Spud Surprise

This year we decided to try growing potatoes. We dug up a space on the edge of the "transition area" between the vegetable garden and the prairie. We planted half of it with black beans and half with potatoes with the idea we would trade places each year for some crop rotation. We planted two 12 foot rows with three kinds of potatoes; Yukon Golds, Red Thumb fingerlings, and Red Pontiacs. We wanted to see if we could dry land farm them, meaning grow them without irrigation. We'd been told that they would keep better if grown that way. So we dug our trenches, faithfully hilled them every couple weeks, and kept our fingers crossed. All went well until about a month ago when Paul started to see vole holes around the potato patch. (Remember those nasty voles? see earlier post) My heart sunk. I didn't even want to go out there and look. But, today was the day to harvest the spuds so I had to go see if there were even any potatoes left. When I saw the holes in the potato patch itself, I wasn't too hopeful. I started with the fingerlings. There were many, many half-eaten small red potatoes coming up in my shovel. I was getting more depressed. However, I began to find more and more uneaten ones so I kept digging. The Yukon Golds were nearly untouched. The Red Pontiacs were in pretty good shape, too, although there were more of them with little tooth marks and parts gone. When all was said and done, we ended up with about 40 pounds of whole, lovely potatoes! They are now stored in the dark, cool basement waiting to be eaten...this time by us!

Only Two Things

Tomatoes!  Fresh picked, vine ripened, pure heaven.  I love just about any food fresh from the garden but tomatoes are my favorite.  We plant lots of them!  Everything in the garden is late this year and I was worried that the tomatoes might not get ripe in time but they have arrived, thank goodness.  The little sungolds have been producing for a while.  They are so good popped into one's mouth sun-warm right from the vine.  They were also great oven roasted and mixed with garlic, sopresatta, parsley, olives and capers over pasta for dinner tonight.  The long San Marzanos are pressed for tomato sauce.  We freeze the sauce and use it all winter long.  It tastes just like fresh in pasta sauce and soup and paella.  The fat Brandywines and dark Nyagous get used for everything else...BLTs, sliced with a sprinkling of salt, or diced for fresh tomato pasta.  Nothing compares to the taste of tomatoes from the garden.  One of my favorite Guy Clark songs is called "Homegrown Tomatoes."  The chorus says "Only two things that money can't buy, that's True Love and Homegrown Tomatoes."  If you have both, you are rich indeed.

What's The Story, Morning Glory?

When I first mentioned planting morning glory, Paul was less than enthusiastic. Morning glory to him meant field bindweed, a noxious, nasty weed he has been eradicating from our prairie. I had to assure him that this morning glory (or ipomea) is a lovely annual vine with beautiful blooms. I planted it to camouflage the pole that holds up the satellite dish for the internet which it is doing quite well, I think. Morning glory is true to its name. The blossoms are full and bright every morning when I look out the window. By evening, they have closed up and gone to sleep. Being a morning person myself, I can understand this rhythm. Paul agrees that it is a beautiful plant. He's still not completely convinced that it won't try to take over the property, however.

All's Fair

It's war! This picture is what a perfectly beautiful carrot looks like after being munched by a vole. Voles are basically large field mice. There have always been many of them out in the prairie living in their little holes. We've pretty much ignored them. But this summer they decided to venture beyond the prairie toward the vegetable garden. We noticed a couple of them earlier in the summer, running into holes they'd dug under the railroad ties that divide the grass area from the river rock around the house. We didn't think much of it. Then we began to notice that things were being munched in the garden, mostly green beans, strawberries, and, especially, the carrots. And it got worse. Every morning we'd find carrot tops lying on the ground and the carrots themselves eaten down. The carrot crop was being decimated! There was a telltale vole run going into the carrot bed and the vole sightings became more frequent. In fact, we couldn't walk out there without them scattering here and there.

We found out that voles are very prolific little rodents. They are able to conceive at ONE MONTH and the gestation period is only three weeks. So, theoretically, one pregnant vole at the beginning of the summer could become nearly one hundred voles by the fall. YIKES!

So we had to declare war. (If you are one who would rather not read about the elimination of rodents, stop reading now.) We couldn't use poison because of the wildlife around here that eats voles to say nothing of Gracie, the border collie, who loves to catch and chomp them. Funny how dozens running around the garden didn't interest her, however. So we bought mouse traps. We set about 10 of them out around the garden beds baited with peanut butter and little pieces of carrot. And Paul, aka Dead-Eye Smith, took up residence in a chair at the edge of the garden where all those vole holes are along the railroad ties. Between the traps and the BB gun, we've dispatched nearly 30 voles in three days! (May they be reborn as lions.) There are still a few about but we don't see them every time we look out the window now. We remain vigilant, however.

I did have to dig up the rest of the carrot crop to save what I could. I have never had such gardening challenges as this year but I am determined. I would warn you not to be reborn as a vole in our vegetable patch!

Harvest

It's finally here...harvest time. This week the combines started appearing in the fields, dust following them as they moved through the wheat and lentils. This area is famous for it's wheat and lentils. There are fields and fields of both rolling across this now golden landscape. Harvest has it's own special smell. I can't quite explain it. It's a combination of dust and fresh cut stalks and heat. It's a smell I know well, having grown up on a farm. I also know that farmers are some of the hardest working people on the planet. Not just the farmers but also the folks who support them...like spouses and kids and folks at the grain elevator and truck drivers. When I was in my twenties I worked at a grain elevator weighing the trucks as they came and went. The people driving them were often tired and dusty but always friendly. Farm folks tend to be that way. It's a tough job but thank God they do it. Somewhere I read that farmers are the founders of civilization. Once the farming starts, the rest follows. I believe that's true. If you ever run into a real farmer, be sure to thank him or her for all the hard work. Where would we be without them?

The Stinking Rose

Ahh, garlic.  It is the beginning of many of our favorite dishes.  Garlic sauteing usually prompts the comment "Something smells good." from whoever walks into the kitchen.  Today was the day to dig the garlic and shallots from the garden.  Last fall I planted 24 cloves of Spanish roja garlic and today I was rewarded with as many lovely heads of it.  And, thanks to our friend, Jim, I also planted about 6 little shallots that turned into large bunches.  I've never grown shallots before but certainly will from now on.  But, back to the garlic.  One favorite pasta dish is to mash up the cloves of a head of roasted garlic along with a hunk of goat cheese and a couple glugs of olive oil.  Throw in some chopped sundried tomatoes (preserved in oil).  Let it all sit at room temperature so the cheese softens.  Add a pound of cooked pasta and a half cup or so of the pasta water.  Sprinkle with a good handful each of chopped parsley and toasted pine nuts and enjoy...and then pass the Altoids!

Fresh Eggs

These beautiful eggs are fresh from our friends Diane and Michael at Fiddler's Ridge Eggs over in Potlatch. We've been getting eggs from them since mid-winter. I was so excited when I found out they were going to start selling eggs. I'd been looking for a source for "real" eggs for a while. Fresh eggs are so amazing to look at when you crack them open. The yolks are deep orange not that wimpy pale yellow you find in store-bought eggs. As I was driving home with these eggs today, I started thinking about how I'd sort of come full circle in my egg "life." Growing up on the farm we had chickens and fresh eggs, at least when I was fairly young. The chickens I remember were Banty chickens, a small variety. I remember I didn't like to go get the eggs from the nests because the chickens would peck at me. And the best April Fool's joke I ever pulled was the time I told my little sister that there were new baby chicks in the hen house. She trekked all the way out there in her flannel nightgown and rubber boots to see them only to have me yell "April Fool's!" I don't she talked to me for a week. So, these eggs today triggered childhood memories of chickens and eggs. And, no, I don't know which came first!