2018 Harvest

Blueberries: 3 quarts dried

Plums: 6 quarts, dried

Apples: 8 quarts, dried

                8 pints, sauced

                15 quarts, pressed for juice

Tomatoes:  48 half pints, roasted

                  17 pints, sauced

                9 pints, salsa

Figs: 6 quarts, dried

                14 half pints of fig butter

Pickles: Dill—8

                Bread and Butter—5

                Senfgerkin—11

Pears: dried 5 quarts

                3 pints, sauced

Honey- 1 quart (more in the spring!)

Black beans: 1.5 quarts, dried

Potatoes: 69 pounds, total

                Deseree—18 pounds

                Butte—10 pounds

                Blue—21 pounds

                Yukon Gold—20 pounds

All of the bold was grown in the backyard, of within walking distance of the house.

               

Backyard Fires

                It is a gorgeous weekend—dry, breezy, high blue skies. Leaves are turning and we brought home four pumpkins and some cider yesterday from the local farm stand. The larder is filling up with squash and potatoes and I finally took down the cucumber vines, although most of the tomatoes are still sprawling and some have put on new growth.

                Last night, we had a fire in our little chimminera which sits in the center of the vegetable gardens.  I went out t set it up while Mark washed the dinner dishes. It was just growing dusky. The wind was blowing through all of the chimes and the plum tree leaves. Mr Beezhold went into his hutch fairly willingly; he was tired from running around all day. The chickens were more reluctant; two sat on the doorstep of the coop, making sure they were not missing any possible snacks while I worked. Scrap wood piled into a milk crate, chairs arranged, s’more tin hauled out and toasting fork found….we were ready. We settled in, watched the darkness fall, the first stars come out, the flames swirl in circles around the pot. Mark stomped out a few sparks on the grass. I stretched my bare toes to the warmth. The cat prowled the shadows.  The wind died down. Aside from traffic on King’s, the evening was quiet.

                After the fire settled down a bit, we toasted marshmallows for s’mores, graham crackers lined up neatly on the arm of my chair.  The sticky substance tangled in Mark’s beard and the cat’s fur and he had to go in to wash up. The chickens had quiet disagreements about their placement on the perch; Kayli stood her ground against the two new, young, all black cats next door. The clear, sharp-edged moon rose, tangled in the plum tree branches. It’s a crescent still, not full enough to light the yard. More stars appeared.

                Mark turned on the podcast from This American Life and we listened, watching the flames, petting the cat, basking in the warmth of the fire. Sparks flew upward, caught in the costmary branched, burned, and fell. We watched. Someone came home to the apartments behind us, a few cars went down the alley.  Breezes blew through chimes. The world turned around the still, quiet center of the fire in the backyard.

Why I Love Ward Five

I have been knocking on doors and walking around Ward Five this week. It is election season-- but, more importantly, I like listening to people. I love my ward. It is my home and my neighborhood.

1. Ward Five:  full of feisty women.
2. Ward Five: location, location, location. We never drive. More people walk and bike in ward five than any other in town.
3. Ward Five: parents walk their kids to school in the morning, clutching coffee cups.
4. Ward Five: Solar panels everywhere. n the houses. On the high school.
5. Small houses, from 600 square feet up to about 1500, thus more affordable to buy and maintain.
6. Did I mention wild gardens that we can see from the sidewalk because we have a pedestrian scaled neighborhood?
7. Ward Five is kind.