to win these gorgeous red size US 7 needles from Signature Needle Arts?

These were generously donated by reader and Red Scarf Project supporter extraordinaire Jean E.  She ordered them from SignatureNeedleArts and had them mailed to me.  These are referred to by many as the Ferrari of knitting needles.  They come packaged in a beautiful gift-worthy clear plastic tube, wrapped in the blue tissue. Truly a beautiful presentation, perfect for gift-giving or for keeping for yourself.  They are STUNNINGLY crafted and knit like a dream.  They sell for $32 a pair, and they could be yours, all yours!

To kick off the fundraising for the Red Scarf Fund this year, I'm going to try something a little different.  On the idea that every little bit helps, and lots of small donations add up to make a big difference, I'm going to start small and raffle these off. 

HERE ARE THE RULES:  

Donate at least $5 (hopefully more if you can spare it) to 

the Red Scarf Fund For Foster Youth 

and let me know via email at 

norma[dot]knits[at]gmail[dot]com 

You don't even have to tell me the amount, but do please give me real proof that you have donated to the Red Scarf Fund at the 

Orphan Foundation of America.  

DEADLINE:

 midnight Eastern Time, FRIDAY, October 2nd, 2009

 I will then put your name in the random number generator for a shot at these wonderful needles. 

The easiest way to donate is through Paypal at the link above, but you can send them a check if you wish. Just don't forget you will have to prove to my satisfaction that you sent it.  I assume you will be honest and fair with me, and you will have to trust that I will be honest and fair with you. The address for sending a check is:

Orphan Foundation of America

21351 Gentry Drive, Suite 130

Sterling, VA 20166

Make checks payable to Orphan Foundation of America, and mark "Red Scarf Fund" in the memo line.

If you would more information about the fund and what it is used for, I've explained it in this post.

Random Wednesday

1.  Mr. Jefferies has coccidiosis, or at least an evaluation of his stool sample (yes, we had the poop!) revealed coccidia.  However, even before the sample was brought in to the vet, he seemed mostly back to his normal self in all respects.  He has his energy back, he is eating and drinking and peeing and pooping (and whining and teasing me for treats and to play with him endlessly).  Yay for normal bodily functions and behaviors.  He has medication (Albon) to take, and he will remain on the bland diet for the rest of the week, at least.  I think he had a very mild case of it, or more to the point, I think he has a strong immune system that recovered from it pretty quickly. Fricking people who don't pick up their dogs' poop.  And fricking him for eating it at every chance he can get (he's fast).  I'm quite sure that's where he got it.  I know he could get it from the ground even if people DID pick up their dogs' and cats' poop, because coccidia is microscopic. But having the poop right there for him to dine on like it's the greatest delicacy in the world increases the chances, I'm sure, a hundredfold.  

2.  The Paul Roberts talk on The End of Food was enjoyable and very illuminating.  I find him to be almost a clone of Michael Pollan -- or vice versa; I'm not sure who came first -- or maybe they were twins separated at birth -- but I saw Michael Pollan first, so to me HE was first -- and Roberts wore a suit, whereas Pollan wore a t-shirt that said, "Vote with your fork," (heh-heh) but the message is pretty much the same.  Roberts had some other important economic angles from which he addresses the subject, though. I commend you to go to his talk if he comes to your area -- or I should say I commend you to buy his book, I suppose.  

2 a) He did say a few times that, being in Burlington, Vermont, he knew he was preaching to the choir, and in my individual case, of course, that is true.  He reiterated the general message that Pollan delivered here last year:  The rest of the country is watching you, Vermont, when it comes to food production.  

2 b).  He said that "overnourished" is the new politically correct word for "obese."  Let's hear it for political correctness.  

2 c).  His talk did make me rue the quarts of berries and pounds of beans, et al., that I did not get put away for this year -- the ones I mentioned in my post last week or so.  And it made me eager to redouble my efforts to grow my own as much as possible and keep it local and small-scale as much as possible.  But, you know, that's nothing new.  I must buy some beets, if I can find some available at a local farmstand, and pickle them.  The beet harvest I gathered the other day from my own garden was too small to bother pickling any -- we'll eat them fresh.  We've already eaten about a third of them.  Yummilicious.

3.  To the growing-my-own end, yesterday I went to Gardener's Supply to get some Milky Spore to try to cut down the population of Japanese Beetles in my garden. They have risen to astronomical levels this summer, after having been kept at bay for quite a few years after my last application of the stuff.  They really did a number on the plum trees, the roses, the strawberry plants, the asparagus, and the green beans this year.  Hopefully next year they will be less in number.

4.  While at Gardener's Supply, I picked up packets of sprouting seeds for the winter, and microgreen seeds to give one last shot at growing something in my garden soil before winter sets in.  

I had a long chat with the owner? manager? (not sure which) at the shop yesterday, who indicated to me that the growing zones have all been moved up a half a zone as a result of global warming.  We talked about our mixed feelings about that.  As northern gardeners, we do appreciate the longer growing season and the greater range of things we can successfully grow, but it also seems to have an ominous feel to it.  Other parts of my state (sorry, Gayle) have already had at least two killing frosts, but we haven't been hit yet.  Knock on wood.

5.  I've had a number of more questions about the raised beds in my garden.  They are made of black plastic, they are very lightweight, super-easy to assemble, and inexpensive.  They also come from Gardener's Supply.  I can't recommend them highly enough.  They have changed my whole gardening life.  You could make your own raised beds by nailing boards together, but for my money these are so much easier (they literally take 3 seconds per corner to assemble, with no tools required), and they keep in the warmth and moisture a bit better, without the risk of getting slivers, cutting, measuring, or hammering my finger into oblivion.  Then again, if you've got some two-by-sixes or two-by-eights hanging around your house (not pressure-treated) and if lack of $39 for a Grow Bed is keeping you from growing some of your own food, then by all means, slap some of those puppies together and throw some soil in, some seeds in, water it, and grow something!  

6.  I'm still not sure what I'm going to do about Red Scarf Fund fundraising this year.  I have been offered a few prizes (I have some gorgeous red Signature Needle Arts needles sitting here beside me, for example, and some generous gift certificates from Anne Hanson, along with some hand-dyed yarns offered), but response and reaction to my mention of it was tepid at best. Not sure if it's worth the work and headaches.  I suppose anything is better than nothing, though.  

Bushed

Yesterday I:

• made a plum compote kind of thing with fresh plums, a little water, a little maple syrup and lemon juice, which I simmered till it was saucy and served on the
• gluten-free pancakes I made, which are definitely not on my present diet (but they were delicious and worth every calorie); and I
• did considerable prep work for my next CART event, part of which was reading this article, which in turn, due to its content, got me fired up to get outside and 
• harvest the beets; 
• manage the compost bins (which means emptying and spreading the contents of one that was completely ready, and then relayering the contents of one that has been in the waiting position, so that it will decompose better); and then I
• shelled some Dolloff beans that have dried since I picked them last week;
• prepared the beds for planting the garlic, which involves shoveling out a few inches of soil; setting it aside; adding bone meal and blood meal and lime and loosening and turning the soil;
• planted the garlic (two 3X3 beds, and one 3X6 bed -- I believe I planted 72 cloves, which should yield 72 bulbs if all goes well);
• purchased three bags of Intervale compost and spread it, with the replacement soil, on the three beds in which I planted the garlic (they just await some mulch of either straw, spoiled hay, or shredded leaves);
• pulled out some vegetable plants that are past their prime for the year;
• moved two raised beds to what I hope will be better locations for next year;
• refilled them with their soil;
• fertilized the asparagus with more rock phosphate;
• threw Mr. Jefferies' toy so he could chase it, and beg me to throw it for him again, 2,319 times;
• untangled his tie-out cable 29 times;
• brought in some broccoli and Swiss chard;
• watered the new plantings;
• cooked dinner, which was composed of salmon filets; a salad that I concocted of raw broccoli, raw garlic, red onions, an apple and some celery dressed with sunflower oil, apple cider vinegar & maple syrup (it was surprisingly delicious); cooked beets; and wilted Swiss chard;
• backed up my work files off my computer, and did some long-overdue deleting of old files;
• wrote this post

I am wiped out.  Today I may do nothing at all.  Or I might take care of the strawberry bed by cutting back the plants; finish the new compost layering that I didn't finish yesterday; reposition the old compost bins in "better" locations (I am forever searching for that sweet spot that is perfect); and make pickled beets.  

Or

I may do

NOTHING.

at ALL. 

The Payoff - Part 3

The garlic is a huge success story this year.  I have given away at least 20 large bulbs, I am going to plant at least 12 bulbs' worth of cloves this fall for next year's harvest, and I will have enough garlic to take me through the winter.  Last year I purchased my seed garlic, but this year I have zero dollars' outlay in garlic. And it is the best garlic in all the land (or at least I think so).  I am one happy, heavily-garlic-breath'd, garlic lover.

This button I picked up at last night's event has a great crossover relevance, I think:

-------------------------------------

This is the first year I have planted the Dolloff beans sent to me as a gift by Leigh, the Extreme Gardener.  I have never grown this sort of bean (it's the kind for drying) before, so I may have rushed the harvest a bit.  But I still have some of her seeds that I can plant next year, as well as some that I've saved that I hope will germinate also.  A little of those seeds go a long way.  I only planted one bean tower's worth of these, and there were only a few plants, but they provided me with a few meals' worth of delicious beans. I ate one meal of them cooked up like lima beans, dressed with a touch of butter, salt & pepper, on Saturday -- DELICIOUS! These are also excellent for chili, baked beans, and soups.  

I have given pole string beans a good chance for several years now, and I'm just not a fan.  A lot of it, I am sure, has to do with what you grew up with.  (This is also relevant to the canned tomatoes versus frozen ones -- I'm just not a fan of frozen tomatoes, I never use them, and they languish in the freezer untouched.  Canning is a lot more labor-intensive, but it's the canned tomatoes that I crave and use, so canning it is.)  I just prefer the taste and harvesting of bush beans.  For me, pole beans take forEVER to produce anything, they produce paltry amounts (this is sometimes given as a plus for pole beans -- they produce amounts you can use for your dinners without being overwhelming and being ready to harvest all at once, like bush beans are), but more importantly, I just don't care for the taste and texture as much as my favorite green and yellow bush beans. So bush beans it will be for me now, and the bean towers I have purchased will only be used for my new love -- the Dolloffs.  

I have just contradicted my claim about "it's all what you grow up with," but we'll just pretend that I did indeed "grow up with" the Dolloffs, ok?  Yeah, OK, good. 

We got this many carrots, plus a handful here and there that I pulled and ate throughout the summer.  I was worried when I pulled these up this weekend, because they are so thick, but they are sweet and tender all the way through.  I don't remember what variety they were, but this is the first year I've ever been able to grow carrots.  I credit the raised bed.  

The season is over for tomatoes and peppers and lettuces (I'll address fall plantings in a bit).  The broccoli and Swiss chard and herbs and kale and some beets are all still going strong, and it will depend on what kind of fall we have as to how much longer they will continue.  I've had some  years where I was harvesting kale and broccoli right up to December.  Last year we had a super-cold start, and they were done in October.  

On Monday, I fed the soil and the earthworms in the bed I had pulled the carrots from the previous day.  

I put down a thin layer of newspaper, wet it, then put a generous layer of kitchen cuttings that we had been saving in a giant bowl for a few days, coffee grounds, eggshells, and an embarrassingly large volume of rotted crap from the crisper bins of the refrigerator that I cleaned that day. Then I covered it with the carrot greens to keep it all moist and neat as it decomposes.  Ohhhh, those worms are gonna be happy!  In a couple of weeks, I'll pull it back just to see them working in there.  I love that. Ideally, I'd like to add a layer of composted manure and then a rather thick layer of shredded brown leaves or spoiled hay before the snow comes.  Then that bed will be all fertile and ready for next year's crop of whatever I decide to plant there.  In the meantime, my activities serve to feed and keep moist the remaining two large kale plants and three small Swiss chard plants that are there, and will keep them healthier longer into the season till they're killed by frost.

Now, the fall plantings: 

   

Here is the bed that I fully planted with mixed lettuce seeds at the 2nd week of August, after it had given me a full crop of yellow wax bush beans.  Only about six lettuce plants germinated.  Now they're all gone. At first I thought it was because the bed dried out, but I gave it a good watering after I took this photo and the one lettuce plant was doing well.  Then I went up there yesterday, and it was completely gone.  I've seen signs of rabbits around here again lately, and I am blaming them.  Odd that they have not touched other things, though.  Hm... 

The spinach seeds I planted at about the same time have done better in germination rates, but these are not doing much, either.  I don't think there is enough light, and I also discovered yesterday that, much to my surprise, the beds were very dry.  So I watered everything well, and we'll see what happens.  If we get a nice meal of baby spinach leaves this fall, I will be an even happier gardener.

The Payoff - Part 2

It was a lousy tomato year for so many, so I feel extra fortunate that we ate as many as we could possibly eat fresh, we gave some away, and I cooked some in soups, sauces and chilis.  We've still got a few ripening on the counter, I had one with my egg-white-and-parsley omelet for breakfast yesterday, and I still ended up with 20 pints of canned tomatoes for the upcoming winter.  Twenty pints of organic canned tomatoes in a year when many lost their entire crops... that's gotta be worth something.  

The one compost bin planting of three little squash plants produced seven full-size winter squash -- five buttercup and two butternut.  I planted the started squash plants directly in the very-full compost bin.  I layered the takings from all the other bins we have, and spring yard cleanup waste, with a little layer of garden soil and composted manure on the top.  The compost beneath it continued to decay over the summer, and the squash plants thrived in the bin -- this is the second year I have done this, and it has been so successful that it will now be a regular feature of the garden.  It is very space-saving, and the warmth and moisture and nutrition of the bin produces superior squash. I believe I could have got more, but I failed to notice that in one stretch of dry weather (Did we have any of those this year?  Apparently we did.), the bin got terribly dried out. We ate one too soon -- it wasn't quite ripe -- and I have these four Buttercup squashes remaining for eating this autumn, and two more Butternut squash remaining to be picked up there in the bin.  

 

The red onions you see there are less than half of my harvest.  There are an even greater number of yellow onions.  That's way more than enough onions to take us through the winter, assuming they keep, and I have no reason to think they won't.  I'm trying to become even more liberal in my onion uses on a daily basis. I feel a wonderful French onion soup coming on, as soon as it turns cooler, and a big pan of caramelized onions, for starters. 

Stay tuned for The Payoff - Part 3, tomorrow. 

The Payoff - Part 1

The garden pays for itself the whole season long for me.  I get enjoyment before the snow is gone -- in the planning, in the perusing of seed catalogs, in browsing the seed aisles of garden shops -- and as soon as the ground thaws in the spring -- in the digging, in seeing the seeds germinate and the plants grow and thrive.  It gets me out in the sun and air and gives me exercise, and provides me with a focused enjoyment from start to finish.  It keeps me on top of the weather patterns and it provides me with much to learn and much to study and research -- anything from botany and soil biology to ... you name it, really.  It gives me contemplative time, and makes me feel closer to nature. (I will never understand people who say, "I grew broccoli once, but it had WORMS ON IT. I said NEVER AGAIN."  Yes, people, it is growing outSIDE.  There might be WORMS ON IT. Sigh.)

The garden feeds us with a steady supply of good, clean, nutritious, fresh food that I grew with my own hard work and love. It makes me enjoy cooking more and be more creative in the kitchen, and it makes it super-easy to eat local. 

Yesterday we had another one of our locavore meals. I bought a chicken from a local farm (3 miles away), and I stuffed its cavity with a red onion, three fat cloves of garlic, a large sprig of rosemary, a bunch of thyme, and a big bunch of parsley, and then roasted it.  I cooked one of the buttercup squash you see in this photo, and pureed it with a touch of Vermont maple syrup. I braised some mixed greens -- kale, Swiss chard, dandelions, beet greens, mustard greens, and bok choy, with another red onion and two garlic cloves -- in a little sunflower seed oil from a farm 6 miles from here.  Everything was from my yard except the chicken, the maple syrup, and the oil.  The rest was from within a six-mile radius. I love that.

I will admit there are times when I wish I had a staff to do the weeding or a bug-and-slug deinfesting, and it sometimes gets a bit overwhelming in the middle of the season, but each year when it's time to put it to rest for the year, I'm filled with nostalgia and loving feelings for Mother Nature and her gifts of soil and rain and sun and seeds and bees all over again.  

As always happens at the end of a garden season, this year I've got some regrets that I lost a lot of produce to the compost bin due to neglect -- regrets that I didn't get those many quarts of beans frozen or that 5 pounds of Swiss chard, or 10 pounds of asparagus, or the excess 4 quarts of black raspberries.  But if I focus on what I DID get from it, and when I have the tangible proof in hand of my labors and the garden's bounty, the payoff feels doubled and tripled and quadrupled. 

Here is a photo of some of this year's late-season takings from the little garden I have on my little 1/2-acre village lot, most of which is untillable because of its hilly topography.  

This is only a small fraction of one season's yield and a small portion of the story.

Stay tuned for The Payoff - Part 2, later in the week.