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.