Somethings Happening Here

       Major projects in our life are done and half the summer is gone, whew. I am happy to be back. One of the consequences of being diverted from home is how the garden has become. Though nothing like the old days of gardening for us, I cherish this little 3x5 plot.

       That being said, I am not the real gardener. The seeds and roots of former species dominate what is to happen here, especially when I have been unable to attend to it. The beautiful yucca have struggled with the road fill that we hesitantly call the soil. This year they flourished with bounties of the milk white blossoms glowing in the morning sun.

       The six tomato plants that I hopefully spaced among the rush of growth also struggle but are now producing sweet red globes with very tough skin. There are perennial flowers here too that I just can’t take out: golden lilies, Japanese Iris, purple bush spears, Russian heather. How dare I try to plant a vegetable among these. And there are herbs – oregano that always goes to flower, but is so beautiful in bloom, the many descendants of last year’s one volunteer dill plant, and challenged basil next to dominant mint. All of these huddle together as the magnificent assertive Morning Glories pop up all over the garden grabbing on to any stem, stick, or fence to secure it’s hold.

       This is not the garden I wanted, but I have to say that everyone out here elbowing its way to the sun, forcing every scrap of nutrient from damaged soil has certainly aroused great respect from me for the powerful drive to live.

       We have begun to frequent the outdoor markets for actual preservable produce. Fruits and vegetables parading through summer demanding action every two weeks (at their peak, they say) while the rush to gather jars and lids and freezer bags becomes a priority of our time. I love this stuff, really. And so do others that we meet at the market, like Marjorie, of Stone Cloud Gardens and the many products she prepares for us.

       Marjorie shared a concern we have that our grandchildren do not really know where or how our food becomes, that each kernel in an ear of sweet corn has the potential to grow into a plant that produces three or four more ears each. Now there’s an exponential math exercise. Go ahead count the kernels on your next sweet and buttery ear of corn. That number will be the number of potential plants if they were put in the ground and not in your mouth. And if you multiply that number by . . . well you get the idea. Someone is working hard on our behalf to enjoy these great wonders, some farmer, or some disciplined gardener refusing to wimp out to the domination of plants in an eclectic garden.

       Enjoy the wonders, my friends. And if you want to take on some fun reading this summer try my little memoir, A Homestead Decade, How CrunchyGranola Changed My Life   

Amazon e-book, cheap,$2,99.

Enjoy a Nature Adventure with A Child, You might Find A Snake

       We were exploring, the eight year old said. I did not have the best shoes for such an adventure. I tripped and grabbed at branches trying to follow him to the shore of a small pond.

       Even at eight, he showed care holding branches away from my face and pointing out long rooted vines.

       Suddenly, with a quick reach, he excitedly called snake!, as he grabbed a small string of an animal.

       The little strand of yellow and tan squirmed nervously to get out of the gentle  grip.

       The boy spoke lovingly to the snake, this boy of my life. Then face to face, snake and child, a thin red thread-like tongue sprung out of the snake's tiny mouth. The boy jumped back but retained his hold on the prize.

       I told him how good to be so kind to this little creature. He may be scared, I said, maybe we should let him go into the pond where he was headed. He agreed.

       A long look into small snake eyes, the boy spoke softly about going back. At the shore, just before release, he whispered good bye and, to my surprise, gave the snake a kiss.

Thanks for stopping by. I hope you get a chance to share glorious nature days with a child this Spring.        To all of you who have purchased an e-reader copy of A Homestead Decade, How Crunchy Granola Changed My Life from Amazon Kindle (cheap 2.99), a very special thank you!

affectionately, 
Helene

Homemade Tomato Soup with bread - Ah, Winter Lunch

Not our lunch today, but a memorable
one from Vezelay, France

It is blizzard-like outside. We have just tasted bliss in a winter lunch from our summer labors: sweet and dill pickles, fresh Italian bread into great grilled cheese sandwiches, homemade yogurt with last season's frozen blueberries, and, here it comes, Sue's fantastic winter feast - homemade tomato soup.

Oh my.

Joel sat silent during most of the lunch except for sweet moans of pleasure. Once he spoke in sympathy for our world, "Don't you wish you could feed this meal to everyone in the world?" Yes.

The pickles came from small jars. With each we remember gathering cucumbers late in the season at every farmers market we could find.
Though Joel makes great wheat bread, we did finally find the amazing Roma bakery in Lansing, Michigan and treated ourselves to rum cake and a fresh loaf of their bread for super grilled cheese sandwiches (olive oil and butter loaded with Colby and mozzarella cheese lightly dusted on each side with garlic salt before pan toasting).

The star of this meal, preserved at the peak of tomato harvesting - Tomato Soup - is the great gift in the cupboard all winter long: tomatoes cooked down with bits of vegetables - celery, carrot, onion onion, maybe a sweet pepper and a full bouquet of fresh basil. All blended, added lots of butter and seasonings, put in jars, then hot water bath in pint and quart jars. Preserving food to sustain us through blizzard days.

I'll get the true recipe for you when the season comes. If you try this fine soup, prepare to buy at least a bushel or two of tomatoes. You may be giving a lot away.

Yes, I'm back to the crunchy blog and so happy to be with you. As always thank you for stopping by and checking on me. Love, Helene

Bread and Butter Pickles - A Great Place to Start

       My good friend, Karmen, hand writes actual letters that I am so greatful to receive.

These special post office gifts from our Karmen include cartoons and tidbits of news and quotes that declare the season we are in. The letter today began with a special quote:

In the summer the song sings itself. – William Carlos Williams

        Daughter Jessie started a garden this year – tomatoes, peas, peppers, zucchini , and cucumbers. We got regular updates on the progress of this enriching experience. The cucumbers have burst forth with enthusiasm. It’s pickle time!

       For all the life we lived together as Jess grew up, the preserving details seemed to have been obscured by the bounty. She had questions for her garden goodies and she wanted answers . . . Now!

We made a shopping list for bread and butter pickles – big pans, canning tongs and funnel, canning jars with lids and rings, box of coarse salt, seasonings: mustard seeds, celery seeds, and the far east wonder, turmeric. Don’t forget white vinegar, sugar, and a large onion.   

        We went over the process in notes – cut the cukes in 1/4 inch widths, soak them in salt water brine for about 3 hours, sterilize jars in hot water pan. Bring the vinegar, sugar and spices to a boil. Fill the jars with the cukes and onion. Pour the hot vinegar over the cucumbers, put the lids on, Carefully place the jars in a big pot of boiling water for 15 minutes.  Remove the jars with the tongs and let cool in plain sight.

       We got the call about 8:30 that evening: Ping!  My favorite summer song.

Later Jessie said the jars are gorgeous and that she feels so good about her first canning experience, she said she feels liberated.

Thanks for stopping by again, we love to hear comments. Enjoy the summer magic!

Love,

Helene (author of A Homestead Decade, How Crunchy GranolaChanged My Life, Amazon e-book, $2.99)

Cooling of the Dunes 24x20 oil by Joel F Ellis
A great place to enjoy summer - ahhh.

Happiness Runs in A Circular Motion . . .

       I've been thinking a lot lately about what makes for happiness. The founding fellows thought so much of happiness that pursuit became a declaration. The word has almost become undefinable yet we all have a vague feeling of what happiness can mean to our lives. 

       We recently watched an interesting movie, Hector and the Search for Happiness, in which a psychiatrist subjects himself to a journey of researching just what people think is happiness. One of several views in the movie seems to define the feeling for me, "Is happiness not the sum total of lots of small joys and pleasures?”  ― François Lelord, Hector and the Search for Happiness  I'll bet you can think of ten moments right now in your memory that compile a swell of happiness in you.

        

Egrets returning to Michigan

       Okay, listen up, and I mean that – listen inside you, a tune you know very well, while I tell you a special story of happiness.

       We were walking across the beautiful Lake Lansing Park near our home on a chilly morning when a child, a girl maybe 8 or 9 years old ran past us. She was on a mission. She ran into the depths of the wooden play structure at the south end of the park, a temple, a great cathedral for play.

        In the center of the structure is a large simple xylophone. I imagined this child in the early

morning rushing through a bowl of colorful cereal thinking over and over on what she was about to do. I imagined her raising the hammer above those heavy metal strips, first cautiously – two notes to start, up one, and up again another – two strikes, then gentle steps back down as she continued to play the song, until emotion filled in us as it must have in the composer.
       This song of victory, of nations, of workers humming in labor, this song presented by a child, rang out across the lake forcing every molecule in the cloud-like morning fog to echo the centuries old cry of Beethoven’s powerful Ode to Joy!

       Now I am happy to think that you have read and perhaps sing again this treasured piece. As Donovan Leitch reminded us, "happiness runs in a circular motion, thought is but a tiny boat upon the sea, every body is a part of everything anyway, you can be happy if you let yourself be".

Thanks as always for stopping by. I recently took a big step for me and opened a Facebook account. Fascinating.

love, helene (please check out A Homestead Decade, How Crunchy Granola Changed My Life, Amazon e-book, cheap 2.99)

E.H. Rusk, artist, Preserved Living Gifts In Her Paintings

       We’ve almost eaten all the pickles. The sweet salsa tomatoes are all gone as are the stewed tomatoes that perked up vegetable soups and Italian sauces. One half-pint spiced blueberry jam sits yet on the shelf looking a bit bewildered. We have consumed the carefully preserved foods from 2014.

       We know new produce will soon “come on” fast. Peas first, then beans – little surprises under large green leaves – tomatoes will tease with tiny yellow blossoms, then tiny green globes. But these take so long we may become complacent until they ripen and for the love of life itself, you better be ready for the beautiful, brilliant, succulent, . . . you get the idea. If you are canning tomatoes this year start planning now.

       This week I had an epiphany about preserving all this beauty when we happened on an estate sale in our area. The sale consisted of mostly art, oil paintings, from the hand of an elderly English professor at the university, Elizabeth Hartley Rusk. She took to still life works. I imagined her enthusiasm as she discovered light direction and its shadowy impact on the fruits and container forms in her paintings. How she might have gathered her “models” for these pieces – pots and bottles and pitchers of all sorts. How she chose the varied colors of grapes and apples and peaches.

     We could not resist. We selected some of these beauties to bring home appreciating the artist’s fine efforts she gave to her art. Then, in a flash, I realized that these paintings, works that were carefully crafted compelling us to look at them and see, may be the ultimate experience of preserving foods.

Thank you for coming back. I had to complete a big project leaving this little blog for a while. Please come again soon and thank you for the increase in sales of A Homestead Decade, How Crunchy GranolaChanged My Life, we were delighted with the personal notes from some of you.

 In Peace,

Helene

Paintings by Elizabeth Hartley Rusk, English professor from Michigan State University
passed in 2010 at the age of 98

Ah, WINTER

Winter may try to

rule our sorry selves,

no match, my dear, for the

laughter of children

and happy dog.

Love, 

Helene