Dill beans ready for canning

I spent most of the weekend preserving the garden’s bounty: shredding cabbage for sauerkraut, slicing tomatoes for the dehydrator, boiling large batches of zucchini marmalade (which tastes much better than it sounds), and pickling all kinds of vegetables. From Middle Eastern pickled turnips to classic American bread-and-butter cukes, I spent hours picking and chopping and brining. If I don’t put things up for winter, I feel like I’m failing the garden. Why bother nurturing seedlings in March if I’m going to let them rot in August? It’s gratifying to line the cellar walls with rows of full jars, and even more so to bring some up mid-winter.

The one disappointment of the weekend, though, was the dilly beans. After packing five quart-jars with dill heads, trimmed beans, and the mustard seed that Karl had been diligently threshing all through the girls’ nap time, I lost not one, but two jars in the canner. The first shattered as soon as I plunged it into the boiling the water–probably an imperfection in the jar. The second, though, exploded 8 minutes into its water bath. I’m pretty sure that was my error–I’m afraid I tightened the screw-band so much that the beans didn’t have space to expand. Though it’s probably not sound pickling technique, I left the other jars in the vinegary water bath, and they all sealed for me. I scooped the floating beans out of the boiling water, rinsed them a dozen times, and sautéed them for dinner. Beatrice liked them so much that she took a break from dessert to finish off the last in the serving bowl. Lessons learned: canning jars will explode if the screw-bands are too tight, and fried dilly beans are awesome!

Food dilly beans, food preservation, pickles, problems canning, water bath canning

One of our nine tasty peaches

We planted two fruit trees last year, one cherry and one peach, but we didn’t expect any fruit for at least 3 years, and even that we thought might be optimistic. Boy, were we in for a treat! This spring, year two, the little peach tree was literally covered with small fuzzy green peaches. Most of them never made it, either falling off or shriveling up. But nine of them held on and ripened. We’re going to have to wait at least one more year for cherries, but in the meantime we’re enjoying our peaches.

Peaches on homemade granola

Food fruit tree, peach

The snack bar

We’re in that wonderful time of year when the tail end of blueberry season overlaps with the beginning of blackberries. In the brambles at the edge of the orchard, fat blackberries seem to have ripened over night, and the clusters I’ve been protecting from the goats have turned from hard and green to deep purple that drips with juice when you brush them. In the blueberry patch, the last clumps of berries are tucked beneath the leaves, and picking them is like a treasure hunt.

The canes behind the girls’ swing set are completely off-limits to grown ups–we call them “the snack bar”–but every day I do a sweep of the rest of the property, picking whatever I can before the birds do. When the blackberries are in full swing, I’ll make a big batch of jam, but this morning I felt like making a quick treat for breakfast: black and blueberry preserves. The natural pectin in the fruit gives it a nice texture–firm enough to spread on biscuits and cornbread, but gloppy enough to spoon over ice cream.

Black and Blueberry Preserves

Food, Recipes blackberries, blueberries, preserves, Recipes

A trio of pattypans

We planted pattypan squash for the first time this year, and now that they’re maturing (in abundance!), we’re not quite sure what to do with them. Do we pick them when they’re small, glossy and still faintly green (my preference)? Or do we wait until they’re matte white and spaceship-shaped (Karl’s)? And how to cook them? We’re looking for ideas, and we’ll also be fiddling around on our own. Check back for our favorite recipes–in the meantime, any tips?

Food, Garden pattypan squash, summer squash

One of many jars of strawberry sauce in our pantry

Every year, our family celebrates the Fourth of July with an outing to the pick-your-own strawberry fields in the next town over. In the weeks preceding, the girls and I usually pick the majority of our haul, but we like to go at least once as a family so Karl can share in the stained fingers and sweaty backs, and enjoy the treat of hot berries, fresh from the field.

This year, strawberry season came so early that by the time we got out there, the pickin’s were slim. What were left were hot, jammy berries, nearly cooked by the sun. (Reminding me of the recipe for “Sunshine Strawberry Preserves” that I’ve always found off-putting in my 1964 copy of the Joy of Cooking: Sprinkle sugar on strawberries, heat until boiling, then set in the sun for a few days until they turn to jam.) Between the four of us, we picked ten pounds that were so juicy they left a puddle in the back of the car.

At home, I set to work cleaning berries to make a year’s worth of preserves. I followed a recipe and added sugar and some lemon juice, bringing the mixture to a boil until a thick head of pink foam climbed the sides of the pot. I tested it for sheeting, but no gel. Straying from my recipe, I added a little packaged pectin, but still no gel. Finally, I gave up on getting it to gel and sealed the sauce in jars–the preserves were delicious and I was afraid I’d overcook them if I kept fiddling around.

I’ve consulted several cookbooks, two of whom warn that using over ripe berries will prevent jam from setting. Harold McGee’s explanation of pectin in On Food and Cooking left me with more questions than answers. This Saturday, Master Preserver Allison Duffy will be teaching a workshop on strawberry jam at the farm–I’m hoping she’ll unlock the mystery of pectin! There are still spots left, so contact us if you’re interested in signing up.

Family, Food, Workshops homesteading workshops, pectin, strawberries, strawberry sauce, workshop

Lobsters and the first peas of the season

We’ve had peapods for over a week now, but the girls have been consistently beating us to the punch — picking them and eating them as fast as they’ve been coming in — while we’re busy in other parts of the garden. But a good rain and a good bit of sun and by the weekend we had enough peas to satisfy a handful of kids, and plenty to cook some up for Sunday supper.

Lobster and peas is classic, traditional Maine summertime fare, so we like to celebrate our first peas by showing some love for the local lobstermen and splurge on some lobsters to accompany the garden’s bounty. The result: Lobster risotto with shell peas and peapods, seasoned with lovage, mustard seed and coriander seed from the garden.

We shared the meal with the Gates family from Brooklyn, NY. Stephen, Valerie and their daughter Melanie had gotten in touch after reading The Year of the Goat, and asked if they could visit the farm during a trip to Maine. Stephen even offered to pitch in, and proved true to his word, sifting compost and helping plant the beans. A little lobster risotto was the least we could offer in turn.

Finally, a shout out to Fishermen’s Net, our favorite local fish monger, who has always done us right with great local fresh seafood. In addition to the lobsters for our delicious dinner, they offered up some bonus picked-over lobster bodies for our laying hens. Sunday night, everyone ate lobster, even the chickens.

The chickens get their own Sunday lobster dinner

Food, Garden chickens, fishermen's net, lobster, peas, sunday supper

Ten Apple Farm Schav garnished with baby radish and chive flower

We didn’t have quite enough sorrel to make a classic schav borscht, so I improvised with what we had at hand: radish greens! Though they’re a little spiny when raw, the leaves are tender and flavorful when cooked. The soup was surprisingly good, and was a great use for greens that would otherwise have gone to the goats!

Ten Apple Farm Schav

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I came up with this blintz recipe a couple of years ago for the Shavuot issue of (the now defunct) Jewish Living magazine. Since then, it’s become a farm favorite. The tang of lemon rind and chévre is mellowed a little by the cream cheese in the filling, and the addition of lemon juice to the wrapper brightens up all the flavors. Later in the season, we replace the rhubarb with strawberry, blueberry, or even just a drizzle of honey.

Blintzes with Chévre

Rhubarb Sauce

Ten Apple Farm goat cheese blintzes with sour cream and rhubarb sauce

Food, Judaism, Recipes blintz, dairy, Jewish, kosher, radish greens, Recipes, rhubarb, rhubarb sauce, schav borscht, shavuot, sorrel

Charlotte and Bea help Julie and Chris cover their garden plot with newspaper and straw.

Spring weekends are never quite long enough–by Monday morning, we’ve begun as many new projects as we’ve completed, and we wish we could keep riding the momentum of two solid days, all of us together, on the farm. Our weekend began with the first flavors of the garden: Saturday breakfast of poached eggs on homemade toast with lightly sautéed asparagus and a drizzle of mustard whisked with olive oil. It was a fortifying meal for a rainy day with a big project at hand–after tending the saplings in buckets packed with wet sawdust for a week, we finally put in the latest additions to the orchard! In addition to our ten (eleven?) established apple trees, we now have two new heirloom apples, three pears, and four high bush blueberries.  In an effort to extend the growing season of the farm, the new apples are winter producers, Frostbite and Black Oxford, and the pears will fruit in succession: Seckel in summer, Bosc in autumn, and Sheldon in winter. The Sheldon is especially exciting because it’s a good keeper, and is said to taste even better after mellowing in the root cellar for a couple of months. We chose heavy producers for the blueberries, to round out our existing patch of wild and high bush plants: Elliot, Bluecrop, and Earliblue.

On Mothers’ Day, we had the treat of picking out a few new plants (Charlotte saved her allowance to buy Margaret a geranium for the front porch), and helping our friends Julie, Chris, and Ada in their garden. Julie and Chris are in the process of looking for land to farm, and one of the most exciting developments at Ten Apple this year is being able to offer them a plot to experiment with in our orchard as they start their farm journey. We all celebrated our hard work with a Sunday supper that included volunteer mustard greens that reseeded themselves from last year and rhubarb cobbler.

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Poached egg with asparagus on toast

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Farming, Food, Garden apple trees, asparagus, farm, Food, pea shoots, pear trees, poached egg, saplings

A delicious blend of local and not-so: Fiddlehead and avocado salad

The days are warmer, the rhubarb is taller, and it’s with much regret that we say goodbye to fiddlehead season. We ate the last of our cache in this salad, and when we went back to our source, the sign had been taken down and the cooler was gone. We’re on to asparagus around here, and pea shoots and mint and a whole lot of chives. If you can still find them, fiddleheads are awfully tasty in the following salad–their texture was especially nice with the creaminess of the avocado and the pop of sesame seeds.

Fiddlehead Avocado Salad

Food, Recipes fiddleheads, Food, Recipes

Fiddlehead pizza, on the grill

Grilling fiddleheads imparts a wonderful flavor, adding a touch of smoke to their fresh, bursting green. After blanching for 1 minute in boiling salt water, you can skewer them, brush them with a little olive oil, and lightly grill them.

Easier still, you can use them as a topping on grilled pizza, the backyard version of classic wood-fired pizza.We grill pizzas a lot, topping them with whatever we have on hand and letting the girls roll and shape the dough, making individual pizzas that they can accessorize as they please. Charlotte loads up on cheese and whatever greens are available; Beatrice goes for caramelized onions every time. On these pizzas, we used the last of our sundried tomatoes from 2009, crumbled chévre that I’d made earlier in the week, caramelized onions, and fiddleheads that we sautéed with pressed garlic and a splash of olive oil. We skipped sauce to let the flavor of the ferns come through, and the result was earthy and sweet, made lively by the tangy cheese.

Pizzas on the Grill

Food, Recipes fiddleheads, grill, pizza, recipe