Pumpkins Galore

Pie In The Sky By and By

Halloween Leftovers

Though Halloween was certainly quieter this year, with no happy gangs of children trick or treating, lots of folks went over the top with decorating, lighting up the early dusk with lanterns and lights and of course pumpkins galore. My grandkids had been carving and decorating pumpkins all month but as Halloween drew near, they switched over to costume making, one choosing to be a ghostly Nearly Headless Nick (from the Harry Potter stories), the other a plump little robot. In their small community, all the kiddos held a distanced costume parade, and every household cheered them on. I wished someone had organized a similar event on our local green, so everyone could celebrate the youngsters and their costume creativity. With guidance and leadership, this pandemic could teach us how to pull together as families, as communities, as a nation. Without that leadership, we are floundering in depressing and dangerous disarray.

Overwhelmed by the onslaught of news, I’ve been taking refuge in historical memoirs, written by pioneering women a century ago and more. Reading about lives lived fully, despite social isolation and complicated and slow communication of national and family news, I’m realizing how much those wanderers prized connection and community when they found it. It’s also remarkable how much people helped each other out with food or labor when they were far from towns or regular sources of supplies. Help was offered even when people weren’t home: Right up into the 1940s, leaving isolated houses and cabins unlocked was common from Maine to Alaska. If travelers happened by, they were welcome to help themselves to food and a warm fire, but expected to leave money or supplies in exchange, while always refilling the woodbox. These days, it seems that as a nation, we have locked each other out. Rather than reaching out with helping hands, we have traded our value for community for that of independence. Learning our collective way back from solitary selfishness to community building will be a long task but/and a worthy one, well worth any amount of effort.

Pumpkins To Pie For

Best Ever Pumpkin Pie

My porch still boasts quite a few fat little sugar pumpkins, so yesterday I split a few and roasted the pieces, along with some enormous beets that had been overlooked during my garden gleaning. I got a bit distracted and everything got slightly caramelized, which gave the resulting pumpkin pulp a deliciously complex flavor. Though field pumpkins are often stringy, pie pumpkins are more tender, easily mashed to soft, fluffy pulp. The roasted bits were not quite so conformable but my trusty stick immersion blender turned the charred slabs into sweet slush in a minute. There was enough for a pie and some spicy peanut pumpkin soup as well, both of which are perfect treats for chilly days and dark autumn nights.

Roasted Pumpkin Pie

1 unbaked pie crust (any kind)
2 cups pureed pumpkin pulp
2 eggs
1-1/2 cups milk (any kind)
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup maple syrup
1/2 teaspoon each of cinnamon, coriander,
cardamom and ginger

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. Line a 9” pie dish with crust and crimp the edges, set aside. In a bowl, combine remaining ingredients and stir well (an immersion blender does an excellent job). Pour mixture into the pie shell (put any extra in a smaller baking dish for custard) and bake at 425 F for 15 minutes. Reduce oven to 350 F and bake until set (45-40 minutes). Serves at least one.

Roasted Pumpkin Peanut Soup

1 tablespoon cooking oil
1/2 teaspoon roasted sesame oil
1/2 onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
2 medium yellow potatoes, chopped (about 2 cups)
2 cups chopped sweet peppers
2 cups cooked pumpkin pulp
4 cups broth (chicken or vegetable)
1/2 cup natural peanut butter (chunky)
2-3 tablespoons sweet Thai chilli sauce
1/2 cup roasted peanuts, coarsely chopped

Combine oils, onion and garlic over medium heat and cook until soft (3-5 minutes). Add salt, potatoes and peppers, cover pan and sweat vegetables for 5 minutes. Add broth, cover pan and simmer until potatoes are tender (15-20 minutes). Add pumpkin pulp and peanut butter, stir well and cook for 5 minutes. Season to taste with sweet chilli sauce and serve, garnished with chopped peanuts. Serves 4.

Candlelight Vigil

Tonight, our local downtown church is holding a candlelight vigil, bringing people together to pray for peace and unity on this momentous Election Eve. In many traditions, this is the day of recollection, a time set apart to remember friends and family who have died this year as well as our ancestors and others we hold dear. I’m also putting (solar) candles in our windows tonight. Though their soft, gentle light may be washed out by the waning moon, they’ll flicker on all through this long night, which will surely feel like the year’s longest. Onward, together, right? Onward, together.

 

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A Seasonal Offering Of Hope & Remembrance

Natural Ofrendas celebrate seasonal beauties

The Cycle Continues, The Pendulum Swings

As autumn tints the leaves to auburn and old gold, mahogany and wine, I’ve been gathering armfuls and carrying them home. Since childhood, I’ve been fascinated by leaves, from swelling bud to browning crispness to lacy skeleton. This year, I’m moved to make an outdoor ofrenda, an offering of seasonal beauty, more precious because so fleeting. In the past week, several old friends have died and other friends have lost dear ones, suddenly or slowly. This season of gentle decay seems such a suitable time for departure; darkening days and long, cold nights offer little enticement to linger. Even so, as I line beds and pathways with bright leaves and seedpods, I’m reminded of the swing of the seasons, as implicit in the seedpods as in dying leaves. I’m reminded too of Ruth Bader Ginsberg, who was fond of saying, “The pendulum always swings.”

As election day draws near, I’m finding myself more anxious than I can ever recall being before. Not even when both my husband and my mother were both sliding down that slippery slope have I been so aware of the dread weighing down my spirit. Making calls, urging others to vote, carrying the ballots of elderly neighbors to the ballot box, all these feel hopeful. The early polls seem hopeful as well, yet the innumerable unknowns make me afraid to hope. That is a terrible feeling and one I hope I never feel again. To be afraid to hope, afraid to look forward to a juster, kinder, more equitable world is to lose more than I can afford. Right now, my greatest solace is in creating momentary beauties of color and form, natural paintings that brighten the day but fade or fly away in the night.

Undermining Obsession

A few weeks ago, out internet was knocked out and kind neighbors lent us their passwords so we could get online. Through various complications we are still offline without that generous help. Reception is best in our bedrooms and disappears entirely if we wander into other rooms. As a result, both my daughter and I have become keenly aware of being connected or not. I was shocked to notice how adrift I felt without the ability to get online and was even more astonished to discover that what I missed the most was the ability to check the weather frequently. If warm, sunny days are coming, I can plant bulbs, transplant shrubs, and divide perennials. When cold snaps are predicted, I can protect the more tender of my plants, including the gorgeous, shrubby Fuchsia Blutini, which may or may not be hardy way up here near Seattle. I also find myself checking the air quality as often as possible, even though the summer wildfires are almost entirely suppressed, and that feels like a symptom of yet another underlying anxiety.

What I don’t miss is the news. Like many gardeners, I tend to be just a tiny bit obsessive and this year, my focus has been first on the pandemic and then increasingly on social and political disasters. After two weeks without watching the news, I’m finding myself just as politically involved as ever but with a healthier, less intense attitude. What’s more, my blood pressure is lower and I’m sleeping better at night. When I get an itch to find out what fresh horrors have been unveiled, I go outside and gather more leaves, stringing them into glorious swags to thread between shrubs and trees.

Nurturing Peace

As I became aware that anxiety was making me ill, physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, I decided to start a new practice of seeking solace wherever it may be glimpsed. This weekend, we had a rare overnight with my grandkids, whose parents only allow visits after they have been suitably isolated for at least a week. Before they settled into bed for a story, they lined the hallway into my bedroom with little solar-powered tea lights in case they woke in the night. The gentle flickering of those little lights felt as peaceful and comforting as firelight and I decided to keep some burning on our windowsills as the evenings draw in to cheer the hearts of our neighbors as well as ourselves.

Music can also be cheering and comforting, though our choices are often highly personal. When I start to feel edgy, I play a favorite recording of Bach’s Goldberg Variations, complex yet soothing music that I played when my kids were quarrelsome and now again when my grandkids get cranky. Played very quietly, it has an astonishing power to soothe the spirit. When I’m knitting keepsake comfort shawls, I speak a long litany of power words outloud, incorporating them into each stitch: Compassion. Loving Kindness. Release. Peace. Comfort. Serenity. Ease. Tranquility. Courage. Trust. Community. Reconciliation. Connection. Faith. Grace. Forgiveness. Understanding. Mercy. Wisdom. Clarity. Sometimes I add special wishes for the recipient: Sweetness of spirit. A merry heart. Good nature. It’s not exactly prayer, I suppose, but it feels like an invocation of goodness. Prayer has been difficult lately but I recently read an article that said the proper way to pray for your enemies is to ask that evildoers experience the full consequences of their behavior. Now that I can wholeheartedly do!

Light In The Night

Much as I enjoy making Halloween costumes, I’m more interested in celebrating All Souls Day, a link to more ancient festivals that celebrate both loss and light as darkness gathers. A few years ago, blogger Adrienne Maree Brown wrote something I’ve found helpful:

“Things are not getting worse
They’re getting revealed
We must hold each other tight and
Continue to pull back the veil.”

Pulling back the veil of illusion is extremely uncomfortable, much like ripping off a dressing stuck to a festering wound. However, if we ever hope to achieve cultural healing, it has to happen. The veil that hides patriarchal authoritarianism/racism/cruelty/inhumanity must be pulled away, forcibly or gently, over and over and over again, a little more each time. It’s difficult and often discouraging work, so it’s helpful to remember that in doing all we can to propel our country and our culture forward, we are actually working to bring human nature from adolescence to maturity. Though definitely necessary, altering genetic and cultural patterns that have been repeated for millennia is never easy. Onward, right?

 

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Home Cured Olives

Seville olives from California, MUCH bigger than Arbeqinas

Hardy Olives For The Maritime Northwest

When I told my neighbor I was brining local olives, she gave me the fish eye. Really? Her skepticism is understandable; though olive trees have long been grown in California, they’re relative newcomers to Oregon and Washington State. Over the past few decades, Oregon growers have found success with a number of varieties, and thanks to climate creep, some are proving hardy even in the Seattle area. Native to the Mediterranean, olive trees need full sun and fairly well drained soils, preferably loamy or on the sandy side. If planted in clay soils (some of us have no choice), it’s best to set them on a south or southwest facing slope where frost and excess water will drain away. Young trees are fairly frost sensitive, but mature trees can tolerate winter lows down to about 10 degrees F. Over the past 50 years, Seattle’s average low temperatures have been in the mid to high 30s, so I figured olives were worth a try. (We haven’t seen single digit temps up here since the deep freeze of 1989.)

Though the ancient olive trees of Italy and Greece are gnarly and often contorted by age and weather, young trees are beautiful, small, evergreen trees, with long, slender, silvery-green leaves. In orchard conditions, most varieties eventually reach 20-25 feet. Grown in very large pots, olives will remain between 6-8 feet high, and some compact varieties can live happily in containers for many years. Like all fruit trees, they benefit from regular pruning, though since olives set fruit on new growth, it’s important not to get carried away. An unpruned tree can become crowded, so good pruning, as always, removes dead or deformed branches and allows light and air to reach the tree’s center. Traditionally, olives are pruned to limit height and as sturdy low branches develop, they are preserved to facilitate harvesting. In Italy, I helped harvest olives by spreading fine nets under trees while branches were whacked and shaken until the ripe fruits fell to the ground. I’m not sure I’d try that with a young tree, as over-enthusiastic shaking could rock the roots out of the ground.

Self Fertile Olives

Like any youngster, a newly planted olive needs regular summer water and mild fertilizer, as well as frost protection should Arctic blasts arrive. However, once established, olives don’t need much care. Untroubled by many pests or diseases, they are largely independent and can remain productive for hundreds of years. Wind pollinated and usually self-fertile, olives are nonetheless more productive outside of their native Mediterranean when surrounded by bee-friendly plants and partnered with a pollinator pal. In general, Spanish types cross pollinate with each other, as do Tuscan and Greek varieties.

Whether prized for oil or table use, most traditional olive cultivars bear more heavily in alternate years, something you can pretty much count on with backyard olives. These days, farm-grown young olives are planted in Super High Density (SHD) groves, pruned and fed and forced into high-bearing patterns. However, like similarly managed full sun coffee plantations, SHD olive groves can exhaust themselves quickly. Backyard growers will do best long term by spacing olive trees much like apple or pear trees, allowing each tree ample room to grow. How much depends on the cultivar you choose, the conditions you can offer, and the amount and kind of pruning you employ. Generally speaking, the farther South you live, the larger your olive trees will get (as much as 30-40 feet high and 20 feet wide).

Small But Mighty

On the other hand, the farther North you live, the less space you are likely to need (sadly). For example, here on Bainbridge Island, a pair of Arbequina olives I planted at a local church have been bearing fruit for about 10 years now, though most abundantly in alternate years. They started off as foot-high rooted cuttings in 2008 and are now about 10 feet high and 8 feet wide, but look more like twiggy shrubs than trees. They were watered the first summer, but neglected ever since, which probably slowed their growth a bit. They get full sun much of the day as well as reflected heat from the paved lot, and they get lots of insect action, from native and honeybees as well as many other pollinators.

On a good year, as this one is, there are more olives than I can possibly use, but they are so small that it takes quite a while to get a full quart. It reminds me of picking huckleberries, another tedious but worthwhile task. After dropping more than I managed to get in my bag, I ended up using my old huckleberry picking trick; I punched holes in the sides of a large yogurt tub and threaded a cord through them, making a sling to go over my shoulder so the tub hangs in front of me about sternum-high. Now the fat little fruit falls into the tub with satisfying thuds and I can pick many times faster. Arbequina olives are very flavorful, which is good, because otherwise I doubt they’d be so popular, since the small fruit are fiddly to pick and handle. Still, they’re noticeably larger this year, perhaps because of the extra summer rain we’ve had, and also perhaps because the tree is more mature now.

Home Cured Olives

If you don’t grow your own olives, look for them at local farmers markets, or order them online from California, the Land of Large Olives. Even when ripe, olives are inedible straight off the tree, nasty and mouth-puckering thanks to a natural chemical called oleuropein. Fortunately, simple brining mellows table olives from bitter to pleasingly buttery-astringent. Down South, olives will ripen to deep green or black, but up North, when the hard green fruits take on tints of pale green, butter yellow or soft rose, they’re ready to cure. Don’t let them linger on the tree too long, as a hard frost ruins their texture. Here’s a simple brining process that works beautifully, and you can fancy it up by adding thin slices of organic lemon peel or bitter orange peel to the brine once the olives are close to ready. I use a standard brine, a 10% solution of 100 grams of salt to a quart of water, but I use more brine than is usually suggested, as it seems to speed up the mellowing process.

Simple Salt Brine For Olives

4 cups Arbequina olives, green or turning black(ish)
1 cup kosher or sea salt

Rinse olives and put them in a large pan or bowl of cool water, with a weighted plate on top to keep them submerged. Drain and change the water every day for 3 days, then start the brining:

Dissolve 1/2 cup of salt in 2 quarts of water and pour over the olives. After a week, drain olives and repeat with a fresh batch of brine. Repeat twice more, a week apart. End with a rinse in cold water, then pack olives in jelly jars, adding citrus peel or peppercorns, and top off with fresh brine to cover the olives. Let stand for 2-3 weeks to mellow, then serve as tasty little snacks.

 

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Simple Syrups For Good Cheer

 

Stemmed rosemary for simple syrup

Soothing Simples Preserve Garden Goodness

What a world we are living in! What an astonishing moment in time! What an epic period of history we are experiencing! Do I need to use a few more exclamation points??? Do I need to say I’m feeling a little crazy? How are YOU doing with all that’s occurring locally, nationally, in the world at large? I keep thinking about Kurt Vonnegut’s Welcome to the Monkey House, where someone says, “A sane person to an insane society must appear insane”. Similarly, those who seem to adapt well to crazy situations often become at least a little off base themselves over time. For me, yelling actually seems to help me cope somewhat, though I restrict myself to yelling while driving alone as I don’t want to freak out the cats. A friend recently suggested that all public parks and gardens should include a wailing wall; seems like a brilliant idea to me. Waaahh! Arghhh!

After a spot of therapeutic yelling, my throat feels sore and I’m ready for some soothing. First step, turn off the news. Next, put on the teapot. Pick a gentle, calming brew, perhaps chamomile and rose petals, then add a simple syrup for a bit of sweetness. Rosemary syrup adds an aromatic fragrance and a pleasantly grounding briskness, while ginger syrup is heartwarming and mildly energizing. Lemon syrup is agreeably tart-sweet and mint syrup is mellowing. All add a cheerful note to the teacup, but they’re also lovely in salad dressings and sauces, splashed into a cocktail, or poured over warm cake to infuse it with garden goodness.

Simple Garden Syrups

Simple syrups are indeed simple; traditionally, equal mixtures of cane sugar and water, boiled for a few minutes until the sugar is completely dissolved. Before electricity made freezers common, fruit was canned in simple syrup to preserve their quality and flavor. Simple syrups can be flavored with all sorts of things, from vanilla beans and peppercorns to toasted fennel or coriander seeds. As summer wanes, we can preserve the scents and flavors of herbs and edible flowers like roses, but it’s vital to harvest only organically grown plants, as pesticide residues are definitely not wholesome.

There are hundreds of syrup recipes (especially now that cocktails are popular again), but many are milder than I prefer. It’s a good idea to experiment with small batches while exploring your own preferences. For instance, I like a very strong mint syrup, using a full cup of leaves per cup of water, but you might want to add just a few sprigs. As you play around, make notes so you can replicate your successes and fine tune the not so great results. Be aware too that simple syrups can get moldy, even when refrigerated, so only make what you can use in a few weeks, or freeze them in small amounts (a dedicated ice cube tray is great for this).

Classic Simple Syrup

1 cup cane sugar
1 cup water

Combine in a saucepan and boil for five minutes. Cool, store in tightly sealed glass jars, and refrigerate for up to a month.

Short Term Syrups

I find full simple syrups to be gaggingly sweet, but reducing the sugar can also reduce shelf life. Even half-strength syrup is still sweeter than I like, but any less sugar and the results can mold too quickly, even in the refrigerator. For best results, label and date each batch, especially if you reduce the sugar content. That said, here are some of my current favorite garden syrups, just in time for cold and flu season (to say nothing of the pandemic).

Rosemary Syrup

1 cup cane sugar
1 cup water
1/2 cup stemmed rosemary

Combine sugar and water in a saucepan, bring to a boil, stir until sugar is dissolved, then simmer for five minutes. Add rosemary, remove pan from heat, cover pan and steep for 20 minutes. Strain through a double layer of cheesecloth, cool and refrigerate in tightly sealed glass jars for up to a month. Makes about 2 cups.

Ginger Syrup

1 cup cane sugar
1 cup water
1 cup peeled, sliced ginger root

Combine all ingredients in a saucepan, bring to a boil, stir until sugar is dissolved, then simmer for 20 minutes. Remove pan from heat, cover and steep for another 15 minutes. Strain through a double layer of cheesecloth (see below), cool and refrigerate in tightly sealed glass jars for up to a month. Makes about 2 cups.

Candied Ginger

Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper and spread out the ginger pieces in a single layer. Bake at 225 degrees F until only slightly sticky (25-40 minutes). Roll in sugar and store in a tightly sealed container in the refrigerator or freezer.

Mint Syrup

1 cup cane sugar
1 cup water
1 cup mint leaves

Combine sugar and water in a saucepan, bring to a boil, stir until sugar is dissolved, then simmer for five minutes. Add mint, remove pan from heat, cover pan and steep for 20 minutes. Strain through a double layer of cheesecloth, cool and refrigerate in tightly sealed glass jars for up to a month. Makes about 2 cups.

Lemon Variations

When I find plump organic lemons in the market, I make simple syrup and add strips of lemon peel to the sugar water before continuing with the recipe below. Boil for five minutes, then dry the strips on a baking rack and pour the remaining syrup through cheesecloth to catch the zest (save those to sprinkle on butter cookies or garnish desserts).

Lemon Syrup

1 cup cane sugar
1 cup water
1 cup fresh lemon juice (about 8 organic lemons)
1 tablespoon grated lemon zest
Lemon rind strips (optional)

Combine sugar, water, and lemon strips in a saucepan, bring to a boil, stir until sugar is dissolved, then simmer for 10 minutes. Remove from heat, add lemon juice and zest, cover pan and steep for 20 minutes. Strain through a double layer of cheesecloth (drying strips of peel on a cooling rack), cool and refrigerate in tightly sealed glass jars for at least a month. Makes about 3 cups.

 

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