Tail End of Another Slow Day on the Homestead

Oooof. I'm tired. I was going to have today's batch of pickles done before dinner time tonight, but then I thought I'd better go check to see if I should pick beans. And, of course, there were about a gazillion of the little buggers just hanging on the bushes, taunting in a sing-song voice, "Pick me, pick me, ya better pick me."

Dear Husband volunteered to help. (Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.) It's true: a chore goes more than twice as fast when there is someone else working along side you. This afternoon, I think I would have expired in the bean patch without his much appreciated assistance.

Back in the house, I crammed the beans in the refrig. (I really need another refrigerator this time of year. And I already have a spare in the entryroom besides the one in the kitchen.) The beans will have to wait until tomorrow to be prepped, blanched and frozen. The kitchen was more than a bit of a mess with my pickles half done, Roy in the midst of making a crock full of dills that will age in the basement (the old-fashioned way), and me trying to put together a meal for us. Oh, yeah, and Zoey the Wonder Dog had to be right in the middle of everything because it was her dinner time, too.

Neither of us had finished up our respective pickle projects when dinner was ready so we made room (just barely) on the table for our two plates and kinda hurried through our meal. Then I had to do dishes and tidy up before I could even manage to finish my project. (No room to function.) So I just now at 8:15 p.m. took eight jars out of the canner. Roy's crock-full is in the basement starting to do its thing. The house definitely smells like Eau d' Pickle ('scuse my French, I have no idea if that phrase comes close to really meaning anything), and I'm so pooped I'm wondering if I can go to bed without taking a shower tonight. But, hey, no real complaints here. I'm doing what I want to do. I just wish there wasn't so much of it right now.

P.S. Yes, Zoey did get her dinner on time tonight, too.

Avoiding Work?

Typical late August weather for our part of the world . . . one day it's stifling, hot, humid, nearly unbearable and the next day is dry, breezy, in the 70s and a delight to experience the out of doors. That's my excuse for not starting canning until late yesterday.

I went out before breakfast to do some watering before it got (expected anyway) hot. We still haven't had any rain in close to a month now. Roy came out to do somethings in the yard and we both kept commenting on how wonderfully pleasant the weather was, especially compared to the day before when we were both close to heat prostration.

One thing led to another and we ended up doing some early fall clean-up/put away jobs. (How virtuous we felt getting a jump on those things.) I decided to do some needed tomato pruning while waiting to periodically lend my brute strength as the "other end" of some carrying projects. Gak! What is that substance that comes off the tomato plants and onto one's hands? Yesterday, it was absolutely iridescent (which doesn't show in the picture), very yellow/green and shiny. Plus the stuff doesn't want to wash off easily. I usually have to scrape it off with a fingernail. Oh, well. I'll just have to cancel my hand modeling job for Monday.

Although I got a later than expected start, I did make a batch of pickles and a batch of Raspberry Jam last night before Roy said he was gonna make me stop even if he had to conk me on the head with something heavy. Stop I did and, oh, was it a wonderful night for sleeping. Even had the quilt pulled up. Temp was down to 49° by this morning and today looks like it may be a repeat of yesterday. Bring it on!

A Harvest Day

So, what did you do yesterday, Mama Pea? I picked things in the garden. All day?!? Yup, that's all I got done yesterday. Amazing how long it takes just to harvest ripe 'n ready crops.

The day was hot, humid and on the miserable side. My face stayed kind of a pulsing shade of beet red all day. The rain never materialized (dang and drat) so I was able to keep at it until about 5:30 p.m. when I was maybe one-third of the way through picking blueberries, the last thing on my list to be harvested. Roy came out to let me know it was getting close to time for dinner (poor boy was hungry, methinks) and suggested that I knock off the garden work for the day and he would come out first thing this morning to help me finish up the blueberries. Didn't take much arm twisting to talk me into that.

Here's a bowl full of the first ample picking of our lemon cucumbers. If you're not familiar with them, the answer is no, they don't have a lemon-y flavor. The name comes from their yellow color and lemon-like shape. They're an old heirloom variety of cucs and take longer to mature than your basic green slicing cucumber. There's no mistaking that they are a cucumber, but the taste is . . . somehow different. Don't know a good way to describe it . . . perhaps a smidge denser, crisper but at the same time more liquid-y? (My vocabulary is astounding today, huh?) No need to peel them. Just rub off the tiny, black prickles as you wash them. I tend to sit with a salt shaker and eat them like an apple.

Topping the bowl of lemon cucs is our first red-ripe Antohi Romanian sweet pepper. We sampled it at dinner last night. Very thick-walled, succulent and sweet! Found out you can eat the pale yellow ones (before they turn orange or red) and we will try that but the vitamin and mineral content is higher after they color up. Always fun to experiment growing something new.

So today shall be a processing day for all the bountiful harvest I gathered yesterday. I want to make a batch of Bread and Butter Pickles, two batches of Dill Pickles, Blueberry Jam, Raspberry Jam, and Zucchini Relish. Will I get all that done? Oh, heck, no. But working at it should keep me from wondering what to do with any extra time on my hands. I'll be in the kitchen if you're looking for me.

A Gigantic Growth Spurt

A very strange thing happens to the homestead garden when no one is home for a day.

Yesterday we had to make a trip to The Big City; left as soon as we got up and going in the morn and didn't return home until after 10 p.m. By the time we unloaded and wound down a bit, bedtime didn't come until close to midnight.

This morning, after pulling my beat-up body out of bed (with the help of a small crane), I took a garden tour to see what needed to go on my To Do list for the day.

First let me make the point that as of late afternoon Wednesday (day preceding aforementioned Big City Trip), things looked to be well under control. So what happened yesterday when no one was here to keep an eye on things? EVERYTHING grew about three times as fast as it normally would have. The garden looks as if I'd been gone for a week! Today I need to pick raspberries, blueberries, pickling cucumbers, green and yellow beans, lemon and slicing cucumbers, cabbage, cherry tomatoes, and zucchini. (All tomato plants are in dire need of pruning again -- wow, what a growth spurt they've had recently.) And, of course, once harvesting is completed, that means all will need to be processed. Either frozen, canned, made into jam, or readied for delivery to the restaurant.

AND . . . it looks like it may start raining at any moment. This is not a bad thing. We haven't had any rain for nearly three weeks and watering the garden and berry patches has been a routine occurrence. But it does mean that if I don't stop this yammering and get my rusty-duster out there, I'll be even farther behind. Gotta go . . .

August 18th Is A Very Special Day

Today is the birthday of the love of my life and best friend. He's my rock, my strength, my always-there back-up through all times, good and not-so-good. Solid. Never wavering. Forever with an idea of how to work it out and make it better.

It might seem to the outside world that I'm the one who takes care of him (these intellectual types always have a little trouble finding the butter in the refrig and knowing when it's time to put on a clean pair of jeans) but without his presence in my life, I'm the one who would be non-functioning.

I sure am glad he was born 67 years ago today. There's nothing I'd rather be doing than sharing this day and every other day of the year with him.

Happy Birthday, Honey!

Knit One, Purl None

Recently I was in need of a mindless handwork project . . . something I didn't have to think about while doing.

Until I stumbled onto quilting, I used to be a dyed-in-the-wool knitter but in recent years my knitting needles have been sadly neglected. Every now and then though, I still find it very enjoyable to pick up my needles, some yarn and go to it. And, let's face it, although you can join a bunch of other quilters at a retreat or modern day facsimile of an old-fashioned quilting bee, impromptu get togethers of a few knitters ensconced around a table accompanied by softly clacking needles and good conversation is much easier to come by and more apt to happen than quilters gathering to quilt.

But I digress. Back to the needed handwork project. I picked up a skein of yarn at my favorite small yarn shop, and this is the end result. This new (at least to me) self-patterning yarn is the coolest thing to come down the pike in an age! How amazing is that? No carrying colors, no need to knit at home in solitude with eyes glued to a pattern, no endless tails of different colored yarn to weave in. I've got to get more of this stuff!