Y’all!! My Jimmy Nardello sweet peppers are poppin’!! Seeee??? I’m so happy!
Life can sometimes be just a string of minor disappointments (sorry to go philosodark on ya). And we just get to roll with them + grow from them. But every once in a while, life surprises you with a miracle! New life is glorious and it’s something worth celebrating!! Seedlings! Yay!
Back to my string of minor disappointments… A tray of bebe onions and wee holy basil were blown off my porch yesterday and scattered to the wind. When you hand-water for weeks and talk to your seedlings, it’s sad when it ends in a flash. Like, mood altering sad. Like, I want to talk to someone, but can’t figure out if it should be a therapist or a botanist. Yes, I can always replant, but I still feel the sting of loss.
Today, I felt like the loss of my onions and holy basil was compensated for with the victory of my super pretentious Jimmy Nardello Italian sweet pepper seedlings emerging!
I made vinegar last year, and I believe that it saved my mental health.
When the pandemic hit in 2020 and we were all wondering “what’s next?” I started feeling weird and weirder. I guess you could call it anxiety. I had trouble regulating my breathing and I sometimes woke up in the middle of the night feeling (and knowing) something bad was going to happen.
I needed something to both anchor me and distract me–something that would take my mind off uncertainty, and let it just imagine goodness. It was summer and the pandemic wasn’t going away. I don’t know where the idea to make vinegar came from–but as soon as I thought it, it felt like the right thing to do.
Here’s how it works: Fruit + water + sugar turns into fermented juice which then turns into vinegar. The moment I realized that fruit is fruit is fruit, I was like “Hold the phone, Martha! I’m going to make vinegar from every fruit I can get my hands on this summer.”
And I did! Blackberries, plums, apples, pears, grapes. They all sat on my wire shelves, patiently fermenting, bubbling, gassing and morphing. It was the most beautiful, hopeful thing to see jars and buckets of jewel-toned fruit, bobbing in frothy liquid.
The fruits were changing, and they were giving me something to look forward to each day. (Remember the dreamy golden redness of the plum vinegar?) As I struggled to stay calm and hopeful in the midst of the 2020 chaos (um, stressful presidential election, too!), the vinegars were a project that saved me from self-destructing by binge watching crappy tv, feeling self pity, or just doing nothing.
And just recently (no joke!), I finally cracked into my stash of vinegars (why did it take me so long??) I made a vinaigrette this week to go with the kale salad from our garden, and then I preserved a batch of marinated sun-dried tomatoes to keep in our fridge. I also added the blackberry vinegar to some chickpea curry–and it 10x-ed the umami. I’m loving my sweet, dark blackberry vinegar. (P.S. I will always love you, blackberry vinegar, and i promise to make a new batch of you every year, i love you so much xoxo)
So, why go to the trouble of harvesting local fruits, learning how to make vinegar, then letting a bottle of fermenting fruit sit on your kitchen shelf for a month or more so you can strain it and set it on your shelf? Because when you can add one more item to your pantry shelf that you made yourself, it truly feels healing, miraculous, beautiful and wholesome.
Today I shoveled water-logged dirt and gravel. It wasn’t type I fun, but I’m really excited about what it means!
It means we’re getting ready for our little farm stand, and we’re super excited! Our plan is to populate the farm stand with seasonal produce from our garden and orchard, handmade crafts, baked goods, and items that celebrate our local culture. These will all be things that we grow or make ourselves.
Josh likes to do things right, so he helped me plan a gravel pullout area so that people won’t get stuck in the mud.
Our farm stand is set to open in the beginning of March 2021. Our goal is to have it be a year round, 24/7 farm stand. It will be cashless. People can pay by using the Venmo app for a single purchase, or by purchasing a prepaid card that can be used for future purchases.
It’s been such a long time since we’ve gotten eggs. We have good birds, they eat lots, they have lots of space and sunshine. The problem is that something has been taking the eggs from the coop–a racoon, a fox, a skunk? That’s the only explanation for our egg shortage.
But…now that our chickies are in a chicken tractor, we get 1 to 3 eggs a day! We’re thrilled! We love farm fresh eggs. In just a few weeks we should be getting more eggs, specifically from our dominant copper marans. They lay dark chocolate eggs.
We’re grateful that we getting eggs! Now we just have to figure out how to get duck eggs from Maggie.
I want to be a radish-lover. They are beautiful, crunchy and a give you fresh garden produce in early March. But the truth is, I haven’t quite developed a taste for them.
I learned this week that you can roast radishes with butter and salt. I never thought to roast them. So, today I’m planting radishes so that in 28 days I can see if I like roasted radishes. Also, it’s February and I’m tired of waiting for winter to be over. (Sorry, February!)
Winter isn’t bad. In fact, I’m learning about winter gardening. I planted garlic in September last year and it’s growing! It’s pretty incredible that we can plant things in the fall and they’ll survive and grow slowly during winter. Our kale and chard has been producing all winter. It’s slow, but we’re still able to harvest at least weekly!
The snow and ice we got over the weekend is gone. Now we’re expecting temps in the 40s over the next week. It’s feeling springy!
About a month or so ago, Grant and I built two “rabbit tractors”. These rabbit tractors are large, bottomless cages that we can move around the yard. It’s a way for us to feed our baby bunnies with almost zero feed costs.
We came up with the plan to pasture our bunnies when our first grow outs were burning through 5-6 cups of pellets while in their cages. Btw, “grow outs” are bunnies that have been separated from their mum at 6 weeks, and are destined for freezer camp as soon as they hit 5 lbs.
Although moving the rabbit tractors to fresh (poopless) grass every few hours is labor intensive, it really is the best farm chore. Every time I go out to move the tractors, it’s 100 percent cuteness overload. Bunnies are naturally curious, so as soon as they hear me they come right up to the cage door to see what’s going on. They love fresh food, so whenever I bring something out like a pineapple top or shabby ol’ celery leaves, they devour it gratefully. Bunnies are in the same category of gentleness as sheep. Super sweet, super soft, and super affectionate. Truly a very adorable animal! (Unless you decide to try to pick it up–then it will eviscerate you with its razor sharp, deceptively strong hind legs. Seriously, don’t try it.)
Another benefit to having our bunnies in a rabbit tractor is that our grass is getting fertilized with nature’s best fertilizer! Rabbit pellets are considered a cold manure–meaning that it can be put straight on plants without having to compost it.
We have a pumpkin problem. I know I belong on an episode of “My Strange Addiction” or “Hoarders”–but, hear me out! What would you do if you were blessed with hundreds of pounds of beautiful, heirloom, nutritionally dense pumpkins (and the animals have had their fill)? You’d probably do what I’m doing. Invite them into your home and become fast friends.
A week ago, I believed that a pumpkin is a pumpkin is a pumpkin. But now that I’ve hefted, gutted, sniffed, tasted, explored and examined each pumpkin that arrived in our wheel barrow, I’ve learned to identify, discern and appreciate each unique “fruit of the vine”.
An idea just occurred to me this week. Actually it is more than an idea. It’s a dream! A destiny! An obsession.
We must grow grain in 2021.
I don’t mean an acre of rye–I mean a modest 10×10 patch of sorghum, a couple rows of corn and a corner of quinoa. I want to harvest enough sorghum to fill a quart Mason jar. I want to have enough dried corn to make a sweaty, dirty stack of red corn tortillas. I want enough quinoa to help me figure out if it was worth it forjust one meal to say “We actually grew this, harvested it, did the chaff + winnow thing, then ate it next to a pile of sauteed kale and braised rabbit.” (P.S. I don’t know what braised means. I just said it to sound fancy.)
Just when you thought canning and preserving season was over! Hundreds of pounds of pumkins were delivered to the wheelbarrow next to our front driveway by nameless, faceless, generous neighbors. It’s a yearly tradition…and most of the pumpkins go to the animals–but a select few find their way to our kitchen where we gut them and process them.
Some will be cubed and bottled in the pressure canner; others will be cooked in the Instant Pot, pureed, then frozen.
The last sentence of the previous paragraph was the first time I’ve used a semi colon as an adult. So proud.
I pressure-canned a few quarts of plain green beans this summer, but I did it out of duty–not love. Who could honestly and truthfully love a limp, peaked green vegetable soaked and bloated in its own juices? In my defense, we had an abundance of fresh green beans, and I had to preserve them in a way that would honor this generous gift from Mother Earth. “Dearie, it’s what you’re supposed to do when you get a bumper crop of green beans.” So I did.
But behind the universe’s back, I secretly canned a few half pints of pickled green beans (also known in the canning world as “dilly beans”). I canned them hoping that they would fill the hole in my heart left by plain canned green beans.
And they did. My heart is now filled to “half an inch from the top” with crisp-tender haricots, little beads of popping mustard seeds, and a swirling snowglobe of dill and garlic.
For the past two months, the tiny jars of dilly beans waited patiently for me on the pantry shelf. Every time I walked by them I said firmly, “Not today, friend. I’ll wait until a very sad or lonely day, and then we will see what joy is bottled up inside.”
Today wasn’t sad or lonely, but still, a bottle was opened. And it brought the brightness and crispness and pure joy that I was hoping for–the happiness that pickledcucumbers promise every season, but really can’t deliver.
There are only 5 half pint jars of pickled dilly beans left. I will eat them very verrrrrry slowly over the next 10 months.
You reep what you sow. But when do you get to eat + enjoy what you’ve reeped? In Autumn + Winter! (Anyone else besides me feel like the seasons deserve to be capitalized?)
Well, we’re super ready to eat all the things we reeped + sowed! Here’s a little photo montage of the things we’ll be noshing on during the coming winter months
What a harvest! What a summer! Fueled at first by the fear of food shortages because of the Covid-19 pandemic, but truthfully it just propelled us forward on our desired path a little faster. We’ve always been on the road to self sufficiency. It feels great to know that we’re able to produce some of our own food–and make heaps of mistakes along the way–and learn a ton in the process. Eventually our goal is to reduce our grocery budget. Currently we spend about $150 (or less) per week for a family with three adults, and two teenagers (age 12 + 16). We have no “dainty eaters” in our home. No one goes hungry. We love food. But if we could eat more of our own home grown food, we could probably get our grocery expenses down under $75/week or $300/month. Yes, it would save money, but I think it’s the principle of producing our own food (to the extent we can) that is the most appealing.
I’m excited to eat this preserved food over the winter months, then begin the process all over again as we move forward into spring and summer of 2021!
Last Friday, Isaac and I harvested our five bunnies that were born this summer. We would have had more, but there were a series of unfortunate events that wiped out our bunnies. (Heat wave + omnivorous chickens = dead bun buns.)
Processing the rabbits wasn’t too hard. Isaac put each live bunny into a bucket and gave it a clean head shot with a pellet rifle. We took the bunnies to a metal table next to the garden hose and began skinning and gutting the rabbits.
We plan to sell most of the future rabbits, and then carefully and gratefully stock our freezer and canned goods pantry with as much meat as fits our plan of eating meat sparingly. We also plan to share with neighbors (they have expressed an interest in rabbit meat.)
Our first meal with rabbit was simply pressure cooked rabbit with no seasonings (so that we could taste it with no herbs or spices).
Our bunnies weren’t fat enough to harvest last week. They need to be 5 pounds in order to process them. That ensures that you’ll have enough meat to make it worth the effort.
Hopefully by early November they’ll make weight. It’ll be interesting to go through the meat processing, uh, process. We have a high powered air pellet rifle (so stand down, bad guys!) which has enough power to take out a rabbit with one shot. We have a commercial stainless steel sink (with a drain board) in the mud room where I’ll be processing the dead rabbits. We have a good knife. We have three boys who can help with the process. We have chickens who can clean up the rabbit offal and magically turn those guts into a clutch of lovely speckled brown eggs. Cirrrrrcle of liiiife.
Now I just need to steel myself for the day when we actually have to process our bunnies.
Recently I’ve been viewing our entire property as a growing space. There are little plants popping up in the grass, the gravel and the wood chips. There’s something green everywhere.
Up until recently, I didn’t pay much attention to what any of it was. It all fell into the “weed” category, or sometimes the “pretty weed” category.
But I started learning more about medicinal herbs, and quickly discovered that many of them “follow” humans. Yarrow, plantain, dandelion, blackberry. I was stunned to find out that our backyard is a literal pharmacy–full of pain killers, astringents, anti-parasitics, diuretics, laxatives, antibacterials, antifungals, sedatives, carminatives, and anti-inflammatories. All within an itty-bitty plot of land and all in rich abundance.
Yesterday I accidentally squeezed a little part of my thumb in between the pinching part of a nutcracker. (Don’t ask.) It not only broke the skin, but took a 1mm x 2mm chunk out of it. I quickly washed it off, but blood kept coming out. I ran outside to a clean patch of yarrow leaves, smashed them between my fingers to create a spitless poultice (because mouth bacteria, eww!) and jammed the dark green, leafy paste into the bloody hole in my thumb. The bleeding stopped and the pain never came. I was waiting the rest of the day for the throbbing that typically accompanies deep cuts–but it never came!
So there’s my first real experience with backyard pharmaceuticals. They work. Some of them may take days or weeks to take full effect, but using yarrow to stop bleeding was instantaneous and miraculous.
This is the first time I’ve ever seed saved. I’m doing it because seeds were hard to come by this year. Not super hard to come by, just annoyingly hard to come by. Everyone decided to grow a garden and it took the seed companies by surprise.
We’ll, I don’t want to be taken by surprise next spring. We’re going to have tomatoes, beans, garlic and corn. And a bunch of other stuff. It’ll be a great year, just like this year was!
For the past three days I’ve been picking and saving tomatoes so that I could do a large batch of fire roasted salsa.
Today was that day. It began with picking and washing tomatoes of all shapes, types and colors. We’ve got paste tomatoes, heirloom tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, pear tomatoes, striped tomatoes and that about it.
Then I put the tomatoes in a single layer on a baking sheet with parchment paper. The tomatoes roasted in a 450 F degree oven, then I blasted them with the broiler to blacken and blister their skins. This is the secret to the sauce.
I got 12 pints today. My family can easily inhale a pint of salsa as a pre-dinner snack, so 12 pints is less than 2 weeks worth of salsa. Kind of weak, but I’m happy that we canned our own homemade salsa this year. It may not fill our family’s yearly salsa needs 100% but it’s a step toward self sufficiency, and that’s what matters.
Next year, though, my salsa ambitions are going to scare you. Who wouldn’t love knowing that they have access to a fresh new jar of organic, home grown, home processed fire-roasted salsa 365 days of the year. At 12 jars per canning session, that’s a lotta math and a whole lot more tomatoes.
365 divided by 12 pints = about 30 days
This means that for the entire month of August, I’d have to can a dozen jars of salsa every day.