The Pomaceous Wonder

My guess is that the apple in the garden of Eden was an Heirloom variety.

In the story of Adam and Eve, the apple was a symbol for knowledge, immortality, and temptation. For me, much of that holds true. I am always allured by the gorgeous unknown apple. Forget Macintosh, Jonathan, Granny Smith, or the Red Delicious. They're fine but aren't interesting. I'm more inclined to taste, observe the texture and smell the brilliance of a Roxbury Russett, Arkansas Black, or a Winesap. 

This past Sunday, I spent time working with the mysteries of heirloom apples. I love exploring the Pomaceous part of the apple tree for many reasons: it’s high in pectin so most successful cooking will result in a crystal clear, beautiful jell set, plus there’s very little waste. With a large batch of apples, you can whip up three types of uncomplicated preserved foods in little time: apple jelly, apple syrup, and with the pulp, a tasty batch of like-my-mother-used-to-make applesauce. I also like apple season because there are so many wonderful, not-found-in-the-supermarket varieties to choose from, such as Ashmead’s Kernel, Elstar, Liberty, and Sierra Beauty apples. Those are the apples I used Sunday, all of which were purchased from Windrose Farm in California’s central coast.

As I was about to venture on to my next task – applesauce -- I decided to take stock of my apple jelly. It was near perfect. A batch I made a month earlier with Heirloom Sebastopol Gravenstein apples was a bit richer in color and prettier, but this group has a much more delicate flavor. And as regular readers of this blog know, I never use pectin in any of my jams and preserves.

So as I embark on my next cooking endeavor, anybody care for some pancakes with apple syrup? You’ll never be tempted to use maple syrup again.


Beginning this month, you'll find some of my favorite batches of Joe's Jams, Jellies, and More for sale on my etsy site at http://www.etsy.com/shop/mothercluck. 

Speaking from experience, they make wonderful gifts!

Blood!

That's what I always think of when slicing pomegranates.

Happy Halloween!

Deep Roots

I’ve come to believe that the root of all evil are roots themselves.

Yesterday, my husband-who-hates-farm-chores and I tackled and culled the roots from one of our two raised gardening beds that sit inconveniently under a giant sycamore tree. There were roots big and small, long and short, and stubborn and easy. It was back-wrenching work, and today, I’m clearly paying for it.

The raised gardening bed is about two years old, and I really haven’t dug deep in the dirt since it was built. Every planting season (there are two, sometimes three in Southern California), I would just add our homemade chicken manure/compost mixture to the heap and mix it in as best as I could.

It’s been a good garden bed – not great since anything that grows there in the summer is only blessed with afternoon sun. But nonetheless, it’s been home to some showy herbs, a few successful tomato plants, the occasional zucchini, not-so-great peppers, and gorgeous coneflowers.

This year, after about five hours of prepping the garden bed, I took stock of what plants would do best in such limited conditions. The solution? Strawberries. They are hardy beasts which require very little maintenance. Hopefully my little strawberry field will prosper and take root under its now root-less ground. Plus, as an extra bonus, the plants could serve as an educational tool to the young children who live on our street. Strawberries can be irresistible to the young mind.

There’s no question I hate digging up tree roots but hopefully I won’t have to do it again. Besides, isn’t that the whole point? Strawberry fields forever?

A few of you may remember my post about our backyard coffin. With all the rain we've had the past few days, I decided to give my chickens a bit of exercise. My Araucana headed straight to the coffin and decided to dig deep.

Empty

Today is the first day of a new beginning.

For the first time in many months, I have nowhere to go, no one to report to, nothing pressing on my calendar, not even lunch with a friend. Since my boy is in school, I have seven hours of uninterrupted time. It feels strange, uncertain, a bit empty, but yet I have no choice other than get used to and embrace this feeling of change.

As many of you know, I worked for a nonprofit organization for 10 years before calling it a day, wanting to spend more time with my son before he started kindergarten. A few months later, I was offered and accepted a position with an Internet company that provided me with flexible hours and allowed me to spend a few days at Disneyland just because I could. It was a good match for me personally and professionally until early September: the company decided to go in a different direction.

It’s so hard to let go of something that you truly enjoyed doing, especially when it’s not on your own terms. I loved being able to accomplish many things in such a short period of time. I harbor no ill feelings toward the company. It was simply time for change.

So here I am. Last Friday was my last day of employment, and then having family in town helped me quell those feelings of emptiness and anxiety. They’ve gone and now I’m back to a new routine of listening to birds sing, walking the dog more, and enjoying my chickens bring in the morning.

There are a few projects on the horizon, one of which involves going back to school to learn an entirely new skill set. Why not? I’ve got time, talent, ambition, and a network of new friends to cultivate. I’m looking forward to embracing this sort of change.

Anything to get rid of feeling so empty.

Organic Eggs?

Hats off to the Homegrown Evolution blog that posted a link to The Cornucopia Institute's newly released Organic Egg Scorecard. It's definitely worth a look if you aren't raising your own hens.

The scorecard identifies a number of excellent egg producers and, not so surprisingly, many household names that are "ethically deficient egg producers." 

Bottom of the list? Eggs from Trader Joe's, Whole Foods (365 Organic), and Costco (Kirkland Signature). The Institute noted that these eggs are "produced on industrial farms that house hundreds of thousands of birds and do not grant the birds meaningful outdoor access."

The top egg producers included farms in Wisconsin, New York State, and Michigan. 

My li'l farmer

We'll see you tomorrow at the California Baby Family Festival!