Signs of Spring at the O.K. Chorale

My signs of spring may differ from yours. I’ll share a few.

Picnic table

Picnic table

The picnic table is an island of ground surrounded by snow. In an ocean of snow? No, not that much. Maybe a Great Lake.

Grilling time!

Grilling time!

Chuck finished the taxes yesterday! He is celebrating by getting out the grill. Pay no attention to that pile of snow behind the grill! We are starting up the charcoal and having steaks for supper.

Peek!

Peek!

Closer to the house, a bunny peeks out to see the sun. It’s a ceramic bunny, not a fuzzy one, but it’s still a hint that the ground may be ready for planting sometime. Oh, and I now see where I “stored” the last batch of walking onion bulbs.

Readers, what are signs of spring at your abode?

 

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It’s March, and it’s Madness.

My March Madness doesn’t revolve around a basketball.tournament.

The only brackets in my March Madness are those that hold up shelves.

On the outside, my March Madness looks like this.

Snow on snow on snow.

Snow on snow on snow.

Indoors, I decided to fight the Madness with this.

Planting time!

Planting time!

I planted seeds for pepper plants. There’s something about the smell of dirt that helps release the madness of March. There’s a sweet satisfaction in filling a bucket with snow (see it, on the right?) just to let it melt, and then watering seeds with it. The rain barrels are still upside down and snow-covered, but I CAN and I WILL find ways to be green.

The deck may be snowy, but spring is on the way.

 

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Spring Fever – again? Or still?

It had to happen. The local rag had a big feature on Garden Tips. Most are tips and tricks I’ve already used or at least read about, such as using eggshells in the soil to contribute to tomato plant growth, or planting marigolds to discourage wild bunnies and mosquitoes. I’ve saved my eggshells a few times, and I finally decided it was just as good to compost the shells with the rest of the kitchen waste. The whole mix will eventually become one with the soil.

And then I began a project of cleaning my inbox(es). I’d saved an email containing this link, hoping that Chuck might build one for our backyard.

Not just for Strawberries!

Not just for Strawberries!

My strawberries, if they made it through the winter, are growing in an old wicker hamper. This looks a lot nicer. Or it could house herbs – parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, and who knows what else?

As if we didn’t have enough locavore motivation already, the California drought will push produce prices sky high next winter if not sooner. 2014 might be the summer we give in and buy a second freezer. A freezer full of fruits and veggies bought fresh would certainly beat overpriced, poor quality, imported-from-the-coast foods.

Meanwhile, back at the O.K. Chorale, I feel the need to do something – anything. My to-do list for tomorrow has one pre-garden task on it: bring in the rest of the pots for starting seeds before it snows again and puts them out of reach! 

So, readers, join me. What kind of happenings are causing spring fever for you? Comment, please. I’m getting lonely for comments.

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The Chicken Soup that Wasn’t

It’s outrageously cold outside. We are on our second day of school closings due to dangerous wind chills. I decided to make chicken soup.

Readers, you know me. Nothing goes exactly right at the O.K. Chorale.

Let’s start at the very beginning. A vegetarian librarian I know (everyone should know a vegetarian librarian) suggested a cookbook of vegetarian foods. Through my sources for used books, I found a well worn copy. You know it’s a good cookbook if the binding is worn and there are a few spills here and there. As I paged through it, the old paperback started to fall apart.

A Well-Worn copy of Fast Vegetarian Feasts

A Well-Worn copy of Fast Vegetarian Feasts

No problem. I set aside the pages I wanted, drew circles around recipes with potential, and crossed out anything I didn’t need. Project one: jalapeno cornbread. Result: delicious. Next time: don’t be shy about adding a second jalapeno pepper.

Project two: garlic soup. “Chuck” and I decided it looked delicious, but we didn’t think we’d serve just the simple garlic soup. We were more likely to use it as a base for something else. Chicken, I thought. Garlic soup with chicken and rice or noodles. Yum!

So I mixed up the broth and got it started in the slow cooker. Did you want the details? Okay, here’s the basic recipe with my Daisy changes.

6 cups water (I had beef broth handy, so I used that)

1 1/2 teaspoon salt

8 to 10 large cloves garlic, minced or put through a press (I couldn’t find our garlic press. #@*!)

1 teaspoon dried sage (I used fresh)

1 small bay leaf

1 teaspoon dried thyme (I used fresh)

 

Later, the recipe calls for bringing the soup to a boil and adding 2 beaten eggs. I might do that – or not. But chicken: I went downstairs to find a package of chicken breasts. It was gone. Chuck had cooked it last week.

Now what? I had a great garlic broth simmering, smelling wonderful, and no chicken. The wind chill was in the area of 40 below zero, so I did not feel disposed to going out to the nearby meat market. I dug through our own meat drawer and found – jackpot! a container of browned ground beef intended for tacos one of these nights. A-ha! Cheeseburger Soup with a garlic base!

I grated a few potatoes into the already-aromatic garlic broth. Late in the afternoon, I will rouse myself from my blanket and add ground beef, leftover corn, and anything else that occurs to me. Finally, when it’s time to serve, I’ll top each bowl with croutons and shredded cheese.

Nothing goes exactly right at the O.K. Chorale. But who needs perfection? All I need today is a heavy blanket and a warm and savory soup. Stay warm, friends. Relief is on the way.

And while you’re in your own cozy cocoon, what suggestions do you have for this garlic soup? Chicken? Ground beef? Egg drop? Anything else?

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Tomatoes! Tomatoes! I still have tomatoes!

A few days ago, I mentioned having oodles and oodles of not noodles, but tomatoes. I even mentioned a few suggestions. Here you go, folks, the results of Daisy’s Overabundance of Ripe Tomatoes!

Lotsa Salsa!

Lotsa Salsa!

I do mean a lot, too. It took two sessions in the hot water bath canner – my big one! – to process all of it.

In the category of “It’s only weird if it doesn’t work” (Thanks, Budweiser), we have Eating the Opponent, Philadelphia: Tomato Pie!

Tomato Pie!

Tomato Pie!

Well, it didn’t work. The game against the Eagles was a disaster in many ways. I might make the tomato pie again some day, though. It was good. I served it with diced Golden Delicious apples from a farm stand near La Petite’s abode in Lake Geneva.

The calendar may say November, but we’re still eating goodies that were grown locally or nearly so, including tomatoes from my own backyard. Click your heels three times, now, and say, “There’s nothing like homegrown tomatoes. There’s nothing like…” Or something like that.

 

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Compost generates heat. Believe it.

Disclaimer: this is NOT my garage.

Charred spot formerly known as Compost

Charred spot formerly known as Compost

My dear, darling brother sent this picture along with a warning and a story. It’s not his garage, either, thank goodness.  One of his friends sent it around.

“Small fire on the back side of my garage. Learned that the compost pile shouldn’t be that close to the garage and that old ashes from a fire pit should never be put in the compost. Fire captain said even 3 weeks later. He also said he has seen where a cigarette butt weeks later in mulch can catch fire.”

Wow! Bummer, indeed. I have dumped fireplace ashes on our brush pile and occasionally in the big compost bin. I always think, “these are cold ashes, no heat at all.”

The big bin isn’t up against our garage. It is, however, rather near my neighbor’s woodpiles. I guess we’d better give this some thought. Ashes to compost, safe or not? Readers, what kind of experiences have you had with fireplace and fire pit ashes and compost?

 

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Autumn Garden Chores

I’m looking forward to spring. I know, it’s not even winter yet, but autumn is the season when I pull apart the fading foliage of my garden and take steps to prepare for next spring. Chuck got into the thick of it this year. Take a look.

Straw bales and repurposed boards

Straw bales and repurposed boards

Another Angle

Another Angle

Rather Awesome, I'd say.

Rather Awesome, I’d say.

Yesterday and today I took to the task of harvesting all tomatoes that could ripen indoors. The herb pots are already inside. Next, I pulled all the tomato plants and tossed them on the brush pile at the back of our yard.

We’re adding leftover potting soils to the new patch as I deal with most of the containers. If weather permits, I will dig out compost from the base of the brush pile and from the base of the compost bin and fill in what I can of the new patch. It’s going to be a raised bed, built inside the repurposed lumber that Chuck assembled so nicely. Whatever I don’t fill this fall, we’ll build up next spring.

It’s another experiment: straw bale gardening. As long as we were expanding the once-triangular plot, we decided to try the bales. A year from now, when the growing season is done, the straw-based soil will become compost for the future. Planning ahead, we are.

But stay tuned, folks. There are still piles and piles of green tomatoes ripening indoors. I’m sure there will be stories.

So, readers, what kind of autumn tasks have fallen your way? Leaves? Lawns?

 

 

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Everything old is new again

It was field trip day at the virtual school! We actually get out of our cubicles, go someplace fun, and meet some of our students and families. This was a field trip to an old homestead in Plymouth, Wisconsin, called the Wade House.

We climbed many stairs to the third floor, a large common room surrounded by small bedrooms containing only the basics: bed, chair, dresser, and a few necessaries. Necessaries? Pitcher, bowl, and chamber pot, of course. The common room sported two small stoves for heating, one on each end, and a piano for entertainment and enjoyment.

We came down one flight of stairs and once again I noticed stoves installed in several rooms, including one set up like a nursery. I thought this was a sign of wealth. After all, these stoves had to be shipped to the small town, carried up stairs, connected to a chimney, and then fueled by coal or wood. The  tour guide said no, the stoves were actually quite typical of the time. The Wade family was middle class, maybe upper middle class.

I’m still skeptical. This requires more research.

I came in armed with information from my family tree. A Hattie Wade, born in Kansas City in 1844, married into my family. Her husband was my mother’s great grandfather. Got it? Good. Tour guides, again, did not know of any Hattie, and assured me that in while the family of 10 children had arrived in this part of Wisconsin in 1850, most of their relatives were still out East in Pennsylvania.

I took their information at face value, but didn’t take it as fact. At least one of the Wade daughters was Ellen, a name that turns up in several generations of my line. This piece also needs more research.

As we left the kitchen, with its indoor well and large cast iron stove, I spotted herbs drying. At that moment, I felt right at home.

So readers, can you identify the herbs?

So readers, can you identify the herbs?

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Gol’ Dang Varmints

Pears. We have pears! The Dean of Students brings plums and pears to work, and we inhale them as though they were… never mind.

Pears! I bartered a handful of rhubarb for pears from Green Girl. These delicious fruits became a big pot of sauce with cranberries in it. Yum.

Pears! Pears! Chuck’s coworker sent home a third – yes, third – bushel of pears from his own overproductive pear tree.

I made a delicious pear sauce. It was the consistency of applesauce, but made with pears, and just a little cinnamon sugar. A trip through the food mill took out the hard pieces and the skins, and we had a simple and fresh fruity side dish.

But then – oh, come on, readers, you must know there’s a “but wait!” in this story. Pears in quantity attract fruit flies. Fruit flies fly around my kitchen and spread their fruity equivalent of urban sprawl to other rooms, too. We set a large bowl of the sweet treats on our deck. Not on the deck itself, of course not. We were well aware of tiny furry creatures that could look absolutely adorable until they steal the carrots or dip into the dill. The bowl of pears went on the almost- top shelf of my mini greenhouse shelves. They’d be safe there, right?

Wrong.

grrrrrr

grrrrrr

This is not the work of something small, furry, and adorable. This is the work of a furry bandit with opposable thumbs. First the compost, and now the pears? Get out of my yard, punk!

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The To-Do In the Dirt List October

I did this list making task in May. Now it’s October, and the weather’s been lovely, so I’m out in the dirt after school or after supper before the sun goes down.

Let’s see: Done or Ta-Dah! 

  • containers emptied (mostly) of soil and dying plants
  • excess potting soil in new homes such as atop rhubarb patch
  • dill harvested, dried, and put away for seasoning
  • rhubarb final picked, washed, diced, and frozen
  • strawberry plant moved to new home, hopefully to rejuvenate next spring

And to do:

  • Bring in the best rocks from the rock garden
  • Find and plant garlic bulbs!
  • Decide on a location for the two stray straw bales
  • Stir compost. Spread any compost that’s ready!
  • Drain rain barrels. Tip rain barrels for winter. Sob. Winter.

And I suppose there is a list I could call keep on doing: 

  • pick tomatoes
  • eat tomatoes
  • cook tomatoes
  • can tomatoes
  • harvest jalapeno and yellow banana peppers
  • freeze, pickle, or cook peppers

Got it? I think so. Good.

 

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