Category: - FLYING WHALE STUDIOS

Heat of the winter

3/8/2014

Chrome on the range?

Whew! Our oven and boiler woes documented earlier this winter intensified these past two weeks, but fingers crossed, they are behind us now.

A week ago Wednesday, I arrived home for lunch (one of the perks of living three blocks from where you work is walking home for the noontime meal), to find fresh-out-of-the-oven calzones cooling on the butcher block. Kevin had timed their creation to coincide with my schedule. They smelled delicious. As I leaned over them to drink in their mouth-watering aroma, I noticed that the oven door was ajar and its top coils were glowing bright red.

I was surprised, since those heating elements hadn't been working since the char-broiled dinner incident in January. When I reached to shut off the oven, though, I realized it already was!

This, after a 10-hour ordeal the Saturday before while attempting to appease the oven gods by giving a thorough cleaning. Instead, partway through the three-hour self-clean cycle, an error code appeared, locking us out for the entire afternoon as the oven blasted away at nearly 1,000 degrees!

Call us naive, but it wasn't until I explored customer service message boards online that we realized we could flip the breaker. The oven eventually cooled and I thoroughly wiped it clean in the hopes that maybe that's all it needed.

A couple test baking projects went off without a hitch. Even the calzones baked perfectly.

But an oven that heats when it's turned off is too much. At 16 years old, it was time to retire this baby.

After extending the gas line 20 feet -- a process that inadvertently burned out the thermal coupler on the boiler and left us waking up Sunday morning to a 47-degree house -- and comparison shopping for the best consumer-rated gas range we could afford on our limited budget, we now have a brand new convection oven!

So far, popcorn has popped light and fluffy; root vegetables have roasted so-so; and water for tea has boiled in a jiffy.

We'll get used to it, I'm sure. The major upside is we can now can our harvest inside the kitchen instead of on the gas grill's burner on the porch -- or, once fall arrives, on our wood stove! (The recently retired not-to-be-missed stove had a glass top that might have cracked had we attempted to use it for canning.)

So the boiler is humming in the wee hours of the night and the new oven heats only when we want it to.

Whew!

A Crowd of Thorns

3/7/2014

Looking pretty sharp.

By nature, some berries are unruly: Left to their own devices, black raspberry canes in neat, orderly rows quickly transform into a brier patch.

Each July, even before all the berries have matured, canes start growing so tall that gravity pulls them back down to earth in a graceful arc. Once the “heads” orient toward the ground, roots form. New fruiting shoots then sprout along the arc and by fall, the area is impenetrable.

To keep our plot in check, my husband, Kevin, and I prune the canes twice a year — in late summer to ensure easy access, and then again in March to the recommended 3 1/2-foot height with 6-inch branches that encourages heavy production.

Twice a year, I don long sleeves and cheerfully wade into the thicket ready to snip away, while poor Kevin gets stuck hauling my mess with nasty, hooky thorns to the brush pile. He says he doesn’t want the responsibility of pruning, but I think he knows how satisfying it is for me!

Last September, because my arm was still in a cast, he finally got to experience the full monty for himself. But, he didn’t seem nearly as tickled by the task — probably because he was still stuck hauling away the prickly discards.

Most years, it’s a system that works. The wild canes we inherited from the property’s previous owners and tenderly husbanded provide us with more than enough berries for delectable tarts and pies as well as antioxidant-rich juice able to fortify our immune systems to stave off colds and flu.

But, last year’s wetter than average conditions exacerbated by my failure to properly weed fueled an outbreak of cane blight. As a precaution, when Kevin pruned, we removed about a third of the plants to check the virus’ progression.

In the coming weeks, once the winter weather breaks, we’ll need to rake away detritus and give the remaining canes some extra TLC.
The upside to all that prolific growth is that it’ll be easy to restore our stock. Through judicious pruning and fostering of cuttings, we’ll soon be back to a full complement of black raspberries.

That’s good, because now that the gooseberries have fully settled in, we need to turn our surgical techniques on them. I fear that if we don’t, they’ll try to overtake the nearby grapevines — or the sidewalk.

Purr-fectly content

3/6/2014

Bailey, our nine-month-old kitten, conked out on the couch.

I want to live a cat's life. Not the life of the mangy street cats who patrol our garden, rolling in valerian root, hiding behind grapevines and using fresh-turned earth as a personal litter box.

I want the life of our lovingly pampered indoor companions, who take long winter's naps before raging wood fires and lounge in quiet abandon in sun pools beside screened windows all summer.

The contented peace evident in posture and expression is to be envied.

I'm guessing, though, if you asked them, they'd rather roll in valerian root.

Back in freezer again

2/26/2014

Caught back up in cold again. Single digit evenings heading our way.

At least the mini-thaw cleared the sidewalks. I'd grown weary of bumpy and uneven or slick, black icy patches -- hanging on Kevin's arm like the little old lady I hope to someday be.

Spring fever tamped back down like clown worms in a can.

Sigh.

I have confidence that spring will come again.

Before they break dormancy

2/24/2014

Over the weekend, Kevin and I drove past apple orchards in northern Wayne County where seasonal pruning has already largely been tackled. Wisely so, while the trees are still deep in dormancy.

Tell-tale cuts exposing fresh wood and abandoned branches lying on the ground served as clues to the skilled labor force that must’ve moved through like an army. The shorn apple and cherry trees looked less naked to my eye than ready to burst forth with life. ... Probably just wishful thinking on my part.

Viewing the professionals’ handiwork has pushed up our own pruning tasks on the calendar. This winter’s long stretches of single digit daytime temperatures have made it easy to choose to sit by the fire rather than head out to prep our mini orchard. But after seeing the evidence of others’ willingness to brave the cold, I feel compelled to do the same.

It’d be especially wise while our trees are still dormant.

That certain appeal

2/23/2014

What a great bunch.

I fare much better when I meet my daily requirements for potassium — I’m happier, more even-keeled and I just plain feel better. This isn’t all in my head, appropriate levels of potassium stave off fatigue, confusion, irritability, high blood pressure — and even breast cancer.

At this time of year, when my vitamin D stores are low, the easiest way to ensure I’m not a slug is to eat a banana every day.

Imagine my dismay, then, to learn that the current commercially monocultured Cavendish bananas are threatened by a soil fungus — Fusarium oxysporum f. sp. cubense. If it spreads throughout the major banana growing regions, in 10-20 years, the plantations could be wiped out. Or, even worse, the producers could resort to a genetically modified resistant variety, which some researchers are feverishly working to identify.

It’s heartening to know that so many other of my favorite foods are also rich sources of potassium. If I have to give up bananas, I can resort to a cornucopia of alternatives, many of which we grow: beans, potatoes with skin, dark leafy greens, winter squash, beets, raisins, prunes (if our plum tree ever produces), tomatoes, Brussels sprouts — even cucumbers if you eat the skins.

If that day comes, when the Cavendish goes the way of the Dodo, I may have to think about where my potassium is coming from, rather than just grab a banana.

But depending on the time of year, I can just head out to the garden and find what I need.

Priorities for 2014

2/22/2014

We like to head into the growing season with certain goals. Last year's unexpected storm trauma not withstanding, having a short list of priorities helps us tackle new skills and expand our repertoire by limiting the "new."

Before too long, the "new" soon becomes "what we do": Hot water bath canning; pressure canning; juicing; blanching; pruning fruit trees; grapevine tending; potatoes in buckets; companion herbs; roofline bean strings are among the many skills we've acquired or growing methods we've adopted and adapted.

This year, I want to perfect:

~ Salsa. We've had mixed luck with texture and flavor: Too watery, too acidic, too dense, not enough heat. For an attempted solution, we're going to try adding freshly chopped tomatoes and cilantro to roasted tomatoes, onions and sweet/hot peppers.

~ Jam. Gelling point eludes us. We've created jars of strawberry slush freezer jam; so-hard-you-need-a-chisel raspberry/currant jam; and to-die-for black raspberry/gooseberry/black currant jam. It's Goldilocks roulette. But this year, we're going to figure it out!

~ Dried herbs. We had an epiphany late in the season to use our dehydrator for herbs and had great success with parsley and basil. This, after tossing numerous stone pans' worth of sun-dried basil soup earlier in the summer after unintentionally leaving pans of nearly dried basil out in the rain. This year, we will be dehydrating machines -- drying as many of our own herbs as we can.

~ Sand storage. I vow to not miss sowing deadlines for fall root vegetables and to store a cornucopia of parsnips, rutabaga, turnips, carrots, potatoes and celeriac in boxes of sand. Of course, without a garage or easily accessed basement, I'm not sure where these boxes will go, but we will figure something out.

~ Rain barrels. Our beautiful repurposed whiskey barrels have been sitting useless since we bought them three years ago. With a fully healed right arm, I will build stone pads for them to sit on, and we will finally hook them up!

~ Bay tree and southern wood. Both herbs I'd like to add to our collection are best grown from cuttings. I don't want to let another season pass letting them slide.

So, there they are: Our goals for 2014.

All, of course, with the underlying hope that neither of us unexpectedly goes parasailing in a freak lake storm.

Winter finally entering its third act

2/21/2014

One more week, and I’ll be able to start seeds!

Although we have plenty of winter chores still on the to-do list, I’m eager to change seasons. There are silver linings to this year’s return to a traditional winter — reduced pest pressure, water table restoration, uninterrupted dormancy — but after weeks of unending snow and single-digit temperatures, I will welcome spring with open arms.

It’s a privilege to live here in the Finger Lakes, where we can experience such variable seasons. Like children’s book illustrations, in Upstate New York, winter is winter; spring is spring; summer is summer; and fall is fall (except when it’s autumn, Kevin would say).

As the months pass, we can count on a steady progression of snow and bone-chilling cold, followed by drenching rains and gusting winds, then rapid greening and violent growth, a period of sultry heat broken by thunderous storms, chased by brilliant blue skies framing hillsides aflame, before circling back to damp grays leading into snow and bone-chilling cold.

Those rhythms sustain me, even when I’ve grown weary of the latest stalled weather pattern. Given enough time, I know the palette will be recast, the sun will feel differently on my skin and the air will carry fresh smells.

I’m in that longing phase now, biding my time as winter dribbles away. We’re bound to get at least a few more blasts of cold and a layer or two of snow. Ice is always my greatest concern throughout March as temperatures tend to hover at the freezing point, but the worst should be over.

So, I can safely start to put my garden dreams into motion.

Some of the companion herbs we’d like to add this year are hesitant germinators, so I want to sow them early, just in case I need to try, try again.

With our heating woes seemingly addressed, we should be able to provide a warm enough environment for temperamental seedlings like catnip, hyssop, lemon balm, lovage, marjoram, Greek oregano and thyme.

They will soon be accompanied by those that can brave the before-final-frost cold, like broccoli and cabbage, radicchio and kale.

Soon I’ll be cooing over my new “babies,” and looking for excuses to brush my hands over their aromatic leaves.

Just one more week, and I can start seeds!

Royal purple

2/20/2014

If I had my way, all flowers in our garden would be purple.

As a compromise with Kevin, who much prefers a warmer palette, I agreed years ago to blend purple with white, yellow and splashes of pink. Our initial plantings, long before we embarked on our edible landscape mission, embraced this joyful mix -- especially in late spring/early summer.

To my dismay, we kick off the season with a riot of inherited, naturalized tulips and daffodils in raging hot reds and yellows that are the talk of the neighborhood. I would trade them in a heartbeat for a carpet of passionate crocuses, but I have to admit they are cheery at the height of their glory.

And, since we've embraced a more wholistic approach, I've grown more tolerant the rest of the season of the full rainbow, because beggars can't be choosers when you rely on the good graces of companion plants. If it lures helpful critters or chases away pests, I've learned not to mind what color it blooms.

Pale lemon rue, bright yellow yarrow, golden sunflowers intermingled with alarming red and rusty orange marigolds are much more palatable when contrasted with healthy, happy fruit, vegetables and berries.

Plus, I've discovered a wide range of varietals that feature purple stems, purple leaves, purple blossoms, even purple fruit.

It's a compromise I can live with.

A pane in the sash

2/19/2014

If we were to win the lottery, the first thing Kevin would do is take me to Hawaii. He visited twice in the ’80s and longs to share the experience with me.

Me? I’d buy a greenhouse.

A solid, made-to-last beauty of real glass and metal. Maybe even a stone foundation that would age with grace.

Of course, it’d have all the high-tech features of 21st century greenhouses — automatic vents, efficient heating, water recovery, etc.

But it would couple that modern capability with all the charm of a 19th century English estate.

Inside, I would putter and dabble and play to my heart’s content, harvesting herbs and salad greens year-round, starting seeds in spring and maybe even trying to grow lemon and lime trees.

Nothing would make Kevin happier than picking our own fresh lemons to add that delightful citrus zest to tea, desserts and seafood.

... Except maybe taking me to Hawaii.