My Apologies to William Carlos Williams and My Husband

This Is Just to Say: an apology composed in the garden

I have eaten
the strawberries
that were in
the garden

and which
you were probably
thinking
I would not see.

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so warm.


This is what happens when English majors grow their own food.

Blowing in the Wind

5 Reasons to Hang Out Your Laundry

1. It's free; all it takes is a little extra time.
2. Your clothes smell nice. I mean, Bounce smells good as long as you aren't thinking of all the chemicals used to make that smell.
3. Sunlight is a natural bleach. (Which is good for white clothes, but not necessarily for dark, black, or red)
4. Your clothes are easier to iron after they have had a good blow in the breeze. It's true. Try it.
5. Hanging out your naughties on Sunday morning gives the neighbors and the congregants at the church next door something to talk about.

It's Too Dark to Read

It's hard to believe that it's been over a month since my last entry. We've planted all the onions--300 sweet and 400 storage onions--more potatoes, radishes, golden beets, tomatoes, and cabbages. We should be weeding and mulching with compost, but it started raining several days ago, and it hasn't stopped long enough to allow the soil to dry out so that we can get back in there. In the meantime, the weeds are growing as fast as the desirable plants and they like the compost just as much, too.

Fortunately, the spinach and lettuce are growing in raised beds behind the house. They tend to dry out faster, and they are not surrounded by soupy mud that sucks my shoes off. We've been eating fresh spinach for several days, and I picked the first bunch of mesclun lettuce to sell at work.

The easiest way to use up that spinach is to eat it in a salad with homemade balsamic vinegar dressing. A friend at work gave me pecans for Christmas, and I chop those and toss on sometimes or add some parmesan cheese--or both--sometimes. At Easter, I added some fig goat cheese and cranberries to the spinach, and I must say it was quite tasty. I also make a beans and spinach dish that tastes much better than it sounds. I saute a red onion, open three cans of cannelini beans, drain and rinse them, then add them to the onion. A half cube of Knorr veggie bouillon and a cup of water goes in and I simmer that for about 20 minutes before adding four big handfuls of prepared spinach. Once the spinach has wilted, I stir it into down into the beans, add some salt and pepper, and we have a simple, hearty dinner.

I've been quite busy with yet another endeavor. Our sweet little Junie B dog was so sad that, after much research and discussion, we decided to adopt a dog from Kentucky Lab Rescue. We came home from Winchester two weeks ago with a surprise for Junie, and I'm thinking she might wish she hadn't acted so depressed!

Trudy is a handful, to say the least. She's two years old and little more than a giant puppy. We've started obedience training, and I'm not sure whether I'm being trained or she is. She's just about gotten me whipped into shape. Sometimes I think perhaps I made a mistake in taking on yet another project--I counted my unfinished knitting projects last night, and the ones downstairs alone numbered twelve!--but eventually she'll settle down, I hope, and be a good companion for me and I'll be able to rest my feet on her while I read.

I need her near me, because as Groucho Marx says, "Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend; inside of a dog, it's too dark to read."

There Is a Season

A compost bin just out the backdoor is handy; it keeps most of our food waste from going down the drain or into the landfill. It would be even more useful if I could get into the habit of taking the food bits straight outside instead of letting them "settle" in the lidded tub we leave in the sink to collect them. Taking potato peels to the bin is much more pleasant when done immediately. But I'm lazy when it comes to compost. I never forget to put the scraps in the kitchen bin; I just forget to transfer them to the big bin outdoors.

I forget to turn the compost, too. Some gardeners claim that there is a science of sorts to keeping a good compost pile or bin. 43% green matter, plus 51% brown matter, or some such formula. I can't ever get it right, but I do know that if I would simply turn the whole mess pretty occasionally my compost would be helped along and I would have my very own fertilizer to add to the garden.

A few weeks ago, I peered into the compost bin, wondering if even the bottom layer could be used in the raised beds. (The bin I have is something like this one, only a bit bigger.) I slid the door up, and the bits from two years ago were still sitting there looking pretty much the way they looked when I threw them in. I felt kind of like an archeologist must feel when digging through old refuse piles. Hey, there are those corn cobs from the roasting ears we made for Mom's birthday party! And the cherry pits from the cherries I preserved! And that was just in the top layer.

Something had to be done. That mess had to be turned, and I am not tall enough and the bin is not wide enough to do it with regular tools--say, a hoe or a pitchfork or even a shovel. So I ordered this compost aerator. I like gadgets, and the price was reasonable. It arrived this afternoon, and it works great. It chops the compost as I push it down, and it turns the compost on the way back up. It wasn't really easy--probably because the compost was old and wet and really packed down--but now that I've done it once, it should be easier next time.

And now that I have a new gadget, I can turn, turn, turn.

Gang aft a-gley

A few weeks ago, I planted broccoli and cabbage plants with the intention of planting more successively over four weeks. It immediately turned cold, snowed, rained, and stayed chilly since then. I was complaining to the boy about my bad timing: "the best laid plans of mice and men." He reminded me that "this isn't the Burns unit." (If you haven't heard that joke, then I guess it's not as funny.) 

As if the weather weren't enough, rabbits ate half of the broccoli. My dad pointed out the rabbit-friendly brush pile near the garden and I couldn't even think of an excuse. They're cute when they aren't munching my plants. We covered the beds with Agribon row covers. It seems to have helped.

I tried to catch up this weekend. After my favorite dad ran the tiller through the big garden for me--half of the adults in the house have injured backs--we planted 16 pounds of Red La Soda potatoes and the first 6 pounds of Yukon Golds. I planted more lettuce and filled in the spinach-free spots in the open-for-now cold frame. Thirty-six more broccoli plants went in, and the other bundle of cabbage--now missing a few plants healthy enough to plant--was planted next to them.

Our Texas Super Sweet onions from Burpee arrived last week, so I prepped the beds for those and stuck them in. I planted three pounds or so of onion sets, too, and more will follow, Weather willing. The 25 strawberry plants (Honeoye--how do you pronounce that?) that went in this week will, I hope, yield some nice berries in few years and make a nice addition to the rhubarb unfurling now.

That's about it. I'm tired and sore, but it's a good kind of labor.

Ma Petite Chou

I'm waiting for rain. The forecast promised rain and possibly thunderstorms today, and because I planted my little cabbages yesterday, I am especially eager for a ground-soaker. It's been overcast and windy all afternoon, but so far we've had only a few scattered sprinkles that can't even be called "mistin'," as people here might say.

Those little cabbages are quite cute. I bought two bundles of what I thought were "bare-root" plants--$3.49 for 30 cabbages--to see if they worked out for me. I was surprised when I took the rubber band from around the brown paper; I expected to see straggly little bare roots thirsty for water. (I don't know why I expected this. The plants were very green and healthy looking or I wouldn't have bought them.) Instead, each baby cabbage's roots were enclosed in their own little cube of gel and seed-starting mix. If I could find the camera I would include a photo--this is cool stuff.

I planted them deep in well-composted trenches so that their leaves are just about the surface of the soil. More roots will emerge along the stem if it comes into contact with soil, so this will keep them snugly in the ground.

I planted the first round (18 plants) of broccoli yesterday, too. I'll plant them in four stages, about a week apart so that I have some nice heads when the market opens the first weekend of June. The first year I sold at the market I had about 40 heads of broccoli the first day and I couldn't pay people to take the last 20. People started to stare. What could I do with 20 heads of broccoli? And the more you shake heads of broccoli at people, the less likely they are to accept it. Sir, just take the broccoli and no one will get hurt. I'll throw in a bunch of radishes. 

I was headed out of town to work for a week that afternoon. I gave it away to incredulous spectators at a baseball game. 

The next week at the market, I had 20 people asking for broccoli, and I had cut all the broccoli heads the week before. But I'm doing better now. And I plant a lot more than 40 heads now.

I bought the broccoli plants in 9-cell packs. They were perky until about two hours after I planted them. Then they started to wilt. It was over 70 degrees yesterday, and the soil was really warm. I didn't water them, though; we were promised rain today. So the more expensive broccoli didn't look nearly as healthy as the cheaper cabbages. I know I should have watered them, but I like living dangerously.

We'll see. (And you will, too, if I ever find the camera.)

For less than $7, I'll (possibly) have 60 cabbages to sell for $1/head. Not a bad profit, even if only half of them live. 

Vegging Out

The boy is sick today, so I stayed home with him. (If we can't get a snow day from school, we'll just make our own.) Neither of us has missed a day of school this year (until today), and it seems strange to be home in the middle of the week, knowing that our schedules and routines go on without us. He keeps saying things like, "It's 11:30. I'd be at recess right now."

Being home gives me time to do some chores that I didn't finish over the weekend. It's over 40 degrees today, so I'm hanging laundry out. I'll make bread this afternoon. I started the dishwasher already, and I'll probably vacuum. Maybe. 

I also plan to make vegetable stock today. Many of the recipes we use require vegetable stock, and for a long time I just bought the kind sold in cans next to the chicken broth. When I became especially thrifty a few years ago, I decided I could make my own. Saves a few pennies--actually a lot of pennies since even the cheap veg broth is 50 cents a can--and sodium, too. Making your own is easy, but you have to have some time at home. No stirring is required, but it takes about three hours to simmer and it needs some time to cool, too.

You can make vegetable stock with halved onions, celery stalks, carrots, and whatever else you like, but I make it even cheaper by using vegetable "scraps" that I store in the freezer. Every time I chop an onion, I put the ends in a container in the freezer. If I have some mushrooms that look a little squishy, I put those in the container, too. Carrot ends, celery and parsley leaves, green onion tops, tomato trimmings--all tossed in the freezer together. They're clean because I washed everything before I chopped or sliced them. (I don't use peppers, cilantro, cucumbers or anything that would cause a distinct or unpleasant taste. Those go in the compost bin.) 

Once I've saved about a gallon and a half of vegetable scraps--frozen, of course--I dump them all into a big soup pot, fill the pot with water, toss in a small handful of peppercorns, some dried or fresh thyme if I have it, and bring the pot to a boil. Then I turn it down to simmer and let it go for about three hours. If it starts to cook down too much, I put the lid on.

After it cools, I strain it into freezer containers. Many of the recipes I use call for one or two cups of veg broth or stock, so I measure it out, label the containers, and put them in the deep freeze after they cool to room temperature. When I need some, I just put the frozen block of stock into the pot or let it thaw in the fridge all day (if I know in advance what I'll be cooking for dinner, that is).

I'm not sure how much this costs. I guess that depends on how much it costs to have the stove on for a few hours. It can't be more expensive than buying gallons of vegetable broth by the can, though. It definitely tastes better. And it uses up food scraps that would otherwise be thrown away.

Blow-out

I've baked quite a lot of the bread we eat here at home for a long time. I started with a bread machine when we were just-married, but I graduated to "real" bread not long after that. After I tasted my friend Donna's bread, I was ashamed to admit that I was only dumping the ingredients into a machine and not touching it until it was time to slice it. Of course, even that bread was better than what we can buy in a store. But I was determined to learn to make my own bread, and I did learn and I've made a lot of it.

I usually use a plain French bread recipe and modify it in various ways: bread sticks, flat bread with herbs and parmesan, small dinner rolls. It's easy, it doesn't take too long, and I have the recipe memorized and I know just how much of my favorite flour (King Arthur, by the way) the recipe will take during the summer or winter.

Lately, I've gotten lazy, though. I hadn't been making much bread because it takes a little while to rise, and I've been keeping the house cooler than usual this winter, so it takes even longer. Once I get home, take about 10 deep cleansing breaths to get the screaming kids out of my consciousness, and decide to make bread, it could be as late as 6:00 before the bread goes in the oven. With a 40 minute baking time and several minutes to cool, it's almost too late to eat it with dinner. I guess that doesn't make me lazy, just busy and impatient.

Anyway, I saw a Mother Earth News article about making fresh baked bread in five minutes a day. It took me a few months, but I finally tried it, and we love it. It's quick, it's easy, and it's tasty. I've made 10 loaves so far, and last night I made another. I put the dough on the peel, let it sit for 40 minutes, and slid it into the oven. 

Well, I tried to slide it into the oven.  I had left the dough a little wet--an experiment with crumb for you bread bakers out there--and it stuck to the one-quarter inch of wood that did not have cornmeal. Clung to it like a kindergartner to his mama's skirt. A quick flick of the wrist unstuck it, but I could tell this loaf was not going to be a pretty one. 

Forty minutes later, my prediction was realized. From the front, it's not too bad looking. And though you can't see it, the crust is very thin with small bubbles. This crust "sings" when I take it from the oven, and the aroma is beyond description.

From the back, however, you can see what happens when the dough-seam comes undone. 

Not pretty. I'm not even going to describe what the mass sticking out looks like.

But it still eats OK.

Take Me Out

Yesterday was warm enough for the guys and the dog to have a catch in the backyard after school and work. It won't be long until baseball season begins and we'll be plenty busy with practices and games and fundraising. 

Poor Junie has been out of sorts since Zoe died, and I think she was thrilled to do her favorite thing: play outfield. She is the smartest dog we've ever had--hard to imagine that she was Zoe's pup, but they complemented each other nicely--and the best catching and fetching dog we've ever seen. Not that we've seen a lot of dogs besides ours doing that. . . 

Anyway, Junie has been looking pretty lonely, but I wanted my nephew in Germany to know that Junie is OK and we've been playing with her and taking her for long, long walks on her nice new retractable leash. She has chased lots of cats and squirrels! (Well, she chases them for 15 feet, then the leash jerks her back.) She's not having much luck making friends with the other dogs in the neighborhood, but she's having lots of fun and getting back to normal.

While the guys played baseball, I took this photo of the first bloom in the yard this year; a dwarf iris that someone gave me in a planter for Easter a long time ago beat the crocuses this year. Even the daffodils are beating the crocuses. Must be all the rain and so little sun. 

And now it's cold again. It's supposed to snow tonight.

's No Surprise

By mid-evening yesterday, the temperature had dropped several degrees, and by 8:00, it was snowing. Last week, we had temperatures in the high 60's. But the snow was no real surprise to anyone who lives here. Our weather is predictably unpredictable. 

I almost gave in and planted the Swiss chard yesterday afternoon but settled instead on starting most of the pepper seeds we ordered from Tomato Growers. The chard would have made it--we settled on the "Bright Lights" variety this year--but the snow on top of the seeds would have made me nervous this morning.

The snow is not making the birds nervous. We've had purple and gold finches and cardinals taking turns at the feeders all morning. I don't know how I have missed it for the past 15 years, but February was dedicated National Bird Feeding Month back in 1994. We've had bird feeders throughout the years, but I've never paid more than passing attention to the migrating birds that stop by our yard in the winter. This year, we have feeders filled with songbird mix hanging from each side of the house, and we've identified chickadees, house finches, gold finches, and one skittish titmouse.

I was pretty excited about identifying that titmouse. (Beyond the cardinals and the bluebirds--and an indigo bunting that surprised us one morning with its startling blue-ness--I've never paid enough attention to the birds to see that the titmouse is not a "baby bluejay," as I had told our son before.) I was excited enough to try to attract them to a feeder outside my classroom window at work. I bought a suction-cup feeder hook--which sticks pretty well if you lick the suction cups first--and a lightweight feeder and filled it with songbird mix that was packaged in a bag with a picture of the lovely titmouse on the front.

Three weeks later, on Friday morning, I saw the first titmouse on the feeder at school. I called my students to come quietly to the window, and we waited for him to return. He did, only once, but about half of the students--the ones paying attention and not talking or jabbing each other--saw him, too.

Later in the day, I described the event to an afternoon class; I wanted them to be watching for this sweet little bird, so I also described it: "The titmouse has a crest similar to the one on a bluejay, but the bird isn't blue." A few of them nodded their heads dutifully--What in the world is she going on about?--and a few of them said they knew which bird I was describing. 

But I knew the subject needed to be changed when I overheard one student whisper to another: "She has a crest on her what?" 

Your taxpayer dollars are hard at work.

Where Are You Going? Where Have You Been?

How long ago did I plant that spinach? About two weeks ago, I think, and with the warm, rainy weather we've had, those little seeds have been working hard. I visited the raised beds this afternoon (it's about 50 degrees today), and underneath the glass doors, I saw these lovely little tendrils of baby spinach peeking their heads out toward the sun. I wonder where they think they're going.

Good thing I've learned that those aren't weed sprouts. They don't look anything like a real spinach leaf, do they? All wispy and narrow. One year, when I was particularly diligent about weeding, I picked out all the spinach seedlings, thinking they were weeds. Not much of a spinach crop that time.

But now, I know better, and these little babies will be ready to eat sooner than I think, as long as we keep getting the rain we're getting. Spinach is pretty hardy, especially under cover, so even if we have a hard frost, they'll just relax for a day or two, then start reaching toward the sky again.

After petting the spinach and re-covering the bed, I went around to the other bed, which is

lying fallow (don't you love that farmer-talk?) for now. I don't know how he got there, but one of our little bluebirds has returned to us. When we got married, we stayed with our dear friends on our honeymoon. At dinner the night before we left, our dessert was a lovely, made-from-scratch cake decorated with little plastic bluebirds. 

We brought them all home--about a handful of birds for each of us--and one of them will turn up occasionally in a drawer or in a pencil holder or in a tiny gift box, surprising us and reminding us of the sweet expression of love our friends gave to us. 

Where have you been, little bluebird?

A Sad Day

Our English labrador retriever arrived at our house nine years ago this month. Sometimes she was exasperating, and sometimes she was so funny we laughed out loud at her. 

Zoe was a strange dog, not very smart, but she reminded me of the friend who seems "not quite right," but everyone takes care of because she doesn't appear to be able to take care of herself and the party isn't the same unless she's there. Have you ever had a friend like that? 

Every day when we fed the dogs, we had to say, "It's for you! It's for you!" before Zoe would eat. If we didn't say it, she would look at us, wag her tail, and patiently wait for us to remember that she wouldn't eat until we gave her permission.

As I said, Zoe wasn't very smart, but she was very sweet, and she was ours. I loved her even when she annoyed me--maybe because she annoyed me. I loved her when she got under my desk or the dinner table during a storm; I loved her even when she had been in the neighbor's trash. I said mean things to her, but I loved her and we cleaned up the mess. 

So I was sad when Zoe died this morning. I will miss seeing her trotting up the street on her daily exercise route. I will miss chasing her away from the farmers' market, hoping no one realized that she was my dog because she wouldn't mind me and go home. I will miss her twice-yearly inevitable skunking that stunk up the yard and sometimes the house (well, I won't miss the smell, but I'll miss the regularity with which it happened). Mostly, I will miss the unconditional love that Zoe gave us. She was stinky and annoying and I yelled at her sometimes, but she never acted like she cared. She loved me anyway.

We buried her under the hemlocks today and said a few words in memory of her because we loved her.

To Zoe

Our funny, friendly cat-dog

who couldn't catch

and wouldn't fetch--

whose only trick was slipping through our legs to escape,

our traveling trickster

who trotted toward the trash

but wiggled and jiggled and panted and licked

her way into our hearts.

We'll miss saying

"It's for you! It's for you!"

You were a good dog, girl.

 

Egg-citing

Yesterday, some colleagues and I were talking in the break room--well, really it's the mail room/coffee room/copy lounge/complaining room--because there is no such thing as a "break" for teachers. (I know, I know. You've heard about the cushy hours and those long, lazy summers off, but let me tell you: if teachers didn't have those hours and some time away from school, there's no way most of us would keep doing it for the $4.83/hour our pay usually comes out to. This is why so many teachers work two jobs even though they have more college hours and graduate degrees than their peers in other professions.) 

Off the soapbox and back to the story . . . 

Yesterday, some colleagues and I were talking in the break room. Somehow, the conversation often turns to food, and this other teacher was describing a new recipe for scrambled eggs. Here's what she said to do: Put all your omelette ingredients into a sturdy plastic bag and put it into boiling water. It will cook in a few minutes, then you slide the eggs onto your plate.

Now, first, I have to say that I am all about innovation; plus, I used to be strangely fascinated by those boil-in-bag dinners that contained slices of "meat." But my eggs, now, they have to be cooked just right: with butter in an omelette pan or baked in a breakfast or brunch casserole. I like a little crunch and a little brown on top. If they slipped out of a bag, I don't think I could eat them.

If you like your eggs like I like mine, here's how we cook them. We call it an "Egg Bake," and we eat slices of it on English muffins or homemade biscuits. They have to be homemade biscuits, not the cheating kind that you smack on the counter. I won't be insulted if you call me a purist.

Egg Bake

9 eggs, scrambled, salt and pepper added

whatever cheese you have in the fridge (a cup or so)

whatever veg you have in the fridge or kitchen counter or garden

fresh or dried herbs if you like

If you're using fresh vegetables--zucchini, broccoli, tomatoes, peppers, mushrooms, onions, etc.--it is best to saute or steam them before putting them into the eggs.

Butter a glass--this is important--dish (size 6 X 10 inches or so), pour in the eggs, scatter your vegetables over the eggs,  then sprinkle the cheese on top. 

Bake at 400 degrees for about 12 to 15 minutes. You want the eggs to be set, not creamy like scrambled eggs. When the eggs are set, remove the dish from the oven and allow it to steam a little before slicing.

This is a great, quick recipe that I fall back on when I don't know what to cook for dinner, when someone has given me six dozen (yes, that happened once!) fresh eggs, or when I have fresh herbs and vegetables just waiting to be eaten. If you'd like your eggbake thicker, just add a few more eggs next time--or stack two slices between the bread.

Make sure those biscuits are homemade. Let me know what you think.

Summer and Winter

Although I thought I'd be overrun by zucchini last summer, the crop had dwindled down to almost nothing by mid-July, probably because I planted them among the corn that eventually shaded the sun-lovers too much. And I didn't test the soil, so that probably didn't help.

But with six more weeks of the farmers' market to go, I needed to make those zucchini last as long as possible. I picked all I could and shredded it a little at a time--whenever I felt bored or had nothing else to do. Because this happens all the time, of course.

Zucchini muffins are one of my best-selling items and the profit margin isn't too bad. If I freeze shredded zucchini in two-cup measures, I can begin selling zucchini muffins before the vegetable is in season. The top shelf in our deep freeze is still crowded with the little containers of shredded zucchini and the bottom shelf has packets of frozen muffins left over from slow market days. These muffins are especially good the day after they are baked, and they freeze better than any other vegetable or fruit bread that I know of.

Here's the recipe I use.

Zucchini Muffins

3 eggs (preferably from happy chickens that lay medium size eggs)

2 c. sugar

1 c. oil (then I usually take out 2 T. This makes them a little less oily the next day. You can take out a little more and experiment. Let me know what happens.)

1 t. vanilla

2 c. flour

1 c. quick oats (this makes a nice crunchy top)

1 t. cinnamon

1 t. soda

1 t. salt

1/2 t. baking powder

2 c. shredded zucchini

1 c. grated coconut (you can leave this out if you don't like coconut, or cut the amount in half. I've made them both ways, and it works--but I like the full amount best and so do my customers)

Mix ingredients together all at once. Fill lined muffin pans about 2/3 full, then bake at 350 degrees for about 20 minutes. If you like muffins with a domed top, fill the muffin cups a little more than 2/3 full. 

My oven bakes hot, so I start checking at about 15 minutes. Test them with a cake tester. This usually makes 15 to 18 muffins depending on the moisture in the zucchini and the amount of coconut I've used.

Adding cream cheese frosting makes this muffin into a dessert.

Soup Is Good Food

Unless you're really committed to eating bark and branches or you're good at long-term planning, eating local foods in the winter and early spring is a lot more difficult than "eating local" in the summer. Then, you can run out to the garden and gather what you need for supper or even a snack--a bit of broccoli, a fresh pepper, a tangy little Sungold tomato. But when the garden is nothing but dead stalks and frozen or muddy soil, what do locavores do?

Fortunately for us, we are good at planning ahead for those chilly winter days. Yesterday, even though our weather was fine (about 70 crazy degrees), I was in the mood for tomato soup. A quick visit to the pantry, and I was all set to make this easiest of easy soups. You don't even have to be a good cook to make this one. You just need a smallish soup pot and a food mill.

I've promised this recipe to some friends, so here it is:

Erin's Easy Tomato Soup (Winter Version)

1 onion

1 teaspoon olive oil

2 quarts of canned tomatoes (if you don't have your own jars in the pantry, two of those big cans of Muir Glen organic tomatoes will do)

salt & pepper

Chop the onion into fairly large pieces. (They can be pretty big because they'll get soft and you're going to use the food mill anyway.) Heat the olive oil in the soup pot until it's pretty hot, then throw in the onions. Cook them over medium high heat until they've softened, reduce the heat for a few minutes, stir the onions, then pour in both jars of tomatoes. Stand back to avoid the sizzle. It's OK to leave the tomatoes whole or in big chunks, but I usually start breaking them up as I stir. Bring to a boil--you'll probably have to turn the heat back up a bit--then reduce the heat, cover, and simmer for about 20 minutes.

Let the soup cool for 10 minutes, then run it through your food mill into a clean pot. (It's just easier this way.) Return it to the heat, and let it simmer with the lid off for about 30 minutes. Stir it frequently because the tomato solids will go to the bottom and stick.

That's it. We sometimes swirl in some pesto or sour cream or add some cooked pasta if we're feeling extra hungry.

Serve with some really good bread and say goodbye to Campbell's tomato soup.

Wascally Wabbit Food

We've never seemed to have much luck growing carrots. Some years we tried and other years we didn't bother, but last year we took what was left of the carrot seed packets, mixed them together and threw them in a bed. It was mostly practice for using our new flame weeder, which we later realized should be used before sowing the beds.

If it hadn't been for Carol, though, we probably wouldn't have had our carrot surprise. While we were on vacation and after I went back to work in August, Carol nurtured those feathery carrot tops and weeded out their competition. They looked pretty healthy, but we got busy, Carol went on to college, and it turned cold when we weren't watching for it. "Leave the carrots," I said. "They never do much anyway."

A few weeks ago, on a rare warm day in early January, we were out in the garden making mental lists of all we had to do, and I walked past what had been the carrot bed. "Wonder what's going on in there," I thought and started digging. Carrots! Lots of them, and although some of them had some rabbit nibbles in them and a few had been worm food, we had enough carrots to share, enough carrots to snack on, and and enough carrots to make a big pot of gorgeous carrot soup. Kirby was even inspired to investigate the potato rows, and he came up with a milk crate full. 

Next year, we're planting lots of carrots. And we're not giving up on them.

Three Signs of Spring

While we have a groundhog living in the brushpile at the edge of the yard, we weren't home to notice whether he saw his shadow on Groundhog Day last week. Instead, we look to other signs that spring will soon arrive. 

At least three things happened this weekend that are good indications that spring is near. One, I was able to hang my laundry out on the clothesline without wearing mittens. In fact, all the laundry that was in the laundry room is now fresh and dry--well, not all the laundry, but most of it. Seeing my laundry waving in the breeze is one of my favorite sights. 

Then, on my way around the house to check on the raised beds I worked on yesterday, I saw my miniature daffodils beginning to poke their wispy little sprouts out from the soil. On further inspection, I saw the grape hyacinths, too, and the iris fans and lambs' ears are turning greener and sturdier.

Finally--and this isn't really a harbinger of spring because she does it whenever she gets a chance--Junie B rolled her cheeks in the horse poop yesterday. What makes it a spring event is that the poop wasn't frozen.

Warm and Sunny

After days of near zero temperatures and snow flurries, we have a warm and sunny Saturday just right for prepping cold frames. We lifted the recycled doors from one bed, tore the brittle plastic off the other, and dumped a wheelbarrow full of composted horse manure in and mixed it up.

The forecast for the next several days indicates temperatures will be in the 50s and 60s, so I rummaged through last year's seeds, looking for spinach or lettuce. No lettuce, and the Burpee's order hasn't arrived, so spinach it had to be. Spinach seeds are pretty cheap, so I scattered about 1/4 oz of them into the first bed. The soil and compost are moist enough that if we place the doors on the frames again tonight and leave them, the seeds should germinate as if it were already spring.

Mesclun mix lettuce seeds will be sown in the other bed when the Burpee's order arrives in a few days. We should be eating and selling mixed baby lettuces by April 15.