Woke to the Sound of Thunder

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It has been particularly hot this summer.  Oh sure there was that late freeze, back when my apple trees were all in bloom, that destroyed my fledgling raspberry plants and seriously stunted my baby strawberries, and just generally insured that we would have no fruit on the farm this year.  Add that to the discovery that the power company, which has a right of way across the back of our land, mysteriously sprayed only the quarter mile or so where last year we picked a bumper crop of wild blackberries (which were ready around the same time as the baby!), and it adds up to little or no jam to make this year.

Jam is a staple here, with all of the lunches we pack each day for school and work, homemade jam from our own fruit is a special, as well as economical favorite around here.  However, in some sort of divine balancing act, we have had the best year ever for cucumbers.  I planted just four plants, perhaps a tad early, and we have been literally over run.  They even outproduced the zucchini!  I have taken three or four bushels out so far, and despite the fact that the dreaded cucumber bug is now starting to attack as evidenced by the drying dead leaves, I still have maybe half a bushel more waiting down there. With that many cukes, you just gotta make pickles.  So far we I have made about 35 quarts of bread and butter pickles, and 7 quarts of dill.  All hot water bathed and stacked neatly on the shelves in the pantry downstairs, they await the school year when they will be turned into pickle and cheese sandwiches and fill lunchbags and stomachs.  (This year I have used a packaged brand of pickling spices by Mrs. Wages® , though, I must try to find my mother's recipe, handed down from her mother and her mother.  They were better, though just slightly, but they were a lot more work.  If and when I do I will post it.  (The Mrs. Wages are nearly as good though, and way easier)

Of course, all that pickling and canning had to take place as usual, during the hottest, muggiest weather of July.  Today, though, I awoke to the sound of a Thunderstorm overhead.  It is cooler, and not a lot will be done outside this morning.  Oh how I wish I had some fruit to make at least a pie.  We may just have to buy in...

Sunny Morning Birdsong

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I am listening to a northern mockingbird outside in the big maple below the garden, as I have most mornings this summer.  I delight each day in listening to his enthusiastic impressions of all the birds around here and some I can't even identify.  I have even tried to count them several times, but I get lost as he occasionally repeats a favorite and he offers them in random order.  He is usually so passionate and energetic that I can't help but join his mood as I sip my morning coffee.  It has been a particularly rain free and hot summer, so he has had a lot of good mornings to sing.  This morning, though, he seems a bit off.  His delivery is not as crisp, he takes breaks - usually he goes on for hours - and he seems to be using just a few of his favorites, the robin, the kill deer. 

I think I know why.  For the last several nights, my baby has been waking up hungry, and I have had to get her a fresh bottle.  As I pass through the the hall to the kitchen, illuminated by a bright full moon, I can hear a hundred bird songs out in the maple.  At midnight.  I can't help but wonder why he is up singing in the moonlight.  Oh, I was young once too and may have sung the occasional midnight operata, but I put that down to the foolishness of youth.  But what biological imperative, what evolutionary adaptation - what the heck is that crazy bird doing?

Coming Home

This is my first post on a new blog. My first post of any kind in a really long time. My old blog was just getting started when I completely changed my life. I still need to edit my profile as a lot has changed. No longer am I the socially challenged bachelor living deep in the mountains of Penn's great woods. First my children joined me, then a wonderful woman came into my life. We all have moved to a great little piece of property, a farm some 30 or 40 years ago (and soon to be again), I have a great new big family and a new project. No longer hunting and gathering on my ridge, like mankind before me I am progressing into agriculture. I still intend to catch up and share my ideas thoughts, opinions and techniques from the Indigenous Gourmet and Backpack Bistro days, but now the focus is on my Back-Yard Farm.

No longer content to eat and feed what I find and where I find it, I am intent on producing much and someday all of my food. Not forgetting what I have learned, but adding to my repertoire. The Indigenous Gourmet is not hanging up his hat, just changing it.

I am posting my old profile here mostly as a reminder to myself of who I am and where I came from as I begin my new journey.

Profile circa 2004 - 2008: I live with my two noisy children on a quiet mountain stream, still searching for the quiet balance and simple life that continues to elude me. To that end I am regularly visited by my beautiful fiance who humors my eccentricities and encourages my explorations.

Now if you will excuse me, I have to get back to work.