This year’s cold summer didn’t deter the columnar apples.  We’re having our best harvest ever from these funny little trees, and Claire has fun going out to pick the fruit for her lunch each morning:

Remember the Bicycle Pea Trellis?  It is now surrounded by broccoli, and a few sugar pie pumpkins.  I should pick the pumpkins and cook them up, but they are so pretty and look so autumnal out there, I just can’t quite bring myself to do it yet.

In another trellising experiment, this one feeding our souls rather than our stomachs, the passion vines we planted from seed took over the corkscrew willow branches (see link above), just as I hoped they would.

A late-but-plentiful blackberry season brought plenty of foraging, jam-making, and pie:
Among our new batch of young “spring chickens,” Ethel the barred rock was the first to start laying.  They start with little tiny “beginner eggs,” very cute:

All the sunflower seeds are intended for sharing with the wild co-inhabitants of our neighborhood.  Goldfinches come through in intermittent flocks, and lots of chickadees and squirrels:

We continue our habit of sleeping outside through the summer and as far as we can into the fall before getting cold and miserable.  The last couple of stormy nights have been a bit eventful, and we’ve had to put the rainfly on (so can’t see the trees and stars), but we love it out there:

There seems to have been a bread-baking hiatus over the summer, but we’re back to our good old Deep PB&J with walnut cider bread for school lunch:

And in the “merry olde England” spirit of a smallholding, we’ve been busy making our own fun.  This summer Claire crafted a rather fancy hoop of PVC pipe decorated with colored tape, and all of us have been working on our hoopster moves:

I am writing with a light heart, but am feeling keenly that it’s no coincidence–is it?–that the call in our lives and communities to simple living coincides with a crisis in the industrial-economic-corporate complex.  We join so many who are seeking to create and re-create ways of living that make common sense, and draw out our innate enthusiasm, vitality, and delight.

Anyway–that’s a bit of what’s going on around our place.  We’d love to hear what’s happening at yours.  What are your autumn pleasures?

To water, we just use a pitcher to fill the trays with  about 1/2 an inch at a time, and the little dixie cup seed pots suck the water up.  In the past, I misted seeds until I got tendinitis; this is SO much easier, and such a time saver.  Since it’s still so cold out, we are continuing to start plants indoors that we would normally put straight in the ground, and I’ll keep using this method.

Meanwhile, the extra-cold spring garden is what it is.  At least, talking to all the other Seattle gardeners, I know we’re not alone.  The peas, which are supposed to cover up the bicycle trellis I only sort of like, are a full six inches shorter than they were this date last year.

The broccoli, which is supposed to be done about now, so I can plant the tomatoes in its place, looks like this:

Even the spinach is sort of sitting there:

Still, signs of spring abound, and enliven us:

Bleeding hearts--one of my favorites.

The columnar apples are a little late in blooming, but look lovely.

How are you all coping with the cold spring?

We planted Cascadia and Sugar Sprint snap peas, and Oregon snow peas.  As always when planting peas, I added a few sweetpeas here and there to mingle, adding a bit of color and beauty.

This was a sweet little bike in its day, with its 3 speed Sturmey-Archer thumb shifter , and its traditional stretched leather saddle, now a skeleton.

Even if I don’t LOVE it, it really does make a perfect trellis, and it will soon be covered with peas–nearly invisible.  I’ll post a photo of the bike trellis in its future glory.

I have received more comments about this shirt than any piece of clothing I have ever owned:  my spiffy, turquoise EAT MORE KALE t-shirt.  People stare, laugh, turn their heads to watch me pass on the street, nudge their companions, make grimmacing kale-is-yucky expressions, and–best of all–stop to talk.  I hear that folks love kale, hate kale (a controversial vegetable!), grow kale, have the best kale pesto recipe ever, credit kale with the curing of various ailments.  But the most common comment far and away is this one: “I know kale is good for me, but I’ve just never liked it.”

I have a Kale Calling:  I love kale, and I want everyone to love it as much as I do.  It’s beautiful, easy to grow year round in the Pacific Northwest, is glowing with health benefits, and–when fixed well–is truly delicious.  But let’s be clear.  I’m not talking about that cactus-like winter/Russian kale with the red veins.  If you are growing that, and you think you don’t like kale, and can’t get your kids/sweetie/dog to eat it, then it is time for a kale variety switch.  There are lots of good ones, but my personal favorite is the dark blue/black Tuscan Nero kale, also called “Black Palm.”  It grows into a small palm tree of kale (people sometimes think it’s bolting, but it’s not–it’s flourishing).  The leaves are the prettiest shade of deep blue-green, and it tastes sweet, even when raw, and especially after a frost.

Kale is dripping with radiant health:  vitamin C, vitamin K, iron, beta-carotene, lutein, calcium, indole-3-carbinol (which encourages DNA repair at the cellular level and may block the growth of cancer cells).  Also lots of other things, which I have never heard of and cannot spell, but which are reported to be very good for us, including nutrients that:  improve eyesight, prevent cancer and colds, boost brain function, possess anti-inflammatory qualities, enhance digestion, and, and, and…the list almost literally never ends.  In World War II, the U.K’s “Dig for Victory” campaign (the English version of the Victory Garden), promoted the planting of easy-to-grow kale to help replace nutrients missing from everyday diets because of food rationing.

Still, you can’t just throw the stuff on someone’s plate, steamed until rubbery, and expect them to love it.  No matter how you fix your kale, first remove the thick stems and central vein.  You can do this by folding the leaf over and cutting the stem out with a chef’s knife or, even easier, with kitchen scissors (or any scissors–I also cut pizza with scissors!). Then try this simple, classic Italian recipe:

Kale with Garlic and Olive Oil

Parboil a big bunch of kale in a large pot of boiling water with a couple teaspoons of kosher salt.  Parboil only for 2-4 mintues, until the kale is tender.  Transfer immediately to a bowl of ice water (pluck out with tongs if you want to save the water), then drain, squeeze out all the water you can, and chop coarsely.

Heat 1-2 tablespoons of good, extra-virgin olive oil in an heavy skillet or wok over medium heat.  Add plenty of minced garlic, a pinch of hot red pepper flakes (to taste), and stir until the garlic is fragrant and just begins to color. Toss in the greens, and stir for a couple of minutes until the kale is nicely coated and seasoned.  Add a sprinkle of finishing salt, and some fresh ground pepper.  If you like, serve with lemon wedges to squeeze over the greens.  SO yummy!  This is really wonderful with farro, toasted hazelnuts, and some crumbled gorgonzola.

This day I added a little sauteed zuchinni...

Or try Kale Chips:

Cut stems out of the kale, then chop leaves into two inch pieces.  Toss to coat lightly with a good olive oil, and season as you like–with course salt, fresh ground pepper, a touch of cayenne…

Place the leaves in a single layer on a parchment-coated baking sheet, and pop them in a hot oven, 425 F, for 8-12 minutes.  Keep an eye on the chips!  They should just start drying/curling/coloring, but not become over-brown or brittle.  It’s a fine line.  These are so delicious–just like potato chips, you can’t stop eating them.  Even my non-kale-loving husband munches these till they’re gone.

To successfully freeze kale:  remove stems and lightly blanch as above before freezing.  Remove as much air from the container as possible before putting it into the freezer.  If using freezer bags you can mimic vacuum packing by putting a straw in one side, zipping the bag all the way up to the straw, sucking the air out, then quickly sealing the last corner of the bag as you pull the straw out.  It’s fun.

Try substituting kale for half the basil next time you make pesto.  Try sauteeing the greens in a little butter with some cinnamon, and serve in a roasted half of butternut squash.  Try a lovely harvest season soup of kale, whatever squash you have on hand, tomatoes, and white beans in a nice vegetable stock.  To inspire your kids to eat it, serve with parmesan biscuits (just toss a handful of parmesan into your favorite biscuit recipe).  Try telling us your favorite kale recipe so we can try it!

For your very own hand-screened and dyed “Eat More Kale” shirt, contact Bo, the Eat More Kale guy, at his studio in Vermont.

Claire's sign welcomed people to the garden.

Among the many lovely people we met were Alison, whose delightful blog called A Bit of Butter features vintage recipes, and Jessi, an ecological landscaper with a beautiful website and a special interest in gardening with chickens.  The garden drew almost as much attention as the hens, and the whole day reminded me how the interest in connecting with food and nature through our home lives is such a deep-running current.

The flow of people in the garden was steady throughout the day.

Recently there was a long article in the Seattle Times that was rather critical about the recent popularity of backyard chicken-keeping.  The author cited concerns about odor, noise, and quoted folks who said things like, “If people want to keep chickens they should live in the country.”  In a media frenzy that has played up the positives of urban chickens, I welcome this article as adding some nuance to the choice of whether or not to keep chickens.  My hope is that all of us will consider ways to grow some of our own food from home, to find that even in cities we are deeply connected to life and soil.  But the worst thing that could happen is for the chicken “trend” to end up being just that–a “trend.”  Chickens should not be “The New Black.”  It takes more than initial enthusiasm to keep chickens–it takes commitment over time, and occasionally some tough choices (if you are vegetarians like us, what do you do when you chickens stop laying?).  That’s one of the reasons we were so happy to be part of the Coop Tour–the very best kind of community event, where people could gather to ask questions, share experience, pet chickens, nibble peas, plan and scheme, see the reality while dreaming big.

I plant bush peas, and though they don't officially require a trellis, I make a low stick trellis to provide a little structure. The inner row of peas leans against the trellis, and the outer row of peas leans against the inner row to keep them all from flowing into the path.

In the midst of all this, I will confess to you, dear readers, that mid-February through mid-April were, for me, a difficult, melancholic couple of months.  Thinking of my spring garden, which usually brings me joy, just completely overwhelmed me.  “Take a break,” another writer-gardener told me.  “If it’s not sustaining to you, then it’s not right.”  This made sense for a moment, but I realized that if I didn’t get the peas in the ground, I’d regret it later.  So Claire and I trotted out into a cold March day and planted a long bed of Oregon snow peas, and our favorite Cascadia snap peas.  I had a little fantasy that the planting of peas would “cure” me, and though that didn’t happen, as the weather warmed and I returned little by little to the garden, the process did, over time, help to lift me back into the light.  And I was reminded yet again that the seasons have their own wisdom–our spring was up and down, but the sun is returning,  the garden is growing, the spring greens are feeding us, the beautiful vegetables of summer are beginning to show themselves, and our spirits are rising–all in good, right time.

Claire has her own little garden bed.  In addition to sunflowers, carrots, and strawberries, she’s planted three peppers–the bamboo arches hold up the black garbage bag she covers them with overnight.  Seattle peppers need coddling…

The pole beans are just coming up.  Yesterday I could hardly see them, today they look like this:

If your family doesn’t like the red-veined kale, try this–the Italian, curly-leafed heirloom kale.  Much sweeter. 

I hope your gardens–big, small, patio, windowsill, urban, rural, inner, outer–are flourishing.

While perusing my trusty Maritime Northwest Garden Guide by Seattle Tilth, I found pod and snap peas listed in the “Sow Outdoors” list for July.  Planting peas in July?  I’d never heard of such a thing.  I called my various gardeny friends, including one of the editors of the Maritime Guide, and no one had ever tried it.  I had a few of my favorite Cascadia snap pea seeds left from the usual late-winter planting, so decided to give it a whirl.  The only space I had free in the garden was a narrow, and shaded in the afternoon, but I conjectured that since peas thrive in cool temperatures, that might work out.  By the end of August and through early September we had a beautiful little pea harvest.  It almost felt like cheating to be snapping crisp, luscious peas in the heat of late summer.

So this year I’m setting aside more seeds for a late-summer harvest–many garden shops and even catalogs quit offering peas much past May, so to do this we need to plan ahead. The common wisdom suggests planting peas in small trenches, and covering them as they grow.  I have never done this, and just plant them as I would a bean, about an inch down.  But last year I did finally start believing all the experts who said you should plant peas just one inch apart and not thin them.  That seems very close, and I always went for 2 inches, which seemed sensible, but the inch-apart pea planting brought forth the most lush, vibrant pea patch I’d ever had.

Happy Pea Season!

Don't know about y'all, but I'm dreaming of summer. It helps to keep the summer garden in mind when doing the winter chores in the brown mud...

Last year we expanded our vegetable garden three-fold by converting grass into raised beds.  My plan for last autumn was to sheet mulch the last row of grass that receives any sun, making it ready for spring planting.  Sheet mulching is the  great, labor-saving method of converting any grassy-weedy area into a nutrient-rich garden bed by layering compostable material onto it, and letting it sit for several months.  It mimics natural systems, in which layers of leafy litter fall to the earth and compost over time, without tilling.  Many garden websites have instructions for sheet mulching–these from the New York Permaculture Exchange are pretty straightforward.  BUT of course I was too busy or lazy or something  last fall and didn’t get to the sheet mulching, which meant, yesterday, gathering my little Urban Land Army (Tom and Claire) and going at the sod with a shovel.

This is a controversial step–urban soil tends to be so distressed, removing the top layer of grass also removes any semblance of a soil ecosystem, and most permaculturists recommend mulching and planting over the grass.  But I am a little neurotic about grass removal.  In my experience, grass is SO tenacious–it starts growing back around the garden edges, and sprouting up between my carrots, no matter how much soil is piled on top of it.  It stresses me out.  As much as I agree with the permaculture philosophy, in my own yard (once the chance for sheet mulching has passed), I am a grass-remover-soil-amender, doing as much as I can to rebuild the soil after sod removal, with the help of chickens and compost and future good habits.  Besides, I like digging with my family…

The new bed isn’t that big–2 feet wide by maybe 20 feet long.  We removed as much of the wormy soil from the sod as we could, and put the rest in the chickens’ pen.  They were tickled, nibbling grass and finding worms all afternoon.  They’ll have it converted to fine, manure-rich soil in no time.

Meanwhile, my friend David, who works on making the waste products from the coffee industry available  to gardeners through his UpCycle Northwest project (and who I wrote about in the recent coffee chaff in the chicken coop post) was looking for gardeners to experiment with chaff and spent grounds as soil amendment, and burlap coffee bags as weed block/sheet mulch.  We said “Sure!” and he showed up yesterday like Santa Claus with a truck full of bags and chaff and coffee grounds. We wet down the new bed, layered it with the nitrogen-rich chaff and grounds, and–to speed composting for late spring planting– covered it with the burlap. I intend to amend the soil further with composted chicken manure from the coop.  We’ll soil test and see how it turns out.

David, spreading chaff.

The burlap coffee bags are beautiful, and I loved reading their stamped labels as we spread them–they came from Guatemala, Indonesia, Ethiopia, Mexico…David saves the ones with the cleanest, nicest labels for crafters, who repurpose them into handbags.  The rest are offered to gardeners, for whom they nicely replace that nasty plastic weekblock, and make the perfect first layer in a sheet mulch.  I am planning to plant this bed in a couple of months, so we will probably remove the burlap, rather than letting it fully compost, but I’ll try it as proper sheet mulch in the future, and will let you know how this experiment fares.

You’ll see there is some grass left, and if we lived somewhere that grass required upkeep, I would remove all of it.  But the rest of our grass is all in the shade, unsuitable for most food gardening.  We never water it, just let it die back in the summer, and it’s mostly moss (which is soft), and dandelions (which we and the hens can eat).  We use one corner to pitch our backyard camping tent in the summer, and a nice mossy spot for a quilt where we read and play games.  I am very pleased that, at least at this house, my grass removing days are complete!

For  information on obtaining burlap coffee bags, and more on upcycling, (the in-word for smarter/better recycling, making use of the energy in the initial production of something, rather than using more energy to break it down into raw materials–or, as David puts it, finding “the highest and best re-use for the material rather than the easiest or most obvious”), see David’s website, Seattle Burlap.

And for more on turning lawns into food, explore the wonderful Cascadia Food Not Lawns website!

A few weeks ago, David sent an email around to his many intrepid gardener friends, inviting us to try out coffee bean chaff–the light, airy husks blown off the beans during roasting–as mulch and compost.  I said “sure,” and it wasn’t long before David darkened my doorstep with a big bag of the fluffy stuff.

I admit I wasn’t feeling super-hopeful about the mulch idea–the chaff is so soft and light, and the winter garden is so wet and mucky–I thought I might wait until spring.  But David mentioned he’d been using it in place of wood chips in the chicken coop, and that captured my imagination.  Next time I cleaned out the coop, I replaced the white wood shavings with a few inches of coffee chaff.

The chickens were hilarious.  Like cats, they can be unnerved by novelty, and I wasn’t sure what they would think of their new chaffy home.  But they all immediately ran into the coop, and started “playing” in the chaff, tossing it up with their bills.  SO funny.  There are pros and cons to coffee chaff in the chicken coop, but on balance, I’ve decided to keep using it.  Here’s my report:

Cons: So light that it flies around, gets in the chicken water.  Turns slimy when wet.

Pros: Free!  Upcycled!  No link to the timber industry.  Smells like coffee.  Light–easy to handle.  Clumps with chicken poop a bit  like scoopable kitty litter–easy to remove from coop.  Swiftly composts.

At first the chaff is so ultra-fluffy, the chickens sort of sink in it. They seem to really enjoy this!

Most coffee roasters will be happy to pass their chaff along to you. Just ask. Usually it is just tossed into the compost bin or, more often, the landfill.  Spent coffee grounds and over-roasted beans are often available as well (check out this little article by Seattle garden doyenne Ann Lovejoy about the many uses for coffee industry by-products–for mulch, compost, garden paths…).  Coffee chaff is rich in nitrogen and other nutrients, and I look forward to mixing it with my vegetable garden mulch.  Tomatoes are reputed to love the stuff.  David is also looking into the use of those great burlap bags in which coffee is imported as a replacement for that plastic weed-blocking material (see his website for info on obtaining and using post-coffee burlap).   More to come on all of this…

Meanwhile, if you are a latte-sipping urban chicken farmer, I hope you’ll give coffee bean chaff a try in your coop, and let us know how it works for you!

It was time to take the pumpkin out of the pot and eat it. In the final analysis, that was what solved these big problems of life. You could think and think and get nowhere, but you still had to eat your pumpkin. That brought you down to earth. That gave you a reason for going on. Pumpkin.
–Mma Ramotswe, The #1 Ladies’ Detective Agency

Pumpkins are one of my absolute favorite things to grow.  When people visit my garden and see the long vines with their ripening green and orange orbs, they often say, “I would grow pumpkins, but I don’t have enough room.”  A common misconception!  Unlike a summer squash, say a zucchini, that takes up a whole world of garden, sugar pie pumpkin vines can be planted at the corner of a bed, then their vines trained around the edges.  When the summer garden begins its descent into depressing barren brown-ness, the pumpkin vines will be graced with gorgeous orange fruits that turn our minds to cozy things–tea during a rainstorm, books by the fire, and of course pumpkin pie.  Preferably with hazelnut-rum whipped cream.

For best color, nutrition, and storage, pick your pumpkins when they are fully mature.  The stems should start to feel corky rather than moist and fleshy, the fruits should be full sized, and the skins should be rather tough–it will be hard to poke your thumbnail into it.  Cut them leaving several inches of stem, and keep them in the garden for a few days to “cure” before preserving.

Even if you didn’t grow pumpkins this year, you might find it satisfying to choose some pretty ones from your local farm and preserve them for winter cooking.  When you see the gorgeous yellow-orange puree you produce, you will never want to open a can of that brown Libby’s stuff ever again.

Pumpkins are not very acidic, so they cannot be safely canned in a water bath.  If you want beautiful canned pumpkin puree, you will have to pressure can it, and since I have a subrational fear of pressure canners, I freeze my pumpkin, which works perfectly well, even if it isn’t as pretty.  (For directions on pressure canning pumpkin, check the indispensable Ball Complete Book of Home Preserving.)

There are two ways to prepare the pumpkin for pureeing:  roasting or boiling.  To boil, use a sharp serrated knife to cut the pumpkin into halves or quarters, scoop out the innards, save a little handful of seeds for next year’s planting, and the rest for roasting (the innards and a few skins can go to the chickens), then cut into large chunks and pop into a big pot of boiling water until soft enough to poke easily with a fork. Let cool, then skin.  The combination of a tough-skinned squash and me wielding a giant sharp knife strikes fear into the heart of my long-suffering husband (with good reason, I admit), so I personally use the roasting method:  use a fork to poke holes into the skins, then pop the pumpkins into a 350 degree oven for up to an hour, until soft.  Protected by their skins, the pumpkins are actually steamed, rather than roasted.  Let cool until easily handled.  Slice the fruits and remove the innards.  The skins will slip right off, and the pumpkins will slice like butter.  Many hands make light work, and it was fun to prepare pumpkins alongside my daughter.  Claire de-gunked the pumpkins and saved the seeds, while I sliced, both of us singing along with Abigail Washburn and her banjo.

One way or another, you now have soft, skinned pumpkin, ready to puree.  The intrepid may use a potato masher, but the rest of us will prefer a blender or food processor.  Having tried all three ways, I go with the food processor.  The processing should be easy, and the fruit should quickly puree into a soft, smooth, orange puddingy mixture.  If it seems to take forever, the pumpkin may still be too hard.  Even if you roasted it to begin with, hard pumpkin chucks can be popped back into boiling water if need be.

The prettiest color of orange...

Freeze in containers or freezer bags.  Our freezer space is limited, so I use bags because they take up less room.  Be sure to label the containers with the contents, date, and amount stored, and fill them in the amounts you most often use.  I pack most of mine with one cup of puree for pumpkin bread, and a few with two cups for my favorite pie recipe.  For easy storage in a crowded freezer, smash the bags flat, pile them on a cookie sheet, and freeze into a nice, stackable shape.

Be sure to save a cup of two for a batch of fresh bread!  Here’s my favorite recipe–all spices are “to taste,” and Claire, like many children,  prefers it with fewer spices in general.  I have grown to enjoy a nice gingery flavor alongside squash, but the cinnamon and ginger measurements could be reversed if you prefer.  This recipe works  well with any kind of winter squash, yams, or sweet potatoes, but I like it best with nice orange pumpkin.  If you use white whole wheat flour, the bread is even better the day after baking; the germ will have melded with the moisture of the pumpkin, the milk, and the spices.  So lovely.

Tangled Nest Pumpkin Bread

Whisk together:
1 1/2 cups flour (white whole wheat, all-purpose, or a mixture)
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1-1/1/2 teaspoons ground ginger
3/4 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon cloves

In a liquid measuring cup stir together:
1/3 cup milk (or substitute water, soy, or rice milk)
1/2 teaspoon vanilla

In a large bowl, or the bowl of your mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat until creamy:
6 tablespoons butter, preferably unsalted

Add, and then beat until smooth (about 3 minutes):
1 cup sugar, and 1/3 cup brown sugar (light or dark)

Beat in 2 eggs, one at a time

Add, and beat until just blended:
1 cup of your beautiful pumpkin puree

Add the flour mixture in 3 parts, alternating with the milk/vanilla mixture.  Beat only as much as necessary, but scrape the bowl sides and bottom as needed to blend all the butter/sugar.

Fold in 3/4 cup chopped walnuts

You can also add a handful of raisins if you don’t mind squishy things hiding in your food.  (If I liked such things, I think I would try golden raisins.)

Spread evenly into a 9×5 greased bread pan, and sprinkle more chopped walnuts or pepitos on top.  Bake in a 350 degree oven, until a tester comes out clean, about an hour.  You may need to put foil over the top to keep it from over-browning in the last 15 minutes of baking.  Let cool in the pan for five minutes before turning out to cool completely.  Meanwhile, luxuriate in the incredible pumpkin-spicy fragrance of your kitchen.

And here’s how we roast seeds:  wash the seeds, remove most of the pumpkin gunk, pat off excess water, and let them air dry on a dish towel for an hour or so.  Saute in a little butter, soy sauce, and splash of worcestershire sauce until the liquids start to cling to the seeds.  Transfer to a baking sheet and roast at 350 until beginning to plump and brown–somewhere between 7 and 15 minutes.

They are best eaten warm from the oven.  So delicious!  And, as Mma Ramotswe says, they’re a reminder of the simple, most peaceful, most essential things in life.

Favorite pumpkin recipe?  Please share!